She knows. When the blaze that lights Jahin’s lavender eyes begins to die out, Avdotya knows.
Though he calls himself Davke, she does not see one.
In that moment, before he even utters a single word of excuse, the Khan feels herself coil; she takes umbrage for his own lack of rage and feels it grow ever-fierce in her own chest. This man is no Davke, he is no friend of hers or an ally... he is not- was not worthy of Makeda’s affections when that wild heart of hers still beat. Now the viper understands.
If only it were that simple.
Jahin’s sentiments pull a chuckle from her throat, subtle and void of emotion as it cuts through his voice. Indeed, simplicity is a rare and elusive creature, but one thing that will always be as concrete as the cycle of day and night is that the Davke do not bend. There is no negotiating their values, beliefs that have stood strong against the wear of a thousand years. What he may falsely see as her refusal to adapt is, in actuality, her fealty to their people and those who have died before them. Each and every Khan that has reigned before her held true to who they are as a group: unyielding, bloodthirsty ravagers. There is no room for making nice with the world, there never has been; she’ll be damned if she’s the coward to break that trend.
And so the stallion’s weakness is his and his alone. She does not balk at the thought of losing him, for he has been lost before. ”It seems I already am the only one left standing, Jahin.” Her eyes are narrow, brutality rattles her bones - and yet Avdotya cannot help but feel a sense of disappointment trickling through her mind. It settles and simmers in her flesh, nearly dulling the ferocity she feels towards everything as they continue their dance.
Nearly.
Nearly.
She waits only for him to finish talking until whatever small space that remains between them is diminished, one quick step and she can suddenly feel the warmth of his breath and the prick of his anger still lingering in the air. She consumes it, overthrows it with her own vile chagrin and curls her neck just enough to bring her peeling lips to his ear. ”Let me make myself very clear:” her spear wriggles loose from its holster on her foreleg and eagerly seeks the soft skin below Jahin’s jaw - should it find its mark, he will feel only the very tip of the blade tickling at his throat, ”I will do whatever it takes to make sure their lives were not lost in vain, but you and I have a very different understanding of what that means. I will have blood or I will die spilling it. I would sooner meet Solis in some fiery hell than betray the ways of our people, just like any other Davke... except one, apparently.” Her voice is a low hiss meant only for him to hear.
”Now would you like to question me any further?”
Truly, this is the moment she realizes she has no family left.
@jahin (next post will have the official gtfo :'c)
Though he calls himself Davke, she does not see one.
In that moment, before he even utters a single word of excuse, the Khan feels herself coil; she takes umbrage for his own lack of rage and feels it grow ever-fierce in her own chest. This man is no Davke, he is no friend of hers or an ally... he is not- was not worthy of Makeda’s affections when that wild heart of hers still beat. Now the viper understands.
If only it were that simple.
Jahin’s sentiments pull a chuckle from her throat, subtle and void of emotion as it cuts through his voice. Indeed, simplicity is a rare and elusive creature, but one thing that will always be as concrete as the cycle of day and night is that the Davke do not bend. There is no negotiating their values, beliefs that have stood strong against the wear of a thousand years. What he may falsely see as her refusal to adapt is, in actuality, her fealty to their people and those who have died before them. Each and every Khan that has reigned before her held true to who they are as a group: unyielding, bloodthirsty ravagers. There is no room for making nice with the world, there never has been; she’ll be damned if she’s the coward to break that trend.
And so the stallion’s weakness is his and his alone. She does not balk at the thought of losing him, for he has been lost before. ”It seems I already am the only one left standing, Jahin.” Her eyes are narrow, brutality rattles her bones - and yet Avdotya cannot help but feel a sense of disappointment trickling through her mind. It settles and simmers in her flesh, nearly dulling the ferocity she feels towards everything as they continue their dance.
Nearly.
Nearly.
She waits only for him to finish talking until whatever small space that remains between them is diminished, one quick step and she can suddenly feel the warmth of his breath and the prick of his anger still lingering in the air. She consumes it, overthrows it with her own vile chagrin and curls her neck just enough to bring her peeling lips to his ear. ”Let me make myself very clear:” her spear wriggles loose from its holster on her foreleg and eagerly seeks the soft skin below Jahin’s jaw - should it find its mark, he will feel only the very tip of the blade tickling at his throat, ”I will do whatever it takes to make sure their lives were not lost in vain, but you and I have a very different understanding of what that means. I will have blood or I will die spilling it. I would sooner meet Solis in some fiery hell than betray the ways of our people, just like any other Davke... except one, apparently.” Her voice is a low hiss meant only for him to hear.
”Now would you like to question me any further?”
Truly, this is the moment she realizes she has no family left.
@jahin (next post will have the official gtfo :'c)
