The oasis offers her little solace, but at this point Bexley will take what she can get. With delicate movement she slips into the water, one limb at a time, and freezes against the chill of the pond before she can relax into it - the gash on her shoulder stings with a sharp, insistent pain, but it’s gone before Bexley even lets go of the breath she’s been holding. That dumb-fuck Teryr, throwing her around like a rag doll. The right side of her body is sore to the touch and, where it can be seen through that insistent golden skin, a gauzy, gory blackish-purple. She thinks of herself as a sunset in its last swatches. A peach gone too ripe. Bexley would appreciate the aesthetic if it didn’t hurt so damn much.
Summer is in full swing, meaning that in conjunction with her hunt injuries, Bexley is sweating, sleeping, cursing the days away. She loves the heat and the sunlight, but only to a point - that point has been reached. Those usually perfect curls have gone frizzy in the heat, indigo eyes glassy with a dog-days morbidity. After days of throwing herself directly into Solis’ reach, her skin is too fragile now for anything but lazing in the shade or deep in water, which is why she finds herself in the Oasis yet again, comforted by the chill on her sore muscles, the tranquility of this corner of Solterra, the whispering of date palms and a hot breeze the only noises, no company to disturb her.
Of course it doesn’t last long, and when Bexley realizes who’s interrupted to her, she grits her teeth in order to hold back a long groan, eyes fluttering shut as she attempts to keep her expression calm. Avdotya, she manages with a surprising amount of civility, if not any affection to match it. Long time, no see. One azure eye cracks open to focus on the shape coming toward her. That dark swash of lashes flutter, almost uncertainly, but she leaves it to the warrior to make the next move.
The petulant look that festered upon Avdotya's face spoke more than enough of her mood as she traipsed through the desert sand. Her body ached and her legs protested every lazy step she took; the elder teryr may have been dead, but it left her - and surely the others - with a bothersome parting gift that lasted beyond its last breath. Now she sought to lick her wounds, and there was no better place than the oasis she so often visited.
Most days, the woman was fortunate enough to find herself alone in the waters, but today she was not so lucky. There was an unmistakably palomino shape already there, one that she recognized easily as the sarcastic mare she'd encountered twice too many times now. A hot breath fell from her lips. She debated walking right through the oasis for a flicker of a moment, but the mere thought of backing off nearly made her chuckle. Avdotya sought the cool kiss of the water, and so she would have it - brat or not.
Had Bexley not said anything, she likely would have dismissed the girl's presence and simply wallowed in silence. Without much surprise, that was not the case; however, she had to admit that the lack of sarcasm in her words left her in feigned awe as she slid into the water. She was not at all elegant about her entrance, it was really more of a careless stagger that sent small, choppy waves every which way around her. It became blatantly obvious that Avdotya had little interest in upholding her usual grace today, and so she cast a lazy glance to her newfound company and assumed the position of a glorified hippopotamus. "To what do I owe the cordiality?" she asked, meeting Bexley's gaze with her own fiery one. "Did the teryr knock the sharpness from your tongue, too?"
Perhaps this little run-in with the mare would prove more enjoyable than she first thought. There was nothing like good banter to rejuvenate the mind- surely Bexley would be willing partner, she seemed to have some steam that needed to be loosed anyway.
She surveys Avdotya with something like suspicion, though it can’t be accessed by the naked eye - that distrust sitting stony in the bottom of her chest, invisible, though, to Bexley, obvious. Azure eyes half-closed, she watches the warrior enter the water next to her and holds her tongue for a long moment. Avdotya already doesn’t like her, so it’s not like there’s anything left to prove; besides, the gashes on her side have left Bexley with less energy than usual, and so in lieu of speech she watches choppy waves litter the water, lining it with threads of silver, spraying up the tiniest flecks of white foam.
Did the teryr knock the sharpness from your tongue, too? Bexley’s ear flicks, showing an annoyance all its own, but still she says nothing. From underneath a swash of dark lashes she raises her glance to meet Avdotya’s, and debates an answer: to fight back? To cement the warrior’s negative feelings about her? To make an effort at some sort of civility? Within a blink she is able to answer, voice unaffected, Unfortunately for you, no. Bex tilts her head, sends a waterfall of salt-crunchy curls tumbling to her side. Only Solis Himself will ever get me to shut up.
A wide shark-smile crosses her face, a crescent moon flash of teeth, bubbling warmly - loudly - to speak of satisfaction. Lashes fluttering with false propensity, she continues, Looks like it knocked out a little bit of your permanent bad mood, though, hmm? Amusement flashes through her azure eyes, something excited and unafraid, laying in wait of what will hopefully be an interesting answer.
Her gaze lingered on Bexley until she was no longer satisfied with her wallowing. She adjusted herself to stand upright with the water to her chest, then took a slow breath. The mare's answer came as no surprise. "Then I shall pray for his good will." Avdotya replied with ease and little expression. She nearly sounded as though she were being literal in the way she spoke, something that was as common as sand in the desert; the sharpness of her primal accent often obscured the tone in her voice, but it was of little concern to her how others interpreted her words. Bexley was sure to figure it out, she presumed.
Eventually her skin had soaked enough from the oasis and she began to drift towards the sandy shore. It was refreshing, the water, but Avdotya knew the dry heat best- to be out of it for too long left her feeling restless. As she emerged from the depths, the woman spun an back to Bexley and paused to curl her neck to look at her. "Perhaps." She said, turning again to the sand. "A little blood-spill is good for the soul." Her voice carried over the spattering water until her hooves sunk easily into dry sand, leading into a thorough shake to rid the dribbling from her belly.
Having recently visited the oasis and finding herself in the ever-so-pleasant company of Torstein, the mare gave thought to bringing down fruit from a nearby palm. Of course, the three-eyed stallion accomplished that with the grace of a newborn child- Avdotya, on the other hand, had a far more graceful method. She collected her spear from its place wedged between two stones and cast it towards a trio of dates, immediately sending them careening down from their place in the fronds. She looked over at Bexley, still in the water. "Tell me: what brought a commoner to throw herself among warriors?" Came her question. For a moment, it almost sounded like she was expressing a shred of interest.
It’s frustrating that Avdotya never moves from her look of stoniness. Not that Bexley expected anything else from her but that blank stare and slight frown, as that’s the only expression she’s ever seen on the warriors’ face, but still - for someone as extroverted as Bexley it’s strange be holding up such a stilted conversation, when usually she would have already made an impression. Despite the spear and the scars and the muscles that line Avdotya’s back, what Bexley finds most intriguing about her, and most scary, is her evident lack of interest in the outside world. What kind of person is so comfortable being so far removed?
Of course, she says nothing about that. Like Avdotya would give a shit.
Through half-lidded eyes Bexley watches her companion emerge from the water to sling her spear at a bunch of dates - the movement used to be impressive, and the heft of it still is, somewhat, but knowing what it did to the Teryr, knocking down fruit can’t compare. Fifth limb, Bex remarks absently. It’s admirable how practiced Avdotya has become over what must have been years, the weapon now an extension of her own body. Bexley stands straighter. Water sloughs from her damp hair and off the gentle curves of her body, drip-drip-dripping in the yellow light, running the contours of each muscle.
Avdotya’s next question seems almost genuinely interested, but Bex isn’t stupid enough to get excited over it. She simply blinks back, serene. I threw myself among warriors the moment I joined the Day Court, Bexley points out, at long last beginning to exit the water, slow, short steps that barely move her aching body. Her eyes glitter in the harsh light underneath those whispering lashes. Why would I live here only to shy away from the sight of blood? Would be a little hypocritical, she finishes, shrugging. May not have a spear, but I do have some sharp edges.
Dripping in water as she stands on the bank, Bex tilts her head to watch Avdotya and half-snarls, half-grins, showing off those bleached bone teeth.
The sweetness of the dates she felled was a delight to taste buds accustomed to bitter, dry grasses. The woman savoured it on her tongue for a few moments while an ear idly spun to Bexley's comment, prompting a half-smile to crack her lips. She was not wrong; her spear was an indefinite extension of her very being. It was her lethal accuracy - one that took years to perfect - that defined Avdotya and it was the last remaining connection she had with her beloved mother. Its importance, then, was immeasurable.
As she finished her third date, the mare finally turned her full attention to Bexley. She felt a trickle of admiration for her spill as she gave her explanation, but she also could not help but notice the naivety the reflected her words. There were always leeches to feed off of the strong, to survive off of others when they were incapable. Solterra was no exception to such filth. "I would not trust all of your comrades to have such an opinion," she replied coolly, "we live in a desert, do we not? There are snakes hidden all around you." The younger mare had a way of crawling under her skin more than many others could, but it was for that reason Avdotya found herself quietly growing something of a fondness for her- a fondness that ushered her willingness to impart a few pieces of advice.
She looked down at the two remaining dates and reached out a single hoof, knocking them towards her counterpart in silent offering. Too many of those and Avdotya would lose her leanness. Her eyes wandered back to Bexley, one brow suddenly crooked as she spoke of edges. "If your performance in Elatus speaks of anything, it is that those edges are in need of refinement." She told her plainly, her expression mimicking the tone of her voice. Only after a second or two had passed did that subtle, wry smirk wind its way back.
Despite herself, Bexley can’t help enjoying this unexpected interaction. She gazes upon Avdotya almost reverently, and the silence that passes between them is comfortable, respectful, for they may not be friends, but at least they don’t have to be at each other’s throats. The Teryr fight has humbled Bexley ever so slightly, and though she’s loathe to admit it, she can’t help admiring Avodtya’s strength, her stoicism, a facet of hardiness she’s never been able to harness for herself. Bexley has always been passionate, hot-blooded, too easy to aggravate; when she’s not careful, her expressions are too obvious, too blatant and fervid. She doubts Avdotya has ever had such a problem.
Only a moment passes until Avdotya brings up the opinions of their peers, and at that Bexley’s lips purse, her eyebrows drawing together in a lazy expression of displeasure. I don’t care too much about their opinions. It’s a frank statement, more honest than many of Bexley’s have been. Of course it’s nice to be liked, but she is not so insecure that she counts on other’s approval, not so uncertain of her abilities that she needs to be validated; indeed, Bex has always been a stubborn believer that there is a kind of power in her blatant disregard for others’ view of her, too confident and too set in her views to care if she is disliked. She glances at Avdotya calmly: I would assume you didn’t, either.
Her gaze drops at the motion of the dates, watching in mild surprise as they roll almost to her chest, fat bodies bumping against the sand, tumbling and rolling from the force of Avdotya’s hoof. A grin splits Bexley’s bone-white lips as she takes one between her teeth. Chewing against the caramel sweetness, her ears flicker in listening to the warrior’s critique, and with a snort Bex answers warmly, Yeah, I’ll give you that. No use pretending otherwise. With uncharacteristic force, she spits the now-clean date pit onto the sand in front of her, where it skitters and bounces before landing in the dunes. I’m sure you could teach me a thing or two.
With that hanging in the air, Bexley attempts to shake the water from her body, though still it drips from the multitude of curls across her nape and even the lashes she’s forced to keep blinking against the hot eye of Solis.
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