It's the Full Moon on a late summer night and what better way to spend it than doing target practice?
Morrighan couldn't sleep, as per usual. Unfortunately, her insomnia has gotten increasingly worse since becoming pregnant. She figured she may as well start using her extra time awake feeling restless to do something productive. Perhaps it can even be therapeutic and she can take out her frustrations on some corn stalks and sticks.
Bram helps her put together four targets in a row. They managed to find the flattest possible spot in the prairie, which wasn't exactly easy. One target is still at a slant and another is higher than the rest, but it's better than nothing.
While her magic has gotten stronger over time, she still finds herself getting tired more quickly when conjuring fire out of thin air. It typically works more easily if she has the help of some kindling or dried grass. Therefore, it will be important for her to practice in case none of that is around her during combat.
Focusing her eyes on the first target, she conjures a small ball of fire. It hovers by her side and slowly lifts up to eye level. Morr knows she has to act more quickly or she'll use up her energy too fast. She takes a deep breath and on her exhale, she launches the fire towards the target. Of course, she misses and it lands about a foot away from the actual target and sets a section of the grass on fire. As quickly as she can, she trots forward to stamp it out. The movement is a bit uncomfortable being so much wider than she usually is. Her normal gate is replaced with mostly waddling, but she tries to ignore the discomfort.
Maybe this won't be therapeutic.
Morrighan decides this time to step closer to see if she'll have more luck not being at such a distance. Hopefully in time, she'll be able to hit a target from farther away so she can make surprise attacks on her opponent.
As she readies herself for another try, there is movement to her right and it's in the form of another horse. She can hear Bram growling nearby.
"Moira," he says through their bond, but Morr doesn't break concentration just yet. Instead, she lifts her dagger into the air and it ignites until it's surrounded by bright flames. The weapon is pointed directly at Moira as she approaches, but Morr does not throw it (as much as she'd like to). For now, it stays close by.
"What do you want?" she hisses, her tone being a combination of disgust and dread. This is the last horse she'd want to talk to on a sleepless night.
Although differences cloud their eyes and disdain colors their hearts, they are both of Denocte and both harbor secrets and worries and troubles that keep them awake. Ghosts follow them in their dreams, grievances and annoyances follow them during the day. Moira often sees Morr in the halls of the castle, Neerja tells her well in advance so that their paths do not completely cross.
She is cordial, if not distant, in passing while Morrighan is simply rude. Ignoring the Emissary whenever she can, the Regent has only become more sour and disapproving as her pregnancy progresses. Still, she carries a child of the Court, and Moira is still a physician, still responsible for the lives of her people, even those unborn.
There is no smile on her face as she approaches. Neerja glowers beside her, restlessly twitching her tail and huffing every now and again. They come side by side, a unit once more in sync - as much as they can be - since Moira's disappearance for months and sudden reemergence. She has not approached the Regent even after her return, only monitoring from a distance. Oh, but the time is near when the child will be born, even the phoenix can see that. Morr's slender curves have widened, ripples along her sides when her daughter reaches out to the world she cannot yet touch are more apparent, and her walk has become more troubled.
The Tonnerre girl is not worried for the mare herself, simply for the lives at risk should anything go wrong. “Morrighan, Bram," she says gently, inclining her head just so while Neerja shifts from paw to paw. “I couldn't sleep," she states at last, knowing that Morr would only snarl if she even hinted that she was checking in on her as an expecting mother. Complications could be deadly, and even Moira is not so heartless as to let the child of one that hates her so unjustly die.
“speech” @'Morrighan' please excuse this pile of trash
The Emissary's absence did not go unnoticed by Morrighan. It had been both suspicious and relieving. Of course, Antiope didn't take her suggestion of demoting Moira since it was Isra who trusted the woman first (which she still doesn't understand to this day). Apparently that meant they just had to deal with it and let it slide. Well, Morrighan never forgets and it takes a lot for her to forgive.
Her dagger does not waver and, if anything, the fire flares a little more wildly. Moira's bonded is by her side and Bram has taken to Morr's, hackles already raised. Who knew she would come to appreciate the presence of a wolf.
Somehow the Regent doesn't believe the woman is as much of an insomniac as her. "Uh huh," she says, unconvinced. "So you thought spying on me would be a good way to pass the time?" Her eyes meet the woman's then and they are about as wild as her fire.
There are many things she wants to say and many more things she wants to do. It would be so easy to throw the dagger into the woman's heart and be done with it, but then she'd lose the entire foundation she's built here. Unfortunately.
She plunges the dagger down at a curve so it pierces the ground by Moira's feet. The hilt points up, nearly in line with her throat, and the fire slowly disappears. It's a warning not to test her, although Moira seems to love doing that any time they have to interact.
Beside her, a low growl rumbles in Bram's throat, but he does not show teeth just yet. Maybe, the Emissary will get the hint, but Morrighan almost hopes she doesn't. Even though she's pregnant, she misses the adrenaline rush from a fight.
you, like Rome, were built on ashes, and you, like a phoenix, know how to rise and resurrect
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Bram is quick to raise his hackles, a warning to the phoenix and her beloved tigress. Still, they do not digress from their path, no distractions, no journeys into the unknown to steal her away. She's an arrow striking true, stopping only when she's near enough to count the Regent's breaths, to watch the rise and fall of her chest and the movement of her sides. Golden eyes trace all of her, from the blade to the quivering of her sides to the wolf steady at her heels. He is trained well, she thinks, but gently questions instead, "Are you doing anything that deserves to be spied upon?" Her words are not meant to brook an argument or begin a fight, but it is always a fight with Morrighan. There's never an easy way.
At the Estate, there were others with the personality of a donkey that matched the Regent's. Then, Moira cared much less about the people and their opinions, enough so that it was easier to ignore them and live her life in silence, in solitude as she'd chosen to eventually.
Here, that isn't an option. "I am not spying on you, Morrighan. There is no reason to keep eyes on the Regent of Denocte, and why should there be?" Lilting voice tilts upward just as her gaze does. An eye follows the graceful arc of the blade, watches it glint golden in the light of Morrighan's fire even as she vanquishes her flames much as she'd like to snuff out Moira's own light. Usually, she would raise a brow. Before, she would even rise to the challenge, step forward and encroach upon a space that is not yet hers. Today, she does not. She is not here for a war, for a bloodbath that she can feel Morrighan breathing in and out.
One of them wants to taste iron.
One of them wants only peace.
With a sigh, she lets her eyes float out over the land, over the swaying of the grasses under the silver scythe moon that hugs the sky so tightly. Way up there, she doesn't seem like she'll ever fall. Eventually, of course, she will. They all will in their own time. Even her, a young immortal, would find a place to rest her head a final time when the final curtain call comes. She closes her eyes and lifts her nose to the sky, breathing in the freshness away from their city. With a smile and a puff of air out, she states "This is as much my court as it is yours, you know. If I remember, it was mine first," and there is a sardonic smile she keeps from the woman who would wield a flame before she would a word. Hidden in the folds of the dark, she composes herself and clears her throat. Neerja stalks off into the brush at last, leaving the two to bark and howl until they are content or chase one another from their peace again.
Whatever peace they might find...
@'morrighan' | "Speaking." | I hope this is okay. thank you for your patience. i cannot wait to continue !!! <3
The Regent can't remember a time when her blood didn't boil in the presence of Moira. It doesn't matter what the woman is doing either; just seeing her face and hearing her voice is enough to set her off. Having to be here for this long with her is driving her crazy and she just wishes she could be alone.
Morrighan simply rolls her eyes when Moira claims she's not spying on her. She's not sure why else the woman would be out here talking to her since they're far from being friends. "What, so you're just here for a conversation?" she sneers and pulls the dagger back up from the ground. For now, she doesn't aim it at Moira but keeps it at her side.
"This is as much my court as it is yours, you know. If I remember, it was mine first."
This sets Morrighan off again and her nostrils flare. Even if the woman didn't say it to take a jab at Morr, that's what it feels like. It's like they are in some kind of competition and they each want to be on top (Morrighan more so, of course). If she were a wolf, she would snarl, but instead, Bram does it for her. She notices Moira's tiger leave like she's sick of their shit.
"Funny, I don't recall you spending as much time in the Court as much as I've been. Even before I became Regent," she snaps back and narrows her eyes. All the days she monitored the borders and the alleyways, the most she saw of Moira was that day at Raum's memorial. It doesn't seem possible that they just never happened to cross paths. "Was it a pretty boy or girl that swept you off your feet?" She laughs, although it's more like mockery. She thinks back to all the times she had been under Al'Zahra's spell. Of course, even then, she didn't let it get in the way of taking care of her Court.
"I don't know why Isra trusted you, or why Antiope does too," she says while lifting the dagger, pointing it at Moira again. Then within a split second, she throws it at the target. It doesn't quite make the center, but it's close. "Because I don't."
Before she goes to retrieve her dagger, Morrighan gets close to Moira's face and looks at her right in the eyes. "Prove to me that you can be trusted and that you give a shit, then maybe I'll see differently." She turns away to walk to the target. Maybe it's a threat, maybe it's a challenge. However Moira takes it, the Regent just hopes she won't have to look at the woman's face much longer tonight.
