01-09-2020, 11:09 AM
She has never met the King of Loess.
She has no reason to recognize his patchwork coat, and so, she does not, but it is hard to miss him when he enters, his otherwise sensible black and white marked with gold and hidden beneath enormous wings. The wind brings the smell of brimstone to her nostrils, faintly sulphuric as it finds its way to her from across the distance between them. Neverwhere calls no greetings, she is still and he does not seem to have noticed her, instead lost in the views around him, grasped either by memory, or by the magic of the austere landscape, and she - watching with lips set in a firm, stubborn line - waits. She doesn't mind the waiting, everything about waiting is simple, it's where waiting ends that the complications begin.
Everything is a complication, now.
And all visitors are here for her, now, too, even the ones that don't know it at first, so she lets him take his bearings because, eventually, he will turn to her. He will see her. He will approach her. He will probably ask her where Heartfire has gone. Nobody has explicitly asked her that yet, but the question lingers in their eyes, stains their tongues and colors all the other questions that are asked of her. There are no satisfactory answers, though, nor to the question of how she happened to come to power in the roan's place, playing a game she agreed to without hearing the rules... Actually, when put like that, it's exactly her way, it's how she ended up in Nerine in the first place.
So, am I winning, or losing?
The thought etches into her scarred lips a faint smile, a smirk, really, only the corners upturned and the bright red, wind-chapped skin of her nostrils drawn tight with wry amusement. Winning or losing? It remains to be seen.
She has no reason to recognize his patchwork coat, and so, she does not, but it is hard to miss him when he enters, his otherwise sensible black and white marked with gold and hidden beneath enormous wings. The wind brings the smell of brimstone to her nostrils, faintly sulphuric as it finds its way to her from across the distance between them. Neverwhere calls no greetings, she is still and he does not seem to have noticed her, instead lost in the views around him, grasped either by memory, or by the magic of the austere landscape, and she - watching with lips set in a firm, stubborn line - waits. She doesn't mind the waiting, everything about waiting is simple, it's where waiting ends that the complications begin.
Everything is a complication, now.
And all visitors are here for her, now, too, even the ones that don't know it at first, so she lets him take his bearings because, eventually, he will turn to her. He will see her. He will approach her. He will probably ask her where Heartfire has gone. Nobody has explicitly asked her that yet, but the question lingers in their eyes, stains their tongues and colors all the other questions that are asked of her. There are no satisfactory answers, though, nor to the question of how she happened to come to power in the roan's place, playing a game she agreed to without hearing the rules... Actually, when put like that, it's exactly her way, it's how she ended up in Nerine in the first place.
So, am I winning, or losing?
The thought etches into her scarred lips a faint smile, a smirk, really, only the corners upturned and the bright red, wind-chapped skin of her nostrils drawn tight with wry amusement. Winning or losing? It remains to be seen.
Neverwhere
...
@[Castile] phone post coming atcha
