beauty can bite
One glance at his crooked smile and she knows he’s drunk. There’s no shame in it- she’s drunk too. It dulls the excruciating pain of mingling. And it puts a curb on her hunger- not that these events were particularly appetizing. Something about seeing all these horses crowded together, livestock cramped and sweating, she finds a little repulsive. They made it so easy to hunt. She didn’t want easy, it made her feel dirty.
And although she takes a deep measure of his smile (that scar is just so fascinating) it’s his eyes that truly strike her. There is a sea behind them. It is deep and roving and restless. She has the sense that even though he’s here, he’s also elsewhere. And something about that just doesn’t sit right with her. Anandi wants his full attention. All of him, here and now, or nothing at all.
She leans a little closer just as he says “Trust me. I’m worth knowing.” He smells like whiskey and grit, smoke and salt. She laughs freely, leaning back again as though unimpressed. Really it’s just hard to balance on legs, even after all this time in Novus. And, of course, the alcohol is not helping. “We’ll see about that.”
She rolls her eyes, mildly annoyed. Don’t remind me. Yet she was simultaneously flattered: it was hardly impressive that he recognized her, but it pleased her anyway. (and if she learned he didn’t know of her at all, that he had merely heard some gossips in passing… he would leave here tonight with at least one new scar. Hell hath no fury…) “It’s called diplomacy,” she says with tart sweetness, ears flicking backwards to signal that this line of conversation was over.
In all honesty, she was escaping- or rather avoiding- her duties. She hoped to see Apolonia tonight. And the last thing she wanted was to be reminded of work. Even though the reminder of her prestige was intensely satisfying, she found the politics of Novus so disappointingly bland.
“Oh, I’m never reckless.” And although her voice is lush with humor as if she speaks in jest, she’s entirely truthful. Anandi considers recklessness beneath her. Every action, every word, is carefully calculated, analyzed, and decided upon based on a complicated network of factors. Most of the time, the choice comes down to what will most benefit the kelpie: either in reputation, long-term strategy, or simply personal satisfaction. The kelpie would not be ashamed to admit she placed a lot of value in pleasure.
If she behaves in a matter that seems risky- and it’s true she sometimes (often) does- I assure you the risks have been considered beforehand. Recklessness is not something she indulges in. (It is hard to tell if this is really true or something she believes in so fiercely, and so wholly strives for, that she has successfully convinced herself it is. Take, for example, the turning of Lucinda- that didn’t seem terribly calculated... But we leave that digression for another day.)
A waiter walks by with a tray of drinks, which she turns down with a subtle shake of the head. The room is spinning enough for now, thank you very much. “And you, Torix?” She says his name like a small treasure, a bit of light in the dark or warmth in the cold. Something to keep. She says his name like mine.
She hopes he can keep to the promise in his smile. It would keep the evening interesting.
@
some say the loving and the devouring are all the same thing
☾
