She is a dizzy sort of sobering-up, her head all a-thunder from the exploits of the day. She’s sore from throwing herself at that damned golden lion, she’s pissed off at Gallileo for… being alive, probably, and she’s thirsty as all hell. She’s tired of this god’s damned heat. Not for the first time, Sabrina wishes tracking Delph had led her somewhere cold and frosted in ice, instead of this hellish hotbox.
Not that she was inclined to care, but Solterrans had a bit of a bumpy entanglement with their king. Back in her homeland, the king was a figurehead-- everyone knew the queen was the one with the real power-- but his name still carried weight and he was spoken about with respect. The crown prince, too, was beloved by his people. Until he turned to ash, saving Sabrina’s life. Anyway. The fact was, back home, no one really talked about the king’s survival unless they were planning on making a play on his life (the queen had fed more than one possible assassin to her leopards, it was rumored) but here… here they all gathered around and seemed to be waiting for him to die.
Maybe it was the nature of Solterrans. They’d had so many different across recent history and each of them seemed to be a different sort of demon in disguise. So maybe, taking bets on the king’s life was just… normal. Or maybe it was something they did because they could. Sabrina didn’t imagine a bloodthirsty tyrant would take kindly to coin-flipping over his mortality in the streets, even if it was discreet, which this was… really not.
Still, she didn’t give a fuck. She was tired. She was tender, in more ways than one, though she wouldn’t admit it. She could go for a snack and a nice lie-down somewhere dark and room temperature, if room temperature wasn’t one-hundred and seventy five fucking degrees.
She staggered into some poor soul with golden paint-splattered skin and hair the color of old dirt and snagged a sugary-sweet flan off the table. The pomegranate seeds crunched in her teeth and she grunted. “You know a place someone can take a nap around here?” she asked, knowing the sugar was going to be a very temporary pick me up, and that her mood would continue to crash after the sucrose band-aid was ripped off in the near future.
@Apolonia | sorry
