01-16-2020, 06:30 PM
The waiting ends.
She is ice to his flame, the thaw of her quiet welcome melting no further than that slight upward curl at the corners of her lips. Castile, King of Loess, and likely to be irritating as a stone bruise.
"Congratulations, Castile, I think that's the fastest anyone has ever complicated things for me. One word," her voice is cool against his smokey charm, "Impressive."
This may not be entirely accurate, but it is close enough for her, and he won't know any different. She shifts her weight back, resting one rear hoof on its edge as he deduces and congratulates her on her ascension. It it not a recognition she welcomes, but she remains impassive, that barely-there smile unflinching, though it cannot, and does not try to, match the ease of his. So many easy smiles in this place, hiding rot behind their friendly distraction.
“Neverwhere," she says, bluntly, "and thanks, I hate it.” One shoulder shrugs, nonchalantly. So many responsible for this mess she has inherited, this high-wire of international conflict she must walk. A snarl curls in her breast at the thought, but she guards her face from it. She has always been good at building such walls around herself – when she wanted to be. It was, perhaps, why Heartfire had brought her here in the first place, why Heartfire had anchored her with that gift of land-linked sight, and why it was Neverwhere she had reached out to in those brief moments before she disappeared. Or perhaps it had simply been because there was no one else. The roan’s reasoning is opaque, the former Queen had never been forthcoming with answers, and Neverwhere does not bother wasting her time on thoughts of why she did what she did.
She does not bother wasting her time on pleasantries with the painted stallion, either. The careless nature of her voice falls away with a flick of one ear, her bored expression turning skeptical. She is not Lilliana, she will not pretend at friendliness when it does not exist, she barely manages civility most days.
“Why are you here?”
Has he come to retrieve the memories she cannot see? To tell her that she must answer for an argument in which she had no part? (Nothing personal, of course, it's just politics.)
Maybe he's just here for the view, she thinks, drily.
She is ice to his flame, the thaw of her quiet welcome melting no further than that slight upward curl at the corners of her lips. Castile, King of Loess, and likely to be irritating as a stone bruise.
"Congratulations, Castile, I think that's the fastest anyone has ever complicated things for me. One word," her voice is cool against his smokey charm, "Impressive."
This may not be entirely accurate, but it is close enough for her, and he won't know any different. She shifts her weight back, resting one rear hoof on its edge as he deduces and congratulates her on her ascension. It it not a recognition she welcomes, but she remains impassive, that barely-there smile unflinching, though it cannot, and does not try to, match the ease of his. So many easy smiles in this place, hiding rot behind their friendly distraction.
“Neverwhere," she says, bluntly, "and thanks, I hate it.” One shoulder shrugs, nonchalantly. So many responsible for this mess she has inherited, this high-wire of international conflict she must walk. A snarl curls in her breast at the thought, but she guards her face from it. She has always been good at building such walls around herself – when she wanted to be. It was, perhaps, why Heartfire had brought her here in the first place, why Heartfire had anchored her with that gift of land-linked sight, and why it was Neverwhere she had reached out to in those brief moments before she disappeared. Or perhaps it had simply been because there was no one else. The roan’s reasoning is opaque, the former Queen had never been forthcoming with answers, and Neverwhere does not bother wasting her time on thoughts of why she did what she did.
She does not bother wasting her time on pleasantries with the painted stallion, either. The careless nature of her voice falls away with a flick of one ear, her bored expression turning skeptical. She is not Lilliana, she will not pretend at friendliness when it does not exist, she barely manages civility most days.
“Why are you here?”
Has he come to retrieve the memories she cannot see? To tell her that she must answer for an argument in which she had no part? (Nothing personal, of course, it's just politics.)
Maybe he's just here for the view, she thinks, drily.
Neverwhere
...
@[Castile]
