BEXLEY BRIAR
In the corner of her eye, a shimmering, moony scotoma appears. Bex blinks hard against the onslaught of horror, of shock, of unexpected fear that courses through her blood and renders her completely inert - trying to clear her vision, her fuzzy, lacking brain - yet still that crescent slice of blackness, of pure static, follows the track of her eyes. She is unarmed. Underprepared. Only the sickening brag of her heart in her chest remains a weapon to be harnessed, and now she is going blind, going dumb, how much worse can this get?
Acton turns. She catches the razor-sharp edge of his cheekbone, sanguine in the filtered light, and fights the urge to heave. How utterly disappointing - not just obnoxious, but a terrorist. Strike first. Strike now. A bomb threat in cleaner words. Bexley’s brain moves from her head to the sky outside, floats in the clouds now, looking down at Solterra, at the rebuilt Day Court glistening with gold, at its poor citizens, so dense, so unaware, just as she was moments ago, and it makes her utterly sick. Nauseated, she sways slightly on her feet.
Listen.
She freezes. Listen - listen to the movement of that body, curves and gold, still trying in futile resistance to keep itself alive, still backed up into the darkness. Listen to the movement of the wind against her skin, in and out of her lungs. Listen to the stupid loyalty of a girl to her country. So loud and so stupid, so woefully admirable. Stubborn as ever, bitch. She hears Maxence’s voice in her head, then Seraphina, and the harmonizing duo is so loud between her ears that she almost misses the quiet step of Raum shifting, coming toward her, so unaware and yet so relentless.
The world slows, and stills. She watches Raum move forward, standing utterly still, dust and light catching on the dark swash of her eyelashes. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. They are mere feet apart now, electric. And the distance is closing. And closing again. There is nowhere to go, nowhere to run. And even if there was, Bexley is no Crow coward.
Dead-eyed, diligent, she steps forward into the light, so close that she and Raum could almost crash into each other. In Solis’ light she is a lit bonfire, aureate flame in the hard sun; a raging, insatiable heat seeps from each pore, from the sea-glass of her eyes as she meets his gaze, raises her chin, blackening in the sun, defiant as ever. Fuck you, chickadee.
She bares her teeth at him in a hard snarl, meets Acton’s gaze over the rise of his head, and, trembling with anger that shakes each curl on her head, spits savagely onto the ground at their feet.
Solis will eat your bones.
Let them fucking touch her. The gods watch, and they watch carefully.
@Raum @acton
