as sneaky as the trickster god - mountain, any

[Mountain]

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Anything I say you lie along with me

Every song you sing is all because of me

I have said my piece and, as far as I'm concerned, this conversation is over. The mare continues to prattle on about her plans, her position, but I have already turned to walk away. It is the ultimate affront, in my opinion, to turn your back on someone while they are speaking. It shows how little you care about their opinion or what they mean to the kingdom. As far as we are all concerned the Amazons are no longer our friends - if they ever were. It would be a lie to say that I was not a little put out by Scorch's obvious disregard. I thought we were friends!

I have turned and am a good ten feet away, passed a few of the brothers, when the mare reveals her true intention.

Me.

I laugh, my back still turned to her. "I seem to be a little too old for your tastes," I say, amused. Of course she is attracted to me - why wouldn't she be?

It's then I feel the stab on my rear.

I turn to see her standing there, thorns long and slick with blood - my blood! - on her chest. Anger overrides the pain - irrational, childish. "How dare you!" I scream. I am now facing her, a mere centimeter from those long thorns. I should be more afraid but I am livid. "How dare you come into MY kingdom, steal one of MY children, and then dare ATTACK me?" My voice is high, angry, loud. Anyone in the vicinity can hear it.

"Men, seize her," I say, my eyes darting to whoever is nearest. We can wall her in, or we can drive her out, whichever. The pain is now seeping into my rump, moving along the fascial planes, really understanding what it means to be stabbed at least an inch deep by a thorn.

Anytime I cry you always laugh at me.

No matter what you do you belong to me

[Errant]

when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold dark earth The bay raon stallion that comes to stand beside him is a stranger, but the bay roan coat and tattoos make him easy enough to identify. So Scorch’s son has finally shown up. Errant’s dark ears flick toward the younger man as he starts to speak, and he narrowly avoids rolling his eyes. His nephew has all the social tact of his mother (even if it is in the entirely opposite direction). Does this look like the sort of conversation where one plies strangers with diplomatic niceties? Errant responds to the tattooed stallion’s words with a vague sort of nod of his head, but does catch the name Lagertha that he gives to the grey mare. He’s ready to speak again when the most peculiar sensation washes over him. It’s like someone is trying to pick open his head with a feather and it is something that he has felt before. He focuses on the source of the sensation and hears Simeon, his voice oddly magnified in the space between his mind and Errant’s. The black stallion’s eyes glaze over, just for an instant, and then he’s back again. If he has been elsewhere it does not show, and his grey eyes are clear as he takes in the scene around them. “Isn’t it obvious?” He replies aloud, his attention momentarily back to Simeon. She’s clearly stealing a foal, and if the only sensation that inspires in a future Brother is ‘curious’, Errant is already doubtful of what sort of man his sister has sent them. He does not have time to attend much to this doubt, as their unbalanced king has begun to speak again, and Errant knows he cannot afford to miss what Mountain has to say. Mountain does not disappoint, and though Errant bristles with visible rage, all he says is: “You’re just going to let her get away with it?” His tone is incredulous despite the cold fury in his eyes; his emotion is directed much more at Mountain than Lagertha, especially as the mare begins to speak. She is lying about something, but Errant doesn’t bother to parse through and determine exactly what it is. He already has lost any respect he might have for her as a fellow warrior when she had attempted to make off with a child – diplomatic steal or no. The sensation is back again and Errant expects it to be Simeon but instead it’s a female voice. He looks at Lagertha with just enough furrowing of his brow that she might see he has heard and understood her, but not quite enough to show that he is complicit. “Looks like she’s challenged you,” Errant says in reply to Mountain’s cries to seize Lagertha. He sounds reluctant to say as much, though he clearly doesn’t look it. “We can’t intervene now. Beqanna’s rules.” Mountain had just told them he is unwilling to break such overarching laws; none of the brothers are any more in the right if they attempt to step into a challenge where blood has already been drawn. “Unless,” and here he turns to Lagertha, having made no move to help her herd their king anywhere, “You’d be willing to trade Nihlus for Mountain? Our king would surely want to use this opportunity to make his displeasure known to your queen personally? And a diplomatic steal has no term with it – Mountain would be free to return whenever he chose.” He looks quickly at Mountain, his expression nearly encouraging. A good king would do this, he says nonverbally, a king that has his Brother’s support would do with. e r r a n t no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her

[Lagertha]

this will never end, ‘cause i want more, more, give me more

Ahhh… now we’re getting somewhere.

In truth, Lagertha hadn’t meant to draw blood from the King, but well… some things can’t be helped now. Adrenaline starts to surge as the King commands his men to seize her, and just in case she hasn’t read the situation correctly, she starts to tense up. They could try, but she would put up one hell of a fight. The thorns might deter them enough though... she waits a moment, but no one seems to be moving. Good. Good. The general turns her head towards Errant, and though he hadn’t moved to aid her, he wasn’t moving against her either. Smart man.

Let her be the bad guy.

“I would consider that a fair trade. One night is all we require. I’m sure Scorch will make time in her terribly busy schedule for the King of the Tundra. I shall make sure of it.”

Had Lagertha any fingers she would cross them all. Perhaps the ruse has worked - and almost flawlessly.

lagertha

carnage x grim reaper; amazonian general