avdotya,
fearless child,
feral girl, tell me what it's like to burn.
Her gaze is harsh, fraught with prickling scrutiny and it sits heavily upon the man’s pale face. She sees that softness, the way he seems so gentle and gracious - the way he attends to the rattling serpent as if it were a friend and not a creature offering him a threat. She sees it and she knows that he does not belong here. Solterra, in all its horrifying glory, would sooner swallow him whole than watch him walk the Mors untouched. It is something of a wonder that he has gotten this far, that his throat has not gone dry and his skin is still taut to his body rather than picked apart by starving vultures.
In fact, Avdotya would have taken a moment to question how he has managed it, but instead her focus is stolen by the delicate way he curtsies - this time before her - once more. Look carefully enough and there is a visible twitch at the corner of her glowering lip. Perhaps she is the reaper Solis has sent for this man, not the Mors.
How brave, she thinks caustically, how bold... how utterly foolish.
While he dips so fancifully, the sand begins to shift around them. It rolls like a small wave, smooth and fluid, closer and closer to him until it begins to reach for his legs, grasping at them with the intention of locking his bent knee within its hold and keeping him there while the Davke Khan stepped close enough to whisper in his ear. ”Play that sort of game with me and you will find that death may find you sooner than you think.” Her breath is hot, brimming with a venom that so desperately yearns to be loosed. Atlas' timing is poor, because in the wake of Makeda’s death, Avdotya bears no patience for those that try her (not that there was ever much of that to begin with). Blood, be it innocent or not, is what she thirsts for and she is not prepared to be selective.
And then, as quickly as it seized him, he is freed from the sand’s strange shackles. The thrum of her magic settles and she waits for him to rise.
What shall it be? Avdotya wonders.
@atlas please let me know if you're not comfortable with Avdotya using her magic on Atlas! I'll be happy to alter. <3
In fact, Avdotya would have taken a moment to question how he has managed it, but instead her focus is stolen by the delicate way he curtsies - this time before her - once more. Look carefully enough and there is a visible twitch at the corner of her glowering lip. Perhaps she is the reaper Solis has sent for this man, not the Mors.
How brave, she thinks caustically, how bold... how utterly foolish.
While he dips so fancifully, the sand begins to shift around them. It rolls like a small wave, smooth and fluid, closer and closer to him until it begins to reach for his legs, grasping at them with the intention of locking his bent knee within its hold and keeping him there while the Davke Khan stepped close enough to whisper in his ear. ”Play that sort of game with me and you will find that death may find you sooner than you think.” Her breath is hot, brimming with a venom that so desperately yearns to be loosed. Atlas' timing is poor, because in the wake of Makeda’s death, Avdotya bears no patience for those that try her (not that there was ever much of that to begin with). Blood, be it innocent or not, is what she thirsts for and she is not prepared to be selective.
And then, as quickly as it seized him, he is freed from the sand’s strange shackles. The thrum of her magic settles and she waits for him to rise.
What shall it be? Avdotya wonders.
@atlas please let me know if you're not comfortable with Avdotya using her magic on Atlas! I'll be happy to alter. <3
table by sunny | image by Krystallizedart @ dA | for novus use only
