BEXLEY BRIAR
Perhaps Bexley’s entrance was not so subtle as she thought.
It seems only a moment passes before she senses a presence somewhere behind her, though Solis knows how long it has been there, unnoticed while Bexley is preoccupied with the gleaming rafters and the smoky silver air; she startles at the sound of hooves clicking behind her, but by the time she whips around the boy is already there, his feathers ruffled, his eyes opalescent in the darkness. Her heart jumps in her chest. Holy-Una-What-The-Hell, Bexley snarls in surprise, turning totally to face the stranger with a wild flick of her burnished gold ears. The azure eyes narrow, sharp with suspicion. She looks him over - the wings, ugh, Bexley can’t contain the disbelieving shake of her head - when was the last time she met someone without wings?
Oh, sweet Solis, comes her grimace at his flirtation, one side of her lip curling upward in might be amusement, or disgust. She takes a brief step back as he moves toward her, an instinct to flinch that she does not bother suppressing - he’s much too young to pique her interest. You’re a kid. Pretty, sure, but probably half her age. With a brief glance she stashes him away for later, noting the fact that he’s in charge of something called the “Crows”, apparently in a position of power, calls Reich the “Orphan King” instead of, well, anything else - interesting. She pauses for a moment, starts to introduce herself, and then stops short at the sound of Reich’s voice floating through the air.
There you go, Bex smirks at the page, raising her eyebrows, gaze feline, Bexley Briar, that’s me - and with a tumble of those wild blonde curls she turns to face the King as he enters, mischief glimmering in her eyes like an opal underwater. Sovereign, comes that unserious voice, and quickly Bexley dips into a half-bow, only a moment for reverence before she springs back into that body humming with energy, with playfulness. Solis help anyone who threatens what is now a fragile joy, strained and tested by thoughts of Florentine, and only barely keeping Bexley as high as she is now. With a quick glance over her shoulder that says to Raglan, stay where you are, she twirls closer to Reich and leans in so he can hear her next words, so soft, so curious: I’ve met Florentine.
Her gaze meets the Night King’s with an impish interest. From the look on her face, it would be impossible to tell that this meeting with Florentine had gone as far as it did, or left her as upset as it had: now there is only the thrill of uncertainty in her chest, and she looks up at Reichenbach surely, patiently.
And who’s your Silvertongue? Bexley asks, changing the subject abruptly. Over her shoulder she meets Raglan’s gaze and bats her lashes at him once, twice, a flurry of sunlight.
@reichenbach @
