[AW] the world is ugly

[Antiope]

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@Morrighan

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antiope

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in me forever the charge of Other,
the blood of my unconscious,
the dark song in me from elsewhere—

The sovereign had wanted to talk to Morrighan about trying to get more information on the black market businesses she keeps hearing whisperings about. Whether that means hiring someone to get inside them or just going looking for information, she wants to know what is going on in the shadows and secret rooms of her court. Antiope is not foolish enough to pretend they don’t exist.

What she isn’t expecting is the scene she walks in upon entering the bar an equine in the markets had pointed her to. Morrighan, clearly having had one too many, ranting and raving at a couple who look like they’re just trying to enjoy themselves and have a nice evening together. Antiope lingers in the doorway, watching the whole affair with sharp sapphire eyes from the shadows.

Oh, she might not know what it is to love someone who does not love you back but she does know what it’s like to have love ripped from you. Antiope has lost both a love and a child, and there is no denying the things she has done because of it. She would do it again, even. But to have your joys stripped from you for selfish reasons had broken something in her. And all she had ever been made to do was kill. So kill she had, because it was the only thing she’d had left.

But this? Even if she weren’t sovereign, even if Morrighan weren’t regent, her behavior is insensitive, boorish and sets a terrible precedent. But she is sovereign, and this is the woman she had placed a large amount of trust and responsibility in. Is this how she intends to waste it?

As Morrighan takes another shot and begins to mumble to herself, Antiope moves. She all but stalks between the tables directly toward the regent, and if things hadn’t already been uncomfortably quiet from the scene the paint had caused, a hush falls over the patrons of the bar now as they notice their Queen. A hush like the quiet before the storm.

Antiope stops before the other woman’s table with all the command of a ruler, of a warrior, a mother, a goddess. “Get up, Morrighan,” there is no room for argument in her voice. Despite the dimness of the lights there is no lack of brightness, of flashing, in her eyes. Two ships have collided in the sea of her eyes. Everyone is watching.