beat me black and blue, every wound will shape me, every scar will build my throne
M
orrighan knows his kind even before he speaks a word to her. A man who thinks he's hot shit with a silver tongue. One who pretends to have all the confidence in the world, but is really too cowardly for commitment. Otherwise, one who flirts for the fun of it and is just looking for a fling. Well, he'll find absolutely none of that here.She has been trying to ignore his gaze even though it's been burning into her for a few moments now. Instead she's been watching those of her Court and also keeping an eye on Maeve. It's been a good festival so far, so she would hope that some asshole wouldn't come along and ruin it.
Unfortunately, it seems she won't be so lucky.
Her leg is sore from the wound that's been hardly healing, so the comment is a poor choice of words for him. It leads her to glare at him with an even colder gaze and narrowed eyes. If she were a wolf, she would pull her lips back in a snarl. Perhaps in a way she does so with her gaze and the flaring of her nostrils.
"Far trading countries, you say? In my experience, someone who comes from a far land tends to bring a lot of baggage with them and a target on their back," she says flatly. From her expression, he'll see that she's not very impressed by his background. "What purpose do you have here?" It's a question she finds herself asking newcomers often, especially those who join her Court. Sometimes they like to skirt around the truth, but if they seem nervous, it at least gives her a reason to keep better watch on them. Hopefully whatever baggage he has, it won't bring any trouble to Denocte.
