Antiope didn’t press, and since that was what Castalla intended, she was glad. But secretly she hoped that perhaps one day, one day, she’d have someone to share war stories with. Someone with whom to lament past wrongs, to compare scars. But long had passed the time of such innocence and pleasure- when tails of war were romantic and fantastical. When her history was not stained with failure and loss and the demons that plagued her nightmares.
“It is a pleasure to meet you too Antiope, I’ve heard great things.”
Their conversation dwindled into comfortable quiet for a few moments as they meandered through the crowds. Castalla took the chance to admire each of the shopfronts- many still open due to the festivities. Much like the candles that lamps that lined the streets, each window was awash with an orange glow, wondering scents drifting from each. When they reached the bakery the tantalising aroma of fresh bread and delicious cakes wafted on the night breeze. Castalla’s wolf stirred, her heightened senses making the food smell all the sweeter, but she quelled it with a thought.
“It certainly smells lovely, thank you,” the femme commented appreciatively as Antiope bought two rolls. Gratefully she took the bread, the air shimmering a subtle blue around it. “Here,” she pulled coin from a purse tied to her mane, offering it to the striped warrior. Castalla had traded jewellery and coin from her own land, easily earning enough to cover supplies and housing before she considered permanent residence. She wasn’t the kind of person to take things for free when she knew she could afford them- not when she had been one of the richest inhabitants of Alanaris.
Despite being born a princess, the shifter rarely indulged in the pleasure of food. Fighting and training took precedence over tea parties and social gatherings. And even when feasts were thrown and other kingdoms visited, Castalla ate only to blend in, her entire focus being on whatever mission she’d accepted. “They are delicious,” she said with a small smile and a soft huff through her nostrils.
“Denocte is beautiful,” indeed, the night city sung to her much like the moon, “everyone has been so welcoming.” So much more welcoming than she deserved. It would not be long before the call of death weaved violence into her blood once more. Adrian was right when he said she could not deny her nature. She only hoped to use her skill in aid of the Night Court, or at least in aid of justice. The rogue had already gleaned much of what she needed to know- being an accomplished spy had its benefits. “I’ve learnt a lot already, but I suppose my only question is; is the Night Court in need of my services?” The White Wolf did not doubt Antiope had spied her scars- they were hard to miss- and coupled with her clear familiarity with weaponry it wouldn’t be difficult to figure out her services involved fighting.
@Antiope <3
