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" BEXLEY BRIAR "
On instinct Bexley flinches at the sound of wings above her, and with a deep inhale she forces herself to calm down, to still her quickly beating heart; it must be Maxence, it must, it must, not those damn birds from the maze, not the vultures she’s been seeing on the horizon, their black shapes ominous against the stark blue of the desert sky. A shiver erupts over her aureate skin, but when she finally looks up, her nerves cool. It’s him indeed. That brown-and-white blotch blocking parts of the steaming sun, gliding on the cool air that swirls above Bexley’s head, kicking up dust and sand as he finally dips toward the ground and lands with the hard sound of hooves on packed dirt.
She looks him over calmly, not bothering to hide her interest. That dark gaze skates the curve of his wings, that thick hair, the lion’s head perched on his back, face set in a forever-snarl. Have they ever been at such close proximity? Or even in each other’s presence outside of a herd meeting? Bex doesn’t know him well enough to say that he’s happy, but he looks less uptight than she’s ever seen, not smiling, but not actively frowning, either; it’s much more attractive than his usually deep-set scowl, puts a new light in the blue eyes that match Bexley’s. Dry amusement crosses her face. There’s a pleasant day ahead of them, that’s for sure. Or at least it will be for her.
His question brings a biting smirk to her face. Because it’s a good day not to have a stick up my ass, she shoots back within an instant, voice glittering with amusement, but I guess you wouldn’t know anything about that. What a gem this boy is! Her body hums, pleased already with the exchange. There’s a challenge laying in wait, and Bexley, curious to insanity about the commander, has never been afraid of those.
Then that brush of the shoulders. She pauses to gauge, letting him move ahead. Interesting. It’s probably an accident, but then again, Maxence has never seemed like someone for accidents. Bexley’s skin lights with a nerve-tingling warmth, one that temporarily threatens to sweep her off her feet, but with a light touch she pushes that weakness away, and follows after him, stepping nimbly to reach the side of the older man, and with, a calculated swerve, bumps her slender hip just barely against his rib.
Wouldn’t take you for a flower picker after all that shit you talk about the Dawn Court, she teases, voice light, as the pair comes to a stop. Around them plants have started to pop up from the ground in various shades of green and olive-grey, stark against the dirt, glossy and working hard against the weight of the summer that has started to beat them down; she names them off in their head, a few succulents, yucca with its dense, spiraling leaves, and prickly pear fruits patching the dirt. And there, perfect, the knightdew agave. Its multi-colored flowers are still open, though beginning to close for their sleep during the day. They’re bushy and brightly colored and perfect for a kind of crown, will be beautiful set against leaves of palm, and the yellow spores of an acacia. A genuinely please smile crosses Bexley’s face as she nods at it. There’s your accent piece - and without waiting for his opinion she dips her head to the agave and pulls out the first flower with her teeth, petals falling to the sand at their feet.
@maxence my loves <3
