Indifference and inquisitiveness cloaked in downy feathers bring forth to her mind as she continues to observe Solace with mute appreciation. He said no more to her, and she said no more to him, and in this, they could be the same. They understood the value of silence, one another, and with grudging gratitude she acknowledges it with a relaxed stance. Perhaps the brute craved the devotion and companionship of friendship in his heart, but the Daughter of Earth could not be sure of this, and though her expression softens momentarily with the realization that she may be being too harsh on the lad, it hardens once more as soon as the starlit Lady makes her so-called dazzling entrance.
As she came to a abrupt pause, and gazed with incredulous amusement at the woman coming towards them, it was abundantly obvious that the warrior was not impressed. She was especially not impressed by the array of lights in the woman's apparel. Was the woman attempting to look like that of a easy target, or had some young childe sprinkled glitter glue unto the far too pretty girl face? A mirror ball, perhaps? Was this the woman's pitiful attempt at looking gorgeous? Perhaps it had worked, perhaps she was magnificent to the men who wanted nothing more then to reproduce with her in an instance. Regardless, the girl to the woman took on the appearance of a brainless doll who had been dressed up by a mere babe.

A flirtatious, sultry, far too sweet to taste good on the warrior's tongue came forth from her like a waterfall, and she longs to press her harks backwards into her tendrils to avoid the horrible noise. Did she do this to every man she came across? Was the girl a toy to every philander of a boy she came across, laying herself across their lap as some pathetic dog? It sickened her to her core, to see her act as such a fool in front of the Princesses' own visuals. What shame, what folly it brought to her, what a insult to everything she stood for, for the sake of womanhood.
Her sharp, stone gaze flashes back to Solace as he speaks to the girl, and then the doubt that the Princess had been experiencing went into overdrive. Phaedra?
This was the Opulent? The Queen he spoke of in the Threshold? This was what she would serve?
Was the King a slobbering canine at her hooves, or as much of a flaunting colt as she was a harlot of a filly?
As she returns her gaze with startling indifference for her current thoughts to the girl, she only just recognizes that Solace has introduced her to the woman. In her chest, there is a deep, rumbling noise of laughter, rough and ever-so-slightly masculine as it rises up to bubble just under her tongue, bemusement rising in the maize depths, the deep rumble of her voice flows as simple and easy as the rivers of Elysia. "Morí."

As the bemusement in her veins sidles down to a candlelight flame, the warrior sobers and hardens once more, and the vibrancy of her expression is lost into the chiseled stones once more. She eyes the 'pretty girl' coolly, what is the warrior to say? Is she to frolic around as some lovestruck fool at the Queen's hooves?

Her voice escapes like the wind, resonant cords that hum with clout and vigor, the foreign accent floats amongst the English language with elegance, she loathes to be speak to them in such a undeveloped tongue as theirs, yet the Princess does with ease.
"The third daughter of Inanna, Queen of Elysia - I specialize in warfare." A exaggerated dip of the dome and flourish of immense wingspan in all of the childe's splendor and exaltation, flames light within the depths of the indifferent expression, yet with all her found grace, conflict and battle rage within as the embers that rise with smoke - the Princess is a warrior first and foremost, lest her companions overlook it. "At your service, ma'dam." Rough tones prominent, she awaits her speech, what does the 'Queen' think of the Princess?

She must be a fool if she thinks she is to grovel and whisper begging to allow her forth into her Kingdom. She must know why she is here, she seeks what Solace has told her of, and if the Queen denies her, she may find sanctuary elsewhere. It bothers her little, though the expectation of words from the Queen is strong. What will the little girl say, what else shall she present with such sickening femininity that it causes her to choke upon her own tongue in laughter? The toy is bemusing, for certain.



:: TRANSLATION FROM GREEK: Morí > "Foolish girl."
@[Phaedra]



Brighid</style>
PUT ON YOUR WAR PAINT</style>