There was a certain warmth that blossomed within the Crow's chest as he beheld his family, each painted in shades of flame while he stood draped in blood; it seemed a fitting wardrobe for the street-gang-turned-imperial-network. It was odd to consider, really, that the lot of them had clawed and crawled their way from backgrounds that would make weaker creatures cringe only to rise - and rise together - to the forefront of a nation. Raglan felt as the mischief in his grin melted away and transformed into an expression of genuine adoration for the trio of Crows before him, a fierce pride flickering within those opal eyes.
Fire and blood would always suit the Crows better than most.
Laughter bubbled up from his belly as he suffered the onslaught of teasing remarks from his comrades - he hadn't nurtured a reputation for roguish nonsense for nothing. In fact, it proved to be a wonderful springboard for boyish charm and stupid decisions. Rolling his eyes and nodding his head in exasperation, the Silvertongue replied through the remnants of his laughter, "I'll be honest, there was a particular hen that caught my attention, and it wasn't Maxence, though his meeting with Reich was more or less a pair of turkeys flaunting their plumage," Raglan then gave a pause for dramatic effect and slid his gaze over for pointed glance at Mila -- a wretched girl, really, but Raglan wouldn't want anyone else at his back if it came to a fight. They had all been through too much, shared too much to do anything but love one another.
"Her name is Bexley Briar and she's a Day Courtier... She and the Old Crow are friends. They share secrets with each other. Ones that we don't even know..." His brow furrowed as he thought back on the conversation between his King and the golden girl with murder in her eyes, "She is more than what she pretends to be and I don't trust her."
He didn't have to say anything else, they all knew one another too well to need the verbalization of the mighty question that swirled about in the Silvertongue's mind - What do we do about her?
Fire and blood would always suit the Crows better than most.
Laughter bubbled up from his belly as he suffered the onslaught of teasing remarks from his comrades - he hadn't nurtured a reputation for roguish nonsense for nothing. In fact, it proved to be a wonderful springboard for boyish charm and stupid decisions. Rolling his eyes and nodding his head in exasperation, the Silvertongue replied through the remnants of his laughter, "I'll be honest, there was a particular hen that caught my attention, and it wasn't Maxence, though his meeting with Reich was more or less a pair of turkeys flaunting their plumage," Raglan then gave a pause for dramatic effect and slid his gaze over for pointed glance at Mila -- a wretched girl, really, but Raglan wouldn't want anyone else at his back if it came to a fight. They had all been through too much, shared too much to do anything but love one another.
"Her name is Bexley Briar and she's a Day Courtier... She and the Old Crow are friends. They share secrets with each other. Ones that we don't even know..." His brow furrowed as he thought back on the conversation between his King and the golden girl with murder in her eyes, "She is more than what she pretends to be and I don't trust her."
He didn't have to say anything else, they all knew one another too well to need the verbalization of the mighty question that swirled about in the Silvertongue's mind - What do we do about her?
@Acton @Mila @Lavinia I AM ALIVE AND I AM SORRY FOR THE WAIT
