☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼
try try your whole life to be righteous and to be good
wind up on your own floor, choking on blood
“I hope so.”
That too was strange to her – foreign words, accompanied by a smile that seems genuine. There’s something wrong in his tone, though; it is spoken too quickly, hints at a tension that she knows only too well. Neither of them are ignorant to the whims of their nations, although the whims of her nation are, to some extent, her own. She doesn’t pretend to have more control than she actually does, though. Not anymore. Not after the Davke. Seraphina doesn’t linger on his words, however, or the tension that lingers beneath his smile.
He gives a genuine grin at her next comment. “One of the first things you learn in the brotherhood, manners. Next to how to hold a sword properly, that is. It’d be bad manners to forget them now. My mentor might come back to swat me one last time.” A faint ghost of amusement curls at the corners of her lips. It isn’t exactly a smile, but it seems to hint at one. She watches him carefully, her gaze as quick and calculating as ever in spite of the rare, faint warmth that seems to linger in the depth of it; she notes the slight surprise in his posture when she makes no attempt to snap at him, and wonders, rather unhappily, just how bad their relationship has grown with Denocte that its citizens would immediately expect hostility from her, or her people. Seraphina tries to push that thought out of her mind as he continues to speak, however; there will be time enough to deal with her queenly troubles when she is outside of these caves, back in the warmth (or metaphorical chill) of her own palace.
“There is no harm at playing others at their own games.” A smirk. (A bit roguish, though still appropriately knightly, she thinks.) “Cannot say they are rather good thieves and vagabonds, if they have led you to their doors, though.”
“Their worst issue is simple cockiness - they hope to take advantage of the present situation in Solterra.” She doesn’t directly mention the burnt capitol, though, for a moment, her expression darkens. Underestimate the Solterrans if they dare - the Davke had not broken her, much less her people. If anything, the horror of the attack had been enough to momentarily sober the volatility and dissidence that polluted Solterran politics. In ruins, they found more common ground than they had in years. “In any case, I hope I’m not a disappointing alternative, to what you had hoped to find here.” A hint of amusement works its way into her tone. “Hardly. Just don’t tell the Solterran nobility that. I already try their patience.” She doesn’t want to know what they would think of her chatting amicably with a Denoctian.
“Seraphina. It suits you, your name, you know.”
“Reall- thank you.” She can’t keep the initial surprise out of her tone. Burning one, stolen from one of the many lands and languages that Viceroy had encountered in the past; but Seraphina was anything but burning, and he made her that way. Viceroy wanted her cold and sharp as a knife, not rebellious and impulsive, or wild as flame. “I’ve always thought that Viceroy chose it out of irony, personally.” Seraphina doesn’t really intend to mention her direct connection to Solterra’s previous warning, nor does she really intend to mention that her name is not her own, but, she supposes, it isn’t as though either are a secret. They could be now, with much of the library and its meticulous records sent up in smoke, but Seraphina is not a secretive creature by nature; she knows that what is willingly offered can rarely come back to bite you, so long as it is not a flaw. Her entire history may or may not remain on one of the remarkably unburnt shelves in the ruins of the library, or it might have turned to ashes with much of the rest of their people’s writings. (She feels a faint pang when she thinks of the library, her second home as Solterra’s Emissary. Seraphina does not regret burning it, though. Better her than one of the Davke. Better to burn yourself to the ground than give the enemy the satisfaction of doing it for you. A matter of morale, and power and control. What you have already taken cannot be taken from one of you; one of Viceroy’s central tenants.) Her life has always been public knowledge, but much of it, she thinks, is incomprehensible to anyone who did not live it.
Tonight, we’ll just be Seraphina and Renwick, then, and do whatever they wish to do. The Queen and Lord Commander can worry about their troubles another day.”
She steps forward, cautiously, and picks her way over towards his side. Starlight catches on the metallic silver of her coat as she moves in and out of the dappled light, coming to a halt a few feet away from him; even though instinct drives her to stay standing, to remain stiff and statuesque, reason reassures her that she has nothing to fear. Not from him; not tonight. The lantern clinks to the ground at her side, and, for a moment, she considers lighting it, but decides against it. The dusty blue of starlight is more than enough to see. “That suits me.” A simple statement. She considers, then, where to go with their conversation – it feels like it has been a very long time since she’s just spoken to someone. Seraphina always has a purpose, a drive. Her mind feels like it is constantly ticking towards some end goal. There is no end goal here. However, Seraphina is also a curious creature, by nature, constantly in search of new information, and all of Denocte is somewhat new to her. Most of her interactions with its people are icy, at best, and, even before the library burned, Solterra scarcely kept information on Denocte. She doesn’t want war with the realm of moon and stars, but she doesn’t understand them, either; without that understanding, conflict seems inevitable, with tensions and tempers so volatile. With that in mind, she ventures to ask, “You said that you were…a member of the Brotherhood? I gather that you are something of a…knightly order, but I’m afraid I know little of the various…groups in Denocte. Solterra does not keep much information on your people, beyond what we know of warfare – the monarchy did not have much of an interest in cultural studies, unfortunately.”
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tags | @Renwick
notes | <3
try try your whole life to be righteous and to be good
wind up on your own floor, choking on blood
“I hope so.”
That too was strange to her – foreign words, accompanied by a smile that seems genuine. There’s something wrong in his tone, though; it is spoken too quickly, hints at a tension that she knows only too well. Neither of them are ignorant to the whims of their nations, although the whims of her nation are, to some extent, her own. She doesn’t pretend to have more control than she actually does, though. Not anymore. Not after the Davke. Seraphina doesn’t linger on his words, however, or the tension that lingers beneath his smile.
He gives a genuine grin at her next comment. “One of the first things you learn in the brotherhood, manners. Next to how to hold a sword properly, that is. It’d be bad manners to forget them now. My mentor might come back to swat me one last time.” A faint ghost of amusement curls at the corners of her lips. It isn’t exactly a smile, but it seems to hint at one. She watches him carefully, her gaze as quick and calculating as ever in spite of the rare, faint warmth that seems to linger in the depth of it; she notes the slight surprise in his posture when she makes no attempt to snap at him, and wonders, rather unhappily, just how bad their relationship has grown with Denocte that its citizens would immediately expect hostility from her, or her people. Seraphina tries to push that thought out of her mind as he continues to speak, however; there will be time enough to deal with her queenly troubles when she is outside of these caves, back in the warmth (or metaphorical chill) of her own palace.
“There is no harm at playing others at their own games.” A smirk. (A bit roguish, though still appropriately knightly, she thinks.) “Cannot say they are rather good thieves and vagabonds, if they have led you to their doors, though.”
“Their worst issue is simple cockiness - they hope to take advantage of the present situation in Solterra.” She doesn’t directly mention the burnt capitol, though, for a moment, her expression darkens. Underestimate the Solterrans if they dare - the Davke had not broken her, much less her people. If anything, the horror of the attack had been enough to momentarily sober the volatility and dissidence that polluted Solterran politics. In ruins, they found more common ground than they had in years. “In any case, I hope I’m not a disappointing alternative, to what you had hoped to find here.” A hint of amusement works its way into her tone. “Hardly. Just don’t tell the Solterran nobility that. I already try their patience.” She doesn’t want to know what they would think of her chatting amicably with a Denoctian.
“Seraphina. It suits you, your name, you know.”
“Reall- thank you.” She can’t keep the initial surprise out of her tone. Burning one, stolen from one of the many lands and languages that Viceroy had encountered in the past; but Seraphina was anything but burning, and he made her that way. Viceroy wanted her cold and sharp as a knife, not rebellious and impulsive, or wild as flame. “I’ve always thought that Viceroy chose it out of irony, personally.” Seraphina doesn’t really intend to mention her direct connection to Solterra’s previous warning, nor does she really intend to mention that her name is not her own, but, she supposes, it isn’t as though either are a secret. They could be now, with much of the library and its meticulous records sent up in smoke, but Seraphina is not a secretive creature by nature; she knows that what is willingly offered can rarely come back to bite you, so long as it is not a flaw. Her entire history may or may not remain on one of the remarkably unburnt shelves in the ruins of the library, or it might have turned to ashes with much of the rest of their people’s writings. (She feels a faint pang when she thinks of the library, her second home as Solterra’s Emissary. Seraphina does not regret burning it, though. Better her than one of the Davke. Better to burn yourself to the ground than give the enemy the satisfaction of doing it for you. A matter of morale, and power and control. What you have already taken cannot be taken from one of you; one of Viceroy’s central tenants.) Her life has always been public knowledge, but much of it, she thinks, is incomprehensible to anyone who did not live it.
Tonight, we’ll just be Seraphina and Renwick, then, and do whatever they wish to do. The Queen and Lord Commander can worry about their troubles another day.”
She steps forward, cautiously, and picks her way over towards his side. Starlight catches on the metallic silver of her coat as she moves in and out of the dappled light, coming to a halt a few feet away from him; even though instinct drives her to stay standing, to remain stiff and statuesque, reason reassures her that she has nothing to fear. Not from him; not tonight. The lantern clinks to the ground at her side, and, for a moment, she considers lighting it, but decides against it. The dusty blue of starlight is more than enough to see. “That suits me.” A simple statement. She considers, then, where to go with their conversation – it feels like it has been a very long time since she’s just spoken to someone. Seraphina always has a purpose, a drive. Her mind feels like it is constantly ticking towards some end goal. There is no end goal here. However, Seraphina is also a curious creature, by nature, constantly in search of new information, and all of Denocte is somewhat new to her. Most of her interactions with its people are icy, at best, and, even before the library burned, Solterra scarcely kept information on Denocte. She doesn’t want war with the realm of moon and stars, but she doesn’t understand them, either; without that understanding, conflict seems inevitable, with tensions and tempers so volatile. With that in mind, she ventures to ask, “You said that you were…a member of the Brotherhood? I gather that you are something of a…knightly order, but I’m afraid I know little of the various…groups in Denocte. Solterra does not keep much information on your people, beyond what we know of warfare – the monarchy did not have much of an interest in cultural studies, unfortunately.”
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tags | @
notes | <3
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
