03-09-2016, 11:24 AM
He talks of stability; what has ever been stable in her life besides the bitter burning coal of hate that flames in her breast? The one thing she knows that he can never offer her is the ability to quiet the murmuring embers of that hate, just as nothing will ever truly put out the flames of her feud with her own bloodline except their complete and utter downfall and despair and maybe only then will she taste peace and freedom. Revenge is a cruel master that rides her hard but it is all she has ever known and his offer of a place to rest to her head is altogether too sweet for her tastes, even if she finds him rather striking. It comes to her mind that there is no rest for the wicked and while Riva might not entirely be wicked, there is still no rest for her until she is deep in the grave.
Peace trails from his lips like a lost thought or a fragment of a dream and Riva has never known peace - will likely never know it as intimately as others do, and she does not dream of a day when she will find it because peace does not exist for those like her. Still, he is intriguing enough for her to overlook his mention of a thing that makes her shiver not from fear but from disgust - there is no peace for the likes of her. He comes close enough to make her skin rankle; his nearness leaves a sour taste in her mouth and she licks her dry lips - no one gets close, she takes a step away, enough to keep his shoulder from accidentally touching hers, unable to bear it if their skins should brush. It has nothing to do with him and everything to do with her - she could not brook the kindness of a shoulder to lean on, it meant weakness and weakness meant death, and she would not be slayed so easily by a few meaningless touches.
His offer though, is not entirely thrown out and she considers it for a longer moment is necessary and concedes that out of a faint curious burn, she might just like to see this place of his that makes his face go all slack and dreamy. “I’d like to visit you before I make a final decision on where to settle,” she tells him, more polite than the firebrand usually is. The Queen’s lure of excitement is too hard to resist, it beckons to Riva on a curl of smoke and promise - make her own life? Yes, the allure is too great and her head bows in consent, her eyes riveted on the smoky shape of the Queen. “The Jungle then,” her voice is hard, determined, because no promises have been made but she can tell that the best place for her is amongst those full of independence and grit, and that is where she thinks she belongs.
“Show me the way,” she asks, knowing full well that she could find her way to the Jungle and its heart if she wanted to but she prefers to be gracious in the face of the Queen, a thing that Riva is usually not - gracious, that is, tempered perhaps by the steel and backbone of the gray mare that has all this time, remained interested in her in a way that no one else ever has and that speaks to something primitive and lacking in Riva, something that makes her feel ugly and small like a child and she squares up, straightening her own spine as she resumes that haughty regard that is hers not by right (as it should have been!) but by sheer force of will to be something other than the thing in the shadows, forgotten and cast off. The bitterness burns in her, hot and fierce, and she is the Queen’s to do with as she pleases (she recognizes that already and it does not scare her - it excites her in ways it should not excite).
Peace trails from his lips like a lost thought or a fragment of a dream and Riva has never known peace - will likely never know it as intimately as others do, and she does not dream of a day when she will find it because peace does not exist for those like her. Still, he is intriguing enough for her to overlook his mention of a thing that makes her shiver not from fear but from disgust - there is no peace for the likes of her. He comes close enough to make her skin rankle; his nearness leaves a sour taste in her mouth and she licks her dry lips - no one gets close, she takes a step away, enough to keep his shoulder from accidentally touching hers, unable to bear it if their skins should brush. It has nothing to do with him and everything to do with her - she could not brook the kindness of a shoulder to lean on, it meant weakness and weakness meant death, and she would not be slayed so easily by a few meaningless touches.
His offer though, is not entirely thrown out and she considers it for a longer moment is necessary and concedes that out of a faint curious burn, she might just like to see this place of his that makes his face go all slack and dreamy. “I’d like to visit you before I make a final decision on where to settle,” she tells him, more polite than the firebrand usually is. The Queen’s lure of excitement is too hard to resist, it beckons to Riva on a curl of smoke and promise - make her own life? Yes, the allure is too great and her head bows in consent, her eyes riveted on the smoky shape of the Queen. “The Jungle then,” her voice is hard, determined, because no promises have been made but she can tell that the best place for her is amongst those full of independence and grit, and that is where she thinks she belongs.
“Show me the way,” she asks, knowing full well that she could find her way to the Jungle and its heart if she wanted to but she prefers to be gracious in the face of the Queen, a thing that Riva is usually not - gracious, that is, tempered perhaps by the steel and backbone of the gray mare that has all this time, remained interested in her in a way that no one else ever has and that speaks to something primitive and lacking in Riva, something that makes her feel ugly and small like a child and she squares up, straightening her own spine as she resumes that haughty regard that is hers not by right (as it should have been!) but by sheer force of will to be something other than the thing in the shadows, forgotten and cast off. The bitterness burns in her, hot and fierce, and she is the Queen’s to do with as she pleases (she recognizes that already and it does not scare her - it excites her in ways it should not excite).