[P] unbowed

[Avdotya]

A pity, indeed - but she presumes there is little sincerity in the man’s expression. Toulouse does not strike her as a caring individual, a trait they both share; however, where he masks his indifference with gold and fine cloth, she bears her own like an open book. ”You waste your breath.” Her lips are upturned, a foul grimace lacing across her face. Sympathy (genuine or not) to Avdotya - and to the Davke - is what a speck of dust means to the wind: absolutely and profoundly nothing. Only when the conversation drifts from Makeda’s body and he speaks of Raum does she find herself agreeing with him. Death and the pale king went hand-in-hand, something she knew since he stole the throne from beneath Seraphina’s feet. It was the reason she bargained with him so early on, and now it is the reason she desires his head mounted prettily atop a rusted pike.  Her heart dances at the thought, skipping to the feral pulse of bloodlust in her veins. ”Tyrants never last.” She finally comments, very plain, and even more so impatient. What patience she does have grows even thinner with Toulouse so expertly pulling at every thread. His subtle laugh, his innocent words that really were not so innocent. He is better off saying he is here to watch Solterra crumbling to pieces. And then he asks of the Davke- conquer, he says. The vipers eyes narrow and she flattens her ears, but her temper does not flare. Not yet. ”Zolin once believed he had conquered the Davke,” she replies sharply, ”what a terrible shame it was when he was found with his throat cut.” Avdotya steps closer to him as she speaks, a slow and precise step, fluid, even cat-like. She can recall that night, the way the boy king’s blood spewed so violently from his neck as he lay choking in the lavish comfort of his silken bed. She watched the light leave his awful eyes, she watched the panicked heaving of his breath wither into stillness, and she watched it all with a satisfied smile painted wildly across her lips. Zolin was the last to ‘conquer’ the Davke. The fiery scene that lay behind Avdotya and Toulouse on this day was no conquering. ”There is no eradicating a people like us - leave one alive and the nation is still left vulnerable, friend.” Their conversation is much like a dance, she thinks, performed on a very fine line balancing the pair between civility and savagery. What shall it be? @toulouseimage © pacificdash