BEXLEY BRIAR
It’s obvious that Maxence is thinking hard about whatever he is thinking about, but Bexley is (probably fortunately) not privy to the commander’s thoughts, and besides that, she’s tired of thinking - so despite her natural curiosity, and the fact that his brooding is fucking obvious, she doesn’t ask what he’s thinking of. Instead she slices at the flora with bone-white teeth and surprising exactness, each flower sheared just below the bud, the pile at her bleaches hooves growing lusher by the moment with nary a petal floating out of place. For a moment her head turns to Florentine, but she pushes that name away as quickly as it comes to her.
The glance he passes over her does not go unnoticed, but Bexley’s only response is to suppress her self-satisfied smirk. You’re strong, she teases, though it is true - I’m sure you’ll recover. What could be a blush crawls to her cheeks, spreads warm over her throat, but Bexley grits her teeth to stifle it and rearranges their pile, which has already grown sizeable. Depends, comes her answer, once again interested in the topic, her blue eyes brightening as they meet the commander’s. How many do you want to make, and how big?
Why did you even want flower crowns? Bexley continues after a moment, breaking into a laugh by the time she finishes her question, a genuine curiosity shining through each word. For this, I mean. It’s cute, I like it, but I wouldn’t have pegged that as your - thing. There goes the raise of one eyebrow, a dare for him to give her an interesting answer, something more than the surfactant brush-offs that her previous questions have bought her; she wants to know him better, know anything about him, really. It’s her right, even, to know a little about the man she’s sworn to follow.
@maxence <3
