and father had had such hopes;

[Bexley]

" BEXLEY BRIAR "

Bexley isn’t sure what to make of him, which is novel for her. Usually her instinct screams whatever it feels is right, usually has an opinion already locked and loaded, but here it whispers, just hinting at a hundred different ideas of what this boy could do for her. His glance away is intriguing, suspicion obvious in the way he turns against what must be Bexley’s grating gaze. 

And then that stamp! The pathetic frustration, the defiance, evident in his snort of a response! Bex can’t decide if she’s annoyed or amused, if she should take him seriously, snap something back, or dismiss this newest piece of emotion as she’s dismissed all his others. Her eyes narrow underneath that flutter of lashes. He’s a weird kid, that’s for sure. Hard for her to box in as quickly as she wants to. She tilts her head at him, feeling the sun glance sharply off one cheek, but doesn’t look away. That smile, glancing over his face - it takes a moment, but then she returns it tenfold, in a sudden good mood now that he’s interesting to her, body humming in the gauze of attention he’s passing over her. 

- the Dusk court as a scholar - Bex opens her mouth to shoot back a quip, but doesn’t make it as far as an inhale before the kid is talking again, his words so rapid she’s temporarily backed into silence. Amusement glitters in her eyes. His enthusiasm is kind of adorable, in an annoying, childish sort of way. With the wind wafting through her curls she lets him finish speaking, then, with a catty, self-assured smile, responds, My pleasure, sweetheart, hoping her second pet name will cause as visceral of a reaction as the first. That was the most fascinating thing he’s done so far - the most obvious of what he’s hated her to do. The more time she spends around him, the easier it is to see he doesn’t trust her, so why not push whatever buttons she can reach?

With that she leaps after, then ahead of him, spraying sand with the force of her landing, nimble and light a creature though she is. A purr as it leaves her mouth, she tells him, I’m Bexley. And then a moment of silence. Something thick and tepid. It could almost be an accident, how close to his side she’s slinking, but of course it’s not. Nothing she ever does is an accident. She calculates it to look that way, though: the slight brush of her tail against his fetlocks, matching their hoof prints exactly, the subatomic skim of her shoulder against his. So, do you get lost in the desert often? Love wandering around places you probably shouldn’t be sticking your nose in? She hits him with a graceful side-eye, not bothering to hide the judgement in her gaze, but doesn’t falter or pause in those well-placed steps.

@charlemagne HE'S SO CUTE I LOVE HIM

love, space