The fare maiden's name has whistled form his lips as he left the court, wings spread and headed in no other direction but towards the serenity that the Oasis might provide. Maxence had considered Seraphina's propositions and advice and so would set out to question Bexley and set her and the commoners with a task; and a very important one at that.
Solidifying their relationship with Dusk was a plan Day would guard safety. It was not to be trifled with, or their small faction would surely falter - the loss of such an alliance would delay progress, specifically in living conditions and health. For these reasons Maxence had sought out Bexley, hoping she was either at the court or already at the oasis in order to present her with a diplomatic mission.
Parties and fanfare were certainly not the lion's expertise, so of course he had sought out the help of someone he assumed was greatly versed in it. A gathering here at the oasis while autumn was still young and the hot weather was still mild was a gentle, friendly way to initiate peace between two courts. A feast of sorts.
Damn him for paying so much attention. Half-asleep Bexley’s ear flicks at the sound of wings beating far above her head, and rolling her cheek to lay flat against the warm sand, she blinks once, twice, at the blue-yellow sky: there, the silhouette of a body outstretched in the clouds. An exasperated snort floods from her nostrils.
As he descends, Bexley plants one hoof into the sand and shoves upward, until she’s sitting mostly propped up at the edge of the oasis - it’s still warm in Solterra, and she’s left the comfort of the Day Court to soak up summer’s last dregs of white sun, her skin running hot, beading sweat over her bones. Lashes lowered against the light, she watches Maxence’s approach with muted interest. The prodigal son returns. With a coquettish blink, she continues, What do you need me for?
Her falsetto notes were what drew Maxence's attention to her flaxen figure, wondering how he had missed her among the water and vegetation. With a bedazzled blink of suprrise, Maxence flatly spoke the woman's name once again. "Bexley" he greeted, taking the opportunity to stride forth in her direction. "Hard at work I see" was his next utter, this time not deigning to look her way for fear of causing his innards to turn with both anguish and jealousy at seeing someone actually relaxing.
Without invitation he slipped into the oasis beside the ledge upon which she reclined, a sigh escaping his nares and oceanic eyes whithering closed as the cool water rushed over his itching skin and aching joints, turning the crystal water sandy. "Seraphina wants us to solidify alliances with Rannveig" he whispered, eyes remaining close,d his voice drifting lower and quieter the longer he lay in the water. "She thinks a celebration of sorts would do the trick..." this he smirked ever-so-slightly, but still he awarded the idea some merit. "You're good at that sort of thing are you not? Organising?" the then prodded, for the first time since entering the oasis opening his eyes to find Mexley's eyes of a similar radiant colour.
She’s not surprised by the utter tactlessness of his introduction, nor by the flat calmness of the his voice, though still a grim spark of disappointment flares in her chest - quiet and irrepressible. A subtle tilt of those bone-white lips turns her fragmented smile to a frown. His hard at work comment is something of a low blow to be handing her - with the garden done, all the commoner’s job’s have been completed, leaving them with little of urgency to do - but Bexley bites her tongue, for once not in the mood to argue with him. Petty little bastard, says something venomously from the recesses of her brain.
Bex listens to the proposition with little more than a flick of her ear. Her blue eyes are fixed on Maxence with an intense sort of caution, as if she’s really going over the words in her head, and her gaze does not shift from trailing him even as he slips into the Oasis, spraying shards of glassy water that fleck the sand around them . Rannveig. So their prospects are focused on the Dusk Court now… unsurprising considering Solterra’s obvious distaste for Denocte, and their less aggressive but no less disrespectful opinion of those who live in Delumine. Organizing? Sure. A smirk crosses Bexley’s face, wide and obviously self-satisfying as she meets the commander’s gaze. Celebrating, definitely.
Then the simplest questions of all: When and where?
While their quarrel with Denocte seemed either at its head or at an end, Maxence dare not make any comment about it. It was sure to strike a daring conversation about bad decisions, could-haves, would-haves and should-haves— all impractical dreams to Maxence now.
It was the gilded maiden's sharp enthusiasm, her knife-point lashes and tantalising grin that had already convinced the sovereign that she was up to the task at hand. "Very well" Was all she would get in response, his eyes of distant oceans tracing the vines and greenery protecting the oasis from outside view.
"Here, the oasis, and as soon as possible" was his instructions "I don't know if the court could host such an event. It's likely the building would just crumble into a pile..."
It was true; the day court was not in the best shape but it was sturdy and had, so far, stood the test of time. Perhaps it was Maxence's insecurities that lead him to chose a more exotic location - a highlight of their northern sand pit. "I wonder if we could move the Teryr skull over from the canyon..." he pondered breathlessly, invisioning a giant teryr skull plonked by the Oasis' entrance to give the visitors the illusion that they culled the species on a daily basis.
As soon as the words leave Maxence’s lips, Bexley’s eyes glaze over, turn mirror blue instead of frost. She gazes at the oasis with sudden reverence, heart picking up speed in her chest, and it’s obvious to se the turn of her brain, the gears grinding, as already she falls into a whirlwind of planning and excitement, a faint, gauzy smile playing over her lips. In her mind the oasis sparkles with torchlight in the sunset, silk stretched between the palm trees, the fat bodies of dates on burnished platters: the many mingling bodies of silver and gold, Dusk and Day intertwining.
She exhales loudly - ecstatically - and faces the sovereign with a wild smirk. Sure, says Bex. Prop it up against the rocks, stuff the eyeholes with desert flowers. A centerpiece. Her smile widens. The whole thing will be perfect. Don’t worry that thick head of yours. She blows him a kiss part mocking and part genuinely affectionate, excitement sparking just under her skin, and without another word begins to climb to her feet, blonde hooves digging crescents into the sand.
To watch Bexley's mind work was a wonder to behold, the crevices of her skull seeming to bloom as her eyes glazed with concentration. Ideas; the kind he could never think of were stirring in her mind, and while Maxence usually would not care less it was something that brought a substantial smile to his face. He had never seen her react like that— she had never seemed so enthusiastic about something before, or if she had she had never let it slip through the cracks. "Well," Maxence spoke in order to break the extended silence, though just as the word left his mouth so did words from the musky lips of his companion. "—Oh?"
She liked his Teryr skull idea? He had thought of it mainly to intimidate all who came to the celebration, but as a decoration? He supposed he could try to make that happen, though the skull likely weighed at least ten times his own weight— he'd likely need five pegasi with ropes and more to transport it. "I'll see what I can do" He uttered as she turned to leave, taking his soaked body from the rich, quenching waters of the oasis and flexing his wings outward to dry momentarily.
"Oh, and Bexley" he would then proceed, lifting a foot upwards onto a rock in preparation for take-off, wings flared and at the ready "Thank you."
And with that he was gone.
