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Played by Offline Obsidian [PM] Posts: 19 — Threads: 3
Signos: 25
Night Court Entertainer
Female [She/her/hers] // 5 [Year 499 Summer] // 14.3 hh // Hth: 20 — Atk: 0 — Exp: 16 // Active Magic: N/A // Bonded: N/A
#1

MINYA

take that look from off your face
you ain't gunna burn my heart out





Her smile is wicked wild as smoke peels from her tongue like a dragon. It unfurls reaching for the sky like a black specter. Fire swells along her flank bright and fierce. It rises like a serpent around her limbs as she dances, climbing up from metal jewelry that winds like a serpent around her limbs. “Serpents.” Amun said as he gave her the gilt twisted armlets by the light of the camp fire. “Just like you.” He had quipped with a dangerous smirk.
 
Now she wore them boldly, ever ready to be the serpent everyone said she was. Fine chains hand like spidersilk between her antlers each link a reminder for every time they have called her a spider, a widow.
 
She smiles like a goddess as she swallows the flames, as she breathes them brighter than Denocte’s dragons into the air. The tattoo, high, high up on the inside of her thigh blinks bone white as she dances through smoke and flame.
 
Bells chime and jewels glitter and feathers drift whimsically as she dances. She has perfected seduction, she is the magician of illusion – though no magic sings in her blood and how fiercely proud that makes her! She smiles like a drug. She smiles like a knife. Never has she carried a blade, her weapon is her body and fighting is for barbarians.
 
Her dance ends and the crowd circling her erupts. Salt is thrown upon the bonfires that flare and hiss and flames leap into the skies. All the markets are wild this night as the summer solstice prowls like a lion through the wild markets.
 
Laughter pours like champagne from her lips, it purrs leonine as she stalks silver cold, ember bright out from the middle of the circle. No trinkets are left this night and Minya does not expect them. For this is not a Scarab night, this is a night for travelling performers, for gypsies and pilgrims. Her nerves are alight, memories flooding this girl who once was content to be a travelling girl, who performed on the Denocte streets and in the dust bowl of Solterra. Until she remembered, until she remembered she was a noble’s daughter and jewels and money meant everything. Until she remembered her poisoned mother lying dead from a nobles greed. Then she returned to money and glory. There she hated herself, there she could not look in the mirror at the girl of lavish luxury and remember her mother who died.
 
So this night is special. So this night is one to forget the Scarab and the betrayals and the knives and the court games. Here she laughs with liquor on her lips and plucks honey cakes from vendors stalls and pays them in diamond necklaces. Her she – collides with a creature of gold, her honey cake knocked from her grasp and falling into the dust.
 
“Careful.” She hisses to the stranger and the serpents climbing her limbs gleam wickedly in the firelight. Incense and smoke plume from her skin as her ears crumble into the pink silk of her mane.


@Bexley

| "speaks" | notes: eee <3
rallidae





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Played by Offline REDANDBLACK [PM] Posts: 256 — Threads: 31
Signos: 525
Day Court Regent
Female [she/her/hers] // 7 [Year 497 Spring] // 15.2 hh // Hth: 30 — Atk: 30 — Exp: 55 // Active Magic: Light Manipulation // Bonded: N/A
#2


b e x l e y
the merry girl who became lot's bride, the happy woman who loved her wicked city;

B
exley watches from the sidelines with a gaze that is less-blue and more-flame. The salt-lick bonfires that climb into the sky and touch the sooty clouds shine like a mirror against the dark of her gaze; the yellow light and its opposite shadows climb her skin like vines, like rivers. In half-shadow she stands and looks. The market roils with the movement of bodies and the din of conversation. They all look like shadow puppets—the jerky way they move, how dark they stand against the lit bricks, their shadows rippling like disturbed water. Against it all she is the only bright and shiny thing, the only suggestion of gold in a world striped with black and silver.

(If Acton were here, she thinks, it would have been different. Not necessarily less sad or less nausea-inducing. But they had been so alike. So terribly two-of-a-kind. And now, no matter how close Bexley stands to the moving swarm in the streets, she feels… alone.)

Her skin burns hot under the fire-breath that spreads from the middle of the cobbled streets. When it grows too bright to bear, she finally shies away from the tumbling flames and wiggles like a fish through the crush of bodies, upstream to the deepest, darkest heart of the markets. She glances only vaguely at the stalls as she passes them. They are mostly the same—slimy vendors passing off thin alloy as real gold necklaces, cones of high-piled spices with scents thick enough to singe her nostrils, weapons in pretty, embroidered scabbards. None of it catches her eye. She has had enough of material possessions to last a lifetime. Now she is possessed by the desire for things more valuable and harder to find, things she does not exactly want to admit.

At the very end of the road, another fire booms into existence. (Gods, how many do they need?) But this one smells different. more sage than salt. And the smoke, when it hits the air, curls up like so many snakes, pretty-winding, full of teeth. They make flowers in the still, cold air. Slowly, she pulls toward it, like a moth drawn to a lantern. Her breath slows and yet deepens. Against the bright prinpicks of the stars, the smoke makes new clouds, a mockery of blackened dusk flooding the cobbled horizons.

Just as she breaks into the circle, stretching cautiously to see into the pit, someone rushes into her.

“For fuck’s sake,” Bexley mutters, not loud enough to reach anyone’s ears but her own. She grinds to an abrupt halt. Her gaze snaps up to meet Minya’s with some measure of coldness, if not pure disdain. Some of her irritation slips away, though, as their gazes meet. The idiot is pretty, pretty like her (which is to say, too pretty for her own good). Silver eyes, rivers of pink hair, and oh, Bexley does not miss the serpents that crawl up her legs—she smiles at them, sharp and warm, and tilts her head like a dog.

Bexley has always been as cute as she is hungry.

“I’ll try my best to be more careful next time,” she purrs, “Although I can’t say I regret it entirely—“ and there is no way to pretend that the way her gaze rakes over Minya is anything less than suggestive, nor even a little ashamed. Bexley leans her weight back a little with supreme casualty. “I assume you’re expecting me to buy you a new cake. Shall we?”

And she nods with a drawling smile to the vendor to the side of them, who is trying not to burn the goods she’s baking while she watches the two of them with rapt attention.

@Minya | "speaks" | notes: <3 
rallidae






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Played by Offline Obsidian [PM] Posts: 19 — Threads: 3
Signos: 25
Night Court Entertainer
Female [She/her/hers] // 5 [Year 499 Summer] // 14.3 hh // Hth: 20 — Atk: 0 — Exp: 16 // Active Magic: N/A // Bonded: N/A
#3

MINYA

take that look from off your face
you ain't gunna burn my heart out


The girl is gold. Gold like the sun. Gold like her most lavish jewelry. Yet Minya’s eyes do not linger, not when her cake is gone, trampled under dancing feet. Serpents twists and twine as ire seeps like morphine into her blood. Her ears fall flat, flat upon her skull. Her lips part, so say more, to chastise this girl for her foolishness, for not looking where she was going. But, the stranger is looking at her. Hunger darkens her gaze like a shadow, it settles feline upon Minya and how she knows the touch of that look. It is what has placed the gems upon her body and lined her room with more gold than any of the other Scarab employees.
 
Lust. Lust burns bright and hot and Minya is ever the fire girl to heat such desire.
 
There is no part of Minya that Bexley does not watch. She feels that gaze of silver-blue upon her every inch. A smile softens the line of her glistening, stee-dark lips. Where a scowl once gashed across the elegant lines of her face, so now a knowing smile tips. It is warm, seductive, aloof. Her lashes lower, the diamonds dusted across her lashes glitter gold in the moonlight and shadows breathe khol along her eyes. Heavy, heavy is the gaze Minya rests upon Bexley Briar. It is the same gaze she affords every creature who watches her dance with desire in their heart. Minya knows the price of this look, it is a look honed to entice and entrance, it is worth diamonds and rubies.
 
“As you should.” Minya says with a voice of liquor – warm and golden, intoxicating. The wind blows and the silk of their manes brush, cream upon strawberries, strawberries upon cream. The fires hiss, they gleam along Bexley Briar’s skin, the crawl across Minya, they douse her in smoke and frankincense. The serpent pieces slither in gold, animated by the dancing light.
 
The gems glitter and shine as her skull tilts. Minya casts a long look beneath her lashes. Laughter bubbles from her lips, she knows how she is being watched – by the vendor, by that wanton dark in the sun girl’s eyes. Her skin is sunset and honey, sweet and wild, hot and feral. Minya has never been feral, but she has been a street girl with gems in her hair.
 
The tattoo on her inside thigh gleams brilliant white upon the dark steel of her skin. It is enough to remind her that this girl is an act, that all of her is a performance: of fire, of magic, desire and luxury. “No.” She breathes, still enchanting with her smile, “Don’t worry about the cake.”
 
Oh but then Minya turns like a sigh, her hair drifting like a song. Their shoulders brush, slow, slow static and Minya looks back, beneath her glittering lashes that lie low, heavy, wanton. Her smile is tantalizing. A laugh is peeling from her lips, less a melody than a spell. Then, as she turns from the day-girl, her lips draw back into a line and she moves through the crowd, like ice, like wicked, wicked ice.

@Bexley <3 please don't be put off Bex
| "speaks" | notes: <3
rallidae





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