BEXLEY BRIAR
Bexley leaves the Night Court when the sky is at its deepest black, a fitting time for her to be leaving the court of dreams - as tens of bodies slumber around her, too deeply entranced to notice the delicate clicking of her hooves across cobblestone, the white-hot flash of her curls in the darkness. All hips and golden skin, she weaves her way toward the base of the Arma Mountains and away from the warmth and the jazz and the flickering candlelight of Denocte, and though she’s spent a beautiful day here - talking to Reichenbach and Raglan, reveling in the strange woodsmoke-mystery of their markets and bonfires, and glowing semi-silver under the moonlight - she moves with a quick step and a sense of quiet urgency toward Solterra, drained by the lack of sunlight, over-eager to return home. In the gauzy blackness she is naught but a flame, a flash of gild that crosses Denocte almost like a fish underwater, in so many swift, staticky movements.
Through bone-white lips she hums a childhood tune, something sweet and simple that floats through the black air without pause. Each step is carelessly placed, yet somehow she traverses the roads with nary a trip. Perhaps the blessing of Calligo - perhaps merely the practice she’s gathered from years of dancing and acrobatics, blessed with a center of gravity perfectly set.
quick junky junk for ya @acton
