At this point, Bexley is becoming hauntingly aware of the fact that she needs to get her shit together. Exploring is all good and well, fun, even, but she’s spent too much of her precious time wandering without an aim, and that has never been in her plans. She hasn’t had too much time for people, what with that incessant traveling and her neurotic tendency to move on too fast, as well as the relative novelty of her presence in Novus - but she’s been everywhere she needs to go, and the next step in this plan, the one Bexley has been putting together in her head for years, like an extraneously complicated puzzle, is to find her people. Girls, boys, whatever. Beggars can’t be choosers, and Bexley in general doesn’t care about the gender of her toys.
But she needs them - followers. A posse, a cult, anything. How is she going to get famous if people don’t know about her? Something has to be done. That’s why she’s here, standing perfectly still in the middle of the plains, those ocean-blue eyes darting intently around the empty space. Golden grass brushes up her legs and a slow, lazy wind ruffles those thick white curls. She’s heard things about this place, that it’s a gathering place of sorts, which is exactly what she’s looking for. Bex inhales deeply. Everything here is clean and natural and beautiful, submerged in sugary crystals of sunlight. The lushness of her possibilities here is overwhelming. And she loves it.
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