An itch in his bones that he dare not deny, a fire in his belly that could rarely be put out. Most days, Leviathan was a calm titan of a man, always keeping to himself, though he spoke sharp and bit sharper sometimes. It was how he was. But since the new Sovereign had come in to place, there were itches under his skin and tension in the air in the world of brawlers known as Day Court. A tension he needed to relieve, in the form of a spar. It had been far too long since he'd added something to his scar collection, and he ached to launch in to battle once more.
It was an itch he'd have to scratch sooner or later.
All the same, it wasn't some brawler that he managed to bump in to while he wandered, heavy hooves coming to a halt and ears drawing back. Out of habit, his good eye turned toward her, and he blinked. He'd rather see details than the colored blobs that his bad eye offered; already it was going dark on the edges. Soon the sight would be gone for good, and he found he didn't mind.
Still, he frowned a little to himself and released a low grunt as he stepped around the woman. "Scuse me," he managed to say, his tones rolling from his chest in a deep rumble.
The hot calmness of the Day Court has turned Bexley into something sluggish and content; when not being aggravated by her fellow court members, she spends her time exploring, without urgency, or soaking up huge amounts of Vitamin D from the endless raining-down of the sun. Now she’s lazily picking her way through their parliament building, which is mostly empty but for the humming of desert bugs, the sound of a slow wind, gusting like God’s exhale through the wilderness. Her bleached hooves let out a sharp click-clack with each step over the stone, but she’s not worried about being quiet.
Eventually, Bex pauses. The arch she stops under half-shades her body, spreading a welcome chill over the chestnut’s back. She shivers - barely - flicks the heavy curls of her tail and lets her eyes drift half-closed, ignoring the sweat that’s collecting between her shoulders. Only a moment of reverie passes before hoof steps sound behind her, then at her side. She whips to face the noise and is almost startled by what she sees.
They’ve seen each other before at meetings, but she can’t recall his name. Up close Bexley is intimidated by how far he towers over her, and by, well, everything else about him - that chipped half-horn, the excess of muscle lining his body, knots of black-and-white hair spilling far, far down. She looks him up and down, not bothering to be subtle, and then flashes half of a satisfied smile. Those dark-blue eyes have gone fervent with curiosity. I never caught your name, Bex points out, ignoring his apology. At the meetings, I mean.
Unselfconsciously, she winds in front of him, positioned so they’re face to face. The height difference is laughable, but Bexley ignores it, that curious smile still dancing over her face, chin raised stubbornly, narrow hips wiggling slightly with a faint but genuine excitement. I’m Bexley.
The eyeballing is nothing new, and like with most in his life now, Leviathan took it in stride. His red eye focused on her, the other glazed over and milky, barely anything useful at this point in his life. So far he had gathered that many in the herd had thought him old, something he found amusing considering eight was more the prime of his life now. A shame many hotshots thought they were in their prime at only three, a young blooming maturity, and easily, he shrugged the thought off. Apparently this one before him didn't think him old, with the way she was looking at him. She might have thought him a little.. intimidating, perhaps? At least for a second that he could tell.
A puff of breath, and he cocked up a front hoof, balancing it while feathers slipped around the slate edges. Truth be told, he's surprised she turned to face him and didn't run off or something just from looking at him. Now she just looked like an overexcited kid, with bright eyes and a grin on her lips that could spell trouble for someone like Levi.
Bexley.
"It's probably because I never said my name," he replied in a rolling tone, rolling his shoulders a little and offering a half cocked smirk. "Leviathan." A self chosen name from a long time ago that seemed to fit him now more than ever. He'd changed, and grew with the name, it seemed.
It’s only now that she notices the discrepancy in his eyes as he tilts one closer toward her - the iris a glowing carmine, while what she can see of the other one is milky and off-white, lined on both sides by a long, grayish scar. Her nostrils flare with unsubtle curiosity. Of all injuries to sustain, Bexley thinks blindness must be one of the worst, speaking as someone who operates primarily on aesthetics. Moving across the landscape of scars on the man’s body, her intimidation fades out completely, replaced by interest. Without bothering to conceal her stare, she tilts her head in patient wait of his response. The chain around her neck jingles and lilts.
It’s probably because I never said my name - Leviathan. Oh, a smart-ass! So he’s a man after her own heart, someone with a sharp tongue to match his looks. The smile on Bex’s face goes wider. She likes the look of him - that self-assured smile, the way he answers her calmly, with confidence, unshaken by Bexley’s outer fragility or her preppy, overenthusiastic way of communicating. Fits, she says honestly. A huge, hulking thing like him - what a simple pleasure it is to be named in a way that makes sense. Are you from here? Like, natively?
Not that it matters, really, but Bexley is opportunistic, calculating, and what she wants to ask shouldn’t be brought up so soon. The gaze settled on him is calm and unreadable. A quick decision made, she steps lightly past him into the shadow of a looming column, purposefully orchestrating a barely-there brush of their shoulders, and continues casually, Lotta scars you got there. Those deep blue eyes move back to watch him, but they glint with humor, and her tone is light enough that he should know it’s a compliment.
Oh boy, he wondered what he was doing now. She seemed to only grow more curious by the look on her face, and the smile on her lips. Rather than say anything at first, he watched her, allowing himself to look her over. Elegant, soft, someone that seemed more fit for a role in the Day Court as a commoner or caregiver, perhaps some type of healer. All the same, he could only roll his shoulders in reaction to her question, his head shaking a little before he lifted it up and he shifted on massive hooves in to a more comfortable position.
"Natively, no. Only came here a little while ago. Learned about the Day Court and everything, figured I'd fit in here more with the gladiators and brawlers than the other Courts. Not to mention, it was about time I found a place I could call home of some sort." His smile turned in to a small smirk instead, cocking up on his lips as his head turned, his eye focusing elsewhere for a moment, and then roving back as he allowed himself to relax. There was nothing to do, so why not talk a little? Granted, he hoped it wasn't too long of a talk; he wasn't one to linger and chat.
Color him surprised as he turned his titanic body to face her after the point of contact, a lazy gesture to at least keep his attention on her, and maybe a half step forward before he rumbled a laugh. "It happens when you fight most of your life. Winners walk away with just as many scars as losers when it comes to those." He bore plenty of them proudly, as well. Namely the one over his eye and the ones on his face. It was nothing new.
"So what do you do in this Court?" Call him curious. He liked to keep tabs at least on who was who.
It’s not hard to tell that he’s surprised by her - but most people are - but Bexley’s gotten used to it, so she takes his curiosity at face value and moves on quickly. No point in trying to explain herself when it can only lead to more confusion. Body flickering with excitement, Bexley’s head runs over on itself, full of thoughts, of schemes, of connections waiting to be made. It’s been a long time since she felt like someone was worth her attention, and it’s exhilarating to be having a conversation she’s actually interested in.
The laugh that he lets out is deeply gratifying. Bexley lets the noise slip through her ears and into her bones, grating but somehow still pleasurable, like something that itches from the inside. Her stomach glows with warmth. Ah, I see. So are you a winner or a loser? She looks over her shoulder to raise an eyebrow at him, a quick bone-white smirk, self-assured, humorous, ghosting across her lips.
Bexley takes a moment to savor his question, then responds, still grinning, I cause trouble. She hopes the teasing in her voice is evident, and that he’s not quite as stuck up as the rest of the court. It’s really a game of guess and check. But Bexley is self-confident enough to play those games. Kidding, mostly. I’m a commoner, for now. And I’m assuming you’re a warrior? An idea flits through Bexley’s brain. She narrows those indigo eyes, tilts her head in a move of careful thought, but says nothing - not yet.
The smile he gave was a tell-tale thing, a smirk more than a grin, his lips cocking upward on one side as he tiled his head to eye her properly. Carefully even sizing her up as he did, the red of his eye flickering as he looked her over. "See now, I've had my fair share of both. Wins and losses. There's no fun in always being a winner; you never learn from mistakes you've made that way. Nah. I'm both.. I break even and keep it that way. I'm simply.. experienced." His heavy shoulders rolled in to a shrug, and he cocked his head toward the other, ears flicking as he glanced over her bright body and rested his gaze on her face.
Trouble makers were always interesting, and she wasn't stirring anything with him, so he didn't mind at all. All the same, his head shook a little to toss his mane from his face, and his laughter built in his chest again, heavy and low. "You guessed right. I doubt I'd ever be able to fit any other group or title." Higher up titles weren't his thing, he'd had enough to last a lifetime. Place him in charge of fighting though? Well. You do that and he'll be a happy camper so long as he got his fights and spars out of his system. It was how he was.
Still, her gaze was enough to make him blink and draw his ears back slightly, watching her a moment. "See now I've been around enough to know a thinker when I see one. What's on your mind, hmm? Why do I get the feeling I might not like it?" It wasn't like she was trying to hide it, and Levi? Well. Leviathan preferred just to get it out and get straight to the point. After all, beating around the bush was agitating and no one ever got anywhere like that.
For all her confidence Bexley can’t help pausing before the question is asked - tongue glued to the roof of her mouth, those indigo eyes searching Leviathan’s face earnestly - the whole thing is just so stupid, so much more juvenile than she’d like to appear, and yet here she falters, for this is the only area of knowledge she finds herself lacking in. She’s smart enough to recognize her weakness when she sees it. And what kind of strategist would she be if she didn’t work to remedy it?
The look on his face as he talks makes Bexley’s heart thrill in her chest. What’s on your mind? She grins back at him, all teeth, and tilts her head. It’s a calculated move. Every bit of the way she acts is purposeful, is planned ahead, so that the way that she looks at him - up through her lashes, curls swept to the side, danger glimmering in those eyes - is nothing but playful extravagance, so thoroughly covering her inner mechanisms it would be unsettling if anyone knew about it. She thinks this will appeal to him, is going off her best guesses. Someone kittenish, determined, only as afraid of him as she would be of some desert rattlesnake. Which is to say, not much.
Don’t laugh, she starts, with an unserious raise of the eyebrows, one that shows she’s not really afraid of what he’ll answer. A sheepish smile plays over her lips. I need to learn how to fight. I… she inhales, sputters out a laugh. Have a big mouth, and not too much to back it up with. You obviously know your shit - she rakes an appreciative glance up and down his scars and hums thoughtfully. I’m a quick learner. Definitely enthusiastic.
He wasn't sure what she was playing at, but Leviathan merely lifted his horned head, eyes flickering and the single red one focusing on her. It wasn't as if he was tense either, though he seemed to radiate something, something that made his skin prickle. Not uncertainty, but... something. All the same, his ears swiveled toward her, and he gave a slow blink, allowing himself to listen to her even as she started off with a 'Don't laugh'. It depended on what it was, if he would laugh or not.
It was amusing to hear what she needed, and he felt the chuckle deep in his chest, bubbling upward. It slipped out before he could do much to stop it, a deep rolling sort of sound that came from the gut and was an honest to gods sort of laugh. It was more amusing to him that it took her all of that time to sputter out the question, or rather, what she needed from him. All the same, his lips tilted in to a wry smirk as he looked at her. "You realize that if I'm the one to teach you, I won't take it easy on you. That pretty little hide of yours will get some scars." Not on the face, that much he would be nice about. But she'd get some regardless.
Levi drew himself to his full height, lifting his head and puffing his chest just slightly as he did, taking in a deep breath and... letting it sputter out as his head dropped and he grinned at her, all teeth. "At least you admit that you can't back up that smart mouth. But I can teach you how to. I just need your promise that you won't go running away if it gets tough, because it will get tough."
@Bexley oh my godddd I didn't see this stupid alerts slkfjskdjf
Bexley’s not offended when he chuckles - she expected it, honestly - but still the golden girl flashes him a look of playful affront, brows furrowing, half a frown lingering over her lips, as if she’s truly disappointed in his amusement. He has a nice laugh, though. Offsets the general scariness of everything else, makes that carmine eye and that network of scars look somewhat less intimidating. Bex watches intently, trying to make out his expression in wait of a response, but he’s hard to read, and so she resigns herself to waiting for his laugh to fizzle out.
Oh, so I’m pretty? A beam flashes over her lips; she tilts her head at him, bats those lashes happily, nerves fizzling with pent-up pleasure. There it is, here one way ticket to earning the Day Court’s respect. No more discontent looks from Avdotya, none of Maxine’s condescending quips, no more just “Pretty Bexley”, although she can’t pretend she doesn’t love that too. Listen, I’m not afraid of a challenge. And now you can’t get rid of me.
@Leviathan yay let's end it here! should their next thread be a "battle" or a training thread before that?!
![[Image: 500_by_memuii-dbfxt60.png]](http://orig02.deviantart.net/75f6/f/2017/192/d/5/500_by_memuii-dbfxt60.png)
