tiffany twisted

[Bexley]

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.

@Florentine <3

love, spacev

[Florentine]

f l o r e n t i n e

Florentine was born to dance. There was no way around it. It had been no surprise, therefore, that she had been lured to the Night Court party like a moth would a flame. The music she had followed still twirls and leaps its way through her mind now. With a myriad of tunes humming on her lips, Florentine makes her way across Elutheria plain. She is mud splattered and hair tangled. Each slender limb of sunset gold was as dirtied as the next but there was no space in Flora’s heart to care. 
 
The dusk girl pushes through the plain of long grasses and wild flowers, seeds and petals sticking to her dirty-damp skin. Her hair, honey gold and flower-strewn, is a tangled mess of joy and adventure. Solterra lies to her back, and this far North there is not much further that the dusk-girl could roam. The only land that still reaches out beyond her is Solterra. 
 
Inkheart, that girl of black night and mid-day glow, had woven into Florentine’s mind a picture of Solterra that was so vivid it ensnared her every sense. It was Inkheart’s beguiling imagery that has Florentine traipsing across the plains in search of this court of warm sunlight and blooming flowers.
 
For each step that carries the dusk girl closer to Solterra, the winds beckon her to fly the rest of the way. They stoop beneath the layers of her wings, snagging in the fine tines of each feather and urging her up, up. But oh how her legs yearn to walk, to romp, to feel.
 
It is as she is romping, feeling the wild nip of grasses and the barbed flowers snagging her skin, that she notices a thick mop of white curls. In the sunlight they gleam burnished gold.
 
There is a moment of secret silence as Florentine lets her amethyst gaze roam over the other girl’s body of gentle curves and sweeping sinew. There is a twinge, deep within her body, an emotion – a pain – she cannot quite place. It tightens her lips and sharpens her eyes against the other girl’s beauty. But for the latter, she cannot help but look.
 
 “Good afternoon.” Florentine begins with a surprising formality, for her. However, that curl of her lips and the whisper smile they wear, is playful, flirtatious. Her amethyst eyes, curious, chase Bexley’s as they dart hither and thither with enthralling intensity. “Have you lost something?”

@Bexley <3 So sorry I did not know you had posted, but I am super keen to see where this goes!!

this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

[Bexley]

" BEXLEY BRIAR "

There is only so long the gods can stand to leave Bexley in peace. She knows this, and yet she is still surprised when she hears the gentle, tell-tale shift of grasses behind her, of carefully placed hoof steps, and a breath that whistles behind her like a breeze. However, she does not turn. Whoever has disturbed her can make the first move, should have the guts to interrupt her fully. Bexley gazes out, unbothered, over the horizon of the field, and waits with an inexplicable patience. 

It is not long before the intruder speaks. The voice is soft and feminine, dare she say unassuming, and yet Bexley’s intuition tells her not to discount the girl so quickly, that there must be something more intriguing than a typical flower-child. At last the golden girl looks over her shoulder. What stares back at her is something of inexplicable beauty - long legs and full hair, marked with flowers, and a grin that speaks volumes - all at once Bexley calms, relaxes, intrigued by the strange purple eyes that look back at her. Slowly she turns to face the girl completely. 

White curls sloughing over her shoulders, that golden chain glinting in the low light, Bexley’s indigo gaze narrows, and the expression that crosses her face is something sharp and curious, bright with a catty half-smile that flashes bone white teeth. I wouldn’t tell if you if I had, she says, nostrils flaring in amusement. But no, I’m haven't. Did you? Humor rings just barely through Bexley’s smoky voice.

@Florentine <33 me too!

love, space

[Florentine]

f l o r e n t i n e

The winds blow across the plain. They set the sea of grasses to dance and sway. Ripples roll out like waves to crash against the girls’ limbs. Plants rustle and sigh where there should be the soft hiss of an ocean. All about the girls, bison pepper the land, rising like great weathered rocks from the surface of the green, green sea.
 
Flora’s eyes tumble from the crown of the distant mountain and away, away from its imposing figure. Even with her eyes resting upon Bexley as they are, she still feels its call. That call twines its son of vines and thorns into her stomach and pulls, oh, it pulls so hard. It sets whispers in her ears, whispers bearing Inkheart’s voice… They are whispers that demand she should seek and she should find. They want her to know of the gods, to know their ways, their teachings. They demand she love them.
 
But did they know what a flighty girl they tried to catch? What a flighty girl she was to run at the mere idea of relenting and finding out more about them?
 
Defiant, keen, desperate, Florentine drinks in Bexley. It is not hard to sate herself with this distraction for the Solterra girl is resplendent. Beneath the lazy glow of the sun, Bexley gleams. She is the dark gold of the evening sun to Flora’s woven flax and liquid honey. The sun girl’s mane gleams white as snow and pulls Flora’s lips into a lift of appreciation. Bexley’s words colour the air around them, bold, inviting, as startlingly bright as her colouring.
 
Curious as a raven, Florentine’s head tilts as her amethyst eyes, dusk radiant, drink in the lines of the other girl’s face. What had she lost? Had she lost anything at all?
 
Bexley’s opposing question had stolen the words from Flora’s tongue, had made her think, consider deeper than she otherwise might have. It only beckons her smile to grow, and it does, sly but hot like a midday sun. “What makes you think I would have lost anything either, or that I would tell you if I had?” She asks, voice spun upon the wind.
 
Slowly Florentine steps up beside Bexley, as if to take her Solterra eyes, as if to see the meadow from her perspective. “I was not the one stood here, looking.” Flora’s own eyes roam now. They skip from tree, to flower, to rock, to horse, to bison. This way and that they roam, as if waiting for the plain to reveal some secret with a grand flourish.
 
Nothing.
 
She is disappointed, marginally. And yet her smile becomes smaller, sharper, more playful. Through her tangle of snarled mane and woven flowers, Florentine returns her gaze to this girl of sunshine and vitality. Together they stand, the passing of daylight into starlight. Florentine bearing her dusk-hewn purples and honey-golds and Bexley her white snow and winter sunlight. “So,” the dusk girl hums, “if you have not lost anything, then what is a girl doing standing here just looking?”
 
Amethyst eyes, scan the plain once again. “Unless she is waiting for someone?” The question is light as her eyes drift back to Bexley. “Or maybe she is just waiting for some opportunity to stray her way?”

@Bexley

this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

[Bexley]

" BEXLEY BRIAR "

Bexley does not miss the way the girl’s eyes travel to the mountain beyond them - for a moment she thinks of looking but doesn’t. Right now the gods nothing more than a background thought in the vastness of her brain. For all her dutiful worshipment, Bexley’s love of Solis is not so strong that it overcomes her instincts in the way it does for so many else. And she could take or leave the rest of them. 

She shifts gently to bring Florentine’s attention back to her face. The air around them is deepening with the slow hum of an oncoming night, turning the blues of the sky to dark purple, to smoke and starlight that beams just as much as it winks. Despite Bexley’s general distaste for the nighttime, she’s almost relaxed by the changing of the world around her. There’s enough light to see by but not too much to blind her; the wind has settled into just a warm breeze, ruffling the girls’ hair with gentle breaths. She inhale the scent of lavender and holds it deep in her chest.

The girl’s answer is unexpectedly sharp, and Bexley listens to it with a deep appreciation, her indigo eyes glinting suddenly with interest, a catty smirk lifting up one side of her lips. Ah, someone with spine. It’s been a while - the attitude Florentine is suddenly giving off has Bexley’s opinion of her increasing tenfold. She likes someone who will talk back, who can match the sharpness of her wit. Because of that, she doesn’t flinch when Florentine steps up next to her, doesn’t lean away, but doesn’t look at her, either. Let this be a battle, then - it’s what Bex is made for.

Some opportunity to stray her way - her eyes flash to Florentine and settle there, lit this time with the spark of recognition. Heat buzzes between them. A satisfied smile lines Bexley’s lips as she tilts her head at the smaller girl, curls wafting, and says, Caught me. Humor lingers as an undercurrent in her voice; she leans slightly closer to her visitor. I’m Bexley - Day Court - and I’m betting you’re the opportunity I was looking for. Her smile widens, warm and genuine this time. Miss…?

@Florentine <3

love, space

[Florentine]

f l o r e n t i n e

The dusk girl watches as night passes into day; sunlight melting beneath the growing shadows.

 
The twilight comes creeping up upon them. It whispers in their ears – the hum of evening flies and home-swept birds. Even the grasses seek their slumber, bodies barely rustling, as the night breathes its sleepy evening sighs.
 
Moonlight pours upon the ground; so white, so pure, so silvery slick. Upon the ground it draws their shadows that ripple and twist and beg them to dance. This girl, this nymph they call her, would dance until night came to consume her. Then she would dance on to the rhythm of her moon shadow.
 
What a pair they are, Bexley and Florentine: together drawn in shades of gold and wild honey. Night brings its cool touch, trailing it idly along their spines and over their shoulders. Shiver it begs of Florentine and she would, had Bexley not leaned close.
 
Heat.
 
Warm, rippling, flame-soft heat licks its way between the girls. It smolders and trails along their stretches of golden skin and fair, fair hair. Moon-bleached curls whisper along Florentine’s skin, tickling.
 
Bexley’s head tilts as humour skips and dances between them. It plays along the flower girl’s lips, pulling a smile from the corners of her dusk-hued mouth. Only words have space between the girls, their proximity an intimate thing despite the laughter that simmers between them.
 
“And what opportunities would a girl like you want with a girl like me?” The words chime as they hang in the dusky air, ruminating. Dark lashes fan over her cheek as her gaze skitters across the ground. The shadows swirled there, threatening to reach up the girls’ legs and within them she hears the whispers of the Night King.
 
Amethyst eyes reach up to take in the Solterran girl with her scent of sun, sand and scorching heat. She wonders what powers the Day King might have to banish the night. But it is only laughter that curls itself in her throat and coaxes her lips into a sardonic smile. Such powers were the playthings of the gods, not kings or queens.
 
Or so they say…
 
Through her tangled fringe – a meadow of golden sun and lavender flowers – Flora lets her eyes trickle over Bexley’s face. “Miss Florentine.” She says lightly, finally answering Bexley’s lingering question. “From the Dusk Court.” With a flare of her wings, up until now reserved for the Night King alone, Flora dips herself into a curtsey.
 
What curious nights these were turning into.


@Bexley O.O!

this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

[Bexley]

" BEXLEY BRIAR "

And what opportunities would a girl like you want with a girl like me?

Bexley’s eyes turn tempestuous, that’s the only word for it. A hundred different waves in that network of nerves behind her gaze, something turbulent and uncontainable, her gaze flashing dark in only the soft glow of the moonlight - all at once she is a wild girl again, that creature of her childhood, so selfish and obsessive. The night is gentle and warm around them, spreading so many gauzy shadows. Bexley falls into it full-force. 

Something hums in her ear, Calligo or a bird or the gentle murmuring of a bee, she couldn’t care less. Everything dims. She’s transported back to the days of her youth, back to Greer-Briar, to the time in which she had everything she wanted, because this feels like it again, what Florentine is giving her, what Bexley, the lustful, hedonistic sun-thing that she is, has been wanting for so long. Her body returns to its liquid and warmth, pooling in satisfaction. 

The golden girl turns to face her companion, fully this time, chest and legs twisting, and meets her gaze with a disastrous intensity. Her nostrils flare slightly as she inhales. It’s a shuddering breath, almost overwhelmed. The humor has gone from her face, replaced by something laviscious, incandescent. Whatever opportunities you’re not afraid to chase, she answers after that bated breath, voice dropping so low it’s almost gravelly - and a blush comes near to coloring her cheeks, but against all instinct she doesn’t look away, those arcane eyes stubbornly attached to each delicate line of Florentine’s face.

Of all things to happen next, Bexley would never expect a bow, especially not complete with the angelic flourishing of those gilded-gold wings - but it sparks a genuinely happy, almost sheepish smile that flickers on and off her face like the stuttering glow of a firefly. So it’s your time of day right now, yeah? For the first time her gaze drops from Flora’s, and she notices the dagger that hangs around the Dusk girl’s neck. Curiosity overtakes her, yet she forces down her immediate question, trying to decide which of a thousand to ask first. 

On a whim, she raises her head, takes a minuscule step forward - although there isn’t much space to be closed between them anyway - and brushes her muzzle, just barely,  against one of the many flowers studded in Florentine’s feral hair, the scent of lavender filling her lungs. Do you put these in yourself? Or do they grow here? Like a fairy’s?

@Florentine <3

love, space

[Florentine]

[quote pid='2316' dateline='1501626347']

f l o r e n t i n e

Florentine fancies that she sees the moment the Solterran girl, free-falls into the night. It was there in the sudden darkening of Bexley’s azure eyes. They were the sea turning inky black beneath roiling storm clouds. Intensity and passion still crash through that gaze; waves reaching to push and pull at Flora, drowning her in wild abandonment.
 
The twilight girl is tethered, held fast beneath the sun-girl’s gaze. She feels those eyes, draw across the lines of her face like a paintbrush, and wonders what art it creates within Bexley’s mind. How does the Solterran girl see her? It is a small voice, made more tremulous since her disastrous meeting with Charlemagne, that hopes she is beautiful to those sea-blue eyes.
 
Bexley’s words steal the smile from Florentine’s face as readily as it stole her own. Those words, their proposition, settle heavily between the golden girls. They do not leave space for playful smiles or toying laughs. Rather, like tempting caresses, provoking and enchanting, they slide across sun-kissed skin. They are dancing then twirling, exotic and alluring… tempting.
 
Was Florentine afraid? No. She was the girl that died. The girl that slipped through time into unknown worlds with greedy amethyst eyes and a thrill that sets her heart racing. And yet, here, where the haze of dusk, pulled them beyond light teasing and into the realm of secretively shadowed allure, Florentine was beginning to drown in that girl’s sea-blue gaze. Bexley keeps her there, boldly and suggestively, even as her cheeks turn warm.
 
The dusk girl’s skin tingles with want, with challenge. She runs her gaze like a whispering touch over Bexley’s lips, her eyelashes, the slant of her nose. But it is her lips that brush across the blush of Bexley’s cheek; hot breath fanning hotter, flushed skin.
 
It is a kiss that lingers, an answer framed in twilight.
 
The smile returns to Bexley’s face, drawing Flora’s eyes like moths to the flame of those lips. Riotous hair, thick and tangled, tumble its way forward, hiding Florentine’s face, her eyes, like a veil from the Solterran girl. But through those strands, steady amethyst watches as Bexley drinks in the setting sun.
 
“It is my time.” The flower girl hums finally letting her own eyes drift from caramel skin and azure eyes, to drink in the wild coming of the night.
 
The twilight girl is so absorbed in her silver moon, that she almost misses the brush of a muzzle against a lavender flower. Her head twists, purple eyes finding the sun-girl as she smiles, “No, they grow there.” Her eyes track a petal that falls to the earth at their feet. “Yes, like a fairy’s, I suppose…” Her smile is small, impish. She is the nymph in the woods, the girl of flowers and dancing and woodland music. That is what Lysander had once called her…
 
“Would you like one?” She asks, as whisper soft as Bexley’s challenge had been. A lilac bell flower untangles itself from the vines of honey hair as Florentine holds it before Bexley. “A gift to remember me by?” She asks from beneath her lashes, from behind that coy smile that playfully lifts the corner of her lips.
 
It is hope that has her wanting to be remembered by more than a flower, rather, a kiss.

@Bexley 

this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

[/quote]

[Bexley]

" BEXLEY BRIAR "

Bexley can’t remember the last time she was overwhelmed, yet here it comes and here she is, all dry and still suddenly half-drowned. Her heart thuds like a wild thing in the shallow parts of her chest, against bone that now seems much too delicate. The world is so bright, so close and so intense. It’s hard to decide if Bexley wants this or hates it - the rush of being around someone she enjoys, and then the decline of knowing she has to leave - the thrill of being enamored coupled with the disgust of being vulnerable - a hundred conflicting feelings that fight in so many small ways inside her body, that whirling mess of teeth and temper. The velvet of the night only amplifies this more. She realizes with horror that she now has to fight to keep her brain clear, to keep her head above water.

This is not what she came to Novus for. Not going to help her in any way. Not going to move her plan along or give her any foreseeable advantage. Yet she doesn’t leave, doesn’t even pull away. Inexplicably Bexley dares to lean closer.

Stupid, stupid girl, she says to herself - hums it under her breath, lets it sit under her tongue, a stone there, buried remarkably deep.

She does not miss the way that Florentine’s gaze lingers on her face,  the weight of her stare something hot and luscious. How is she so uncomfortable and yet so intrigued? Then Florentine’s breath is whispering across her cheek, and her mind goes blank, so completely blank that she her nerves seen to go numb, her limbs light and tingly, a blushing heat spreading to all corners of her body. She wants to flinch but doesn’t - lets Flora’s lips brush her cheek with only a resulting shudder, much less than what her body is asking for. 

Would you like one? Her immediate thought is another kiss? Bexley gives her a wide stare, realizes she’s still talking about the flowers, and then, with a sheepish smile, nods. Delicately she dips her head to match Florentine’s height and with the careful movement of one shoulder pushes forward a clump of curls in offering. From under her hair that golden chain starts to peek, a supernatural shine in the darkness. She measures her inhales, her exhales, her swallows. The night presses in on all sides, warm and insistent. 

I won’t need a gift to remember you, she flirts in that ever-lowering voice, looking up at Florentine from underneath a thick swash of lashes. Now the power returns to her body - all at once, a heady, sugary blackout rush. A lazy smile tugs Bexley’s lips. With a bat of those lashes she lifts her head again, tilts it coquettishly at the purple-eyed girl, and says, light and innocent, Why, are you worried you’re not making an impression? Because I promise you, you are.

@Florentine <3

love, space

[Florentine]

f l o r e n t i n e

Her lips still tingle.
 
The memory of that kiss still plays across her mind, warming her body and ghosting her lips. It beckons a smile from her lips and it is like nothing she has ever smiled before. It is a secretive curve that lies there, shy and thrilled and threatening to burst with wild abandonment. But the starlight girl doesn’t let it - she keeps that smile small, a shade for the glow of her cheeks.
 
Florentine is a flame that Bexley has ignited and she wonders what could ever snuff her out. This fire the Solterran girl has sparked and fanned, and continues to do so, it is a hungry thing and Flora is not sure she will survive it. She would become just ash upon the wind. Again.
 
Would you like another one?
 
How long was that wide-eyed stare held? How many centuries did it truly last before blinking away, for it felt like it took until the end of Time. Florentine was just a statue beneath Bexley’s gaze, held suspended by suggestion, by misinterpretation. It stops the dusk girl’s wayward heart, ties her tongue and flushes her cheek more and more. This girl is burning and she is falling.  She cannot speak, cannot dare to think that Bexley might be entertaining the thought of another kiss.
 
But it was all over in the blink of an eye.
 
It is both relief and an unnamable sadness that creep their way through Flora’s body when Bexley’s eyes become softer, when her smile becomes sweeter and her head lowers for a flower. The flower Flora still holds with pounding heart and flushed skin.
 
It is with trembling breath that the gilded girls draw together like magnets. Could the flower girl stop that small, small step? Could she stop the sway of her body that brings her a little closer to better feel the brush of silk skin against silk skin? Maybe she could resist…
 
She doesn’t.
 
New sensations play across her lips now: the brush of soft starlight hair and tangled flowers. Here, this close, this intimate, the sun-girl smells of dust and jasmine, of hot nights and hotter days. Then there is lavender too, the purple flower a bright contrast within Bexley’s cream hair. Flora likes this scent upon Bexley’s skin and it is too effortful just to tear her eyes away, to lean back.
 
There is a pull for every inch she pulls back; a pull that tugs at her skin, her abdomen, her chest…
 
Bexley’s voice, low with passion, soft with flirtation, lures Flora’s attention back. Those words, spoken from sundrenched lips, set the smaller girl’s spine to shiver with their suggestion. And yet, alas, there is a creeping doubt. An insecurity rising like a dragon from the place Charlemagne laid it to slumber. It is worry that has Florentine’s dusk eyes lowering, shielding her thoughts from the sun-girl.
 
A moment, maybe two, passes until bravery pulls that amethyst gaze up and up and up. Up passed long snow-white and gilded-gold legs, up the groove of a slender throat, with pulse pounding - what would it be like, to feel the pulse there? Would it race like her own, a matching rhythm of lust and wonder? - and up to eyes that glow sea blue. That same bravery dances a flirty smile across Flora’s lips and has her saying, “For the right reasons, I hope.” A pause, a breath, and then, “One might say the feeling is mutual.”
 
A glimmer of light from within the threads of Bexley’s hair, captures the Terrastellan’s attention. Slowly her lips lift to feel the golden chain that once lay hidden. “And what it this?” She asks, lips tugging playfully at the glimmering gold.


@Bexley

this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart