Mephisto
dusk court spy
dusk court spy
M
ephisto wasn’t usually one for revelry… but Novus and its festivals were starting to grow on her. With each changing season came a time for the courts to open their doors to others, and the spy in her had been curious at first in what she could learn. As it turned out, there wasn’t much to gather from these parties more than small talk and pleasantries, but the warg had found herself pleasantly surprised by the delicacies of each court and their customs. How else would she have learned of the vineyards in her own kingdom, or the night markets in Denocte? How would she have tasted Delumine’s autumnal cakes? So she found herself at yet another celebration, standing in the firelight and sipping at a refreshing blend of berries and bubbles which tickled at her tongue. Around her there are children, and music, and dancers. And the fires burn long into the night.
She sees so many faces as they come and go, some familiar, some not. With each passing shadow, Mephisto’s cerulean gaze is shrewd and sharp, taking in their faces and catching bits of conversation, even managing a smile from time to time as she murmurs a hello or greeting. While she doesn’t join their singing or their dancing, her ears flick this way and that, scrying her surroundings as her gaze feasts on the decorations and the bright colors which surround them. For even in the darkness, the paint of the children begins to glow all manners of colors. It was a place where Mephisto found a strange sort of peace which washed over her, free from the duties of court and the vexings of her magic, free to simply take in the world around her.
As she stands between two bonfires, a spritely song takes flight, joined by the next round of dancers. They leapt with joy, laughing gaily and singing along, waving flags of gold and green to signify the spring. She watches their graceful movements, longing for the briefest of moments to have been born a creature more feminine… more graceful. But wishing to be something other than herself was fruitless, Mephisto knew… so she simply waits until the song changes again, her gaze falling on the mare as pale as ice.
“Good evening.” Mephisto’s voice is warm as she turns to the stranger. “I haven’t seen your face before… I never forget a face. Are you new to Novus?” And she waits to see what secrets the dancer held, yearning to know more.
@Mephisto | "speaks" | @ZHAVVORSI
