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 There is a short moment they share, Ophelia and Tangere; amongst the chaos their eyes meet briefly, red and blue with a melted honey brown, they dip politely to each other and move on. Deimos growls something else, it's for the girl and Tang doesn't listen. Everyone seems to be giving this girl Rhea the stink eye. Hm.What the fuck is happening? Clearly this is what they (her and the bird) get for disappearing. Luckily no one seems to care about them, it's easy enough for Tangere to remain silent with a shifty, observant stare. Her attention follows the voices, noting their tones and the flicking of their ears in irritation. None of it unsettles her nerves, if anything it's about to make her brain overheat from trying to keep up. These battles waged are of no importance to Tangere, not from lack of passion but just from simply not being present. She pretends as if she's aware, pressing her pink lips tightly together in order to keep the questions from flying out. Ulrik (whom she's never actually met face to face) breaks the air with a random inquiry about his child - though no one else seems puzzled.... Is there a child missing now? What is happening?.... Rikyn? Her mind asks the question to herself, she remembers the GildedBlade mentioning Ulrik when she taught her about the Basin when she first arrived - she struggles to remember Rikyn's face, looking for traces of Ulrik. She lets the investigation go to the wayside, pushing it into the back of her mind. Her eyes steadily find the next speaker. Her skin gets hot under her long insulating coat, tension is building and the silver mare can feel it in her bones. Her rattling mind is interupted by a subtle commotion in her peripherals. D'Artagnan is being weird, staring devilishly toward the winged girl, instinctively she curls her lip and fights the urge to bite him, outwardly she's very still, just watching him. She's much smarter than to assault him, she's aware that she wouldn't really walk away from that altercation with all of her limbs or brain cells. She is just the silent observer, a brightly colored fly on the wall, her bird is the same; listening carefully. Oh good, no kidnapping, everyone's just on a secret mission west for the God of Time. No big fucking deal. Duh. The Haruspex is an odd guy, she said thinks to herself, but pleasant ever the same. She cannot help hut smile very slightly when he talks, but the God's response makes her lips morph back into smileless slack. Murders? Now this is like the seventeenth time she has heard rumor (apparently fact) of murders. She doesn't dare ask anything, obviously everyone else knows what he's referring too. She will figure it out eventually, she tells herself. Just keep listening. Ophelia's response eases the wrinkles of doubt swimming around in her churning mind, for the moment anyway. Now she's sure that the grumpy old relics are just being silly. Hating everything with the ability to fly and questioning everything like its shit compared to their expectations. Who even has time to be so dramatic anymore? The group seems louder, thicker - alive. This is more than she's seen them do in months. Her eyes fall onto Rhea, blinking and tossing her head. It was d'Art, she thinks to herself, looking at him and then the onyx hybrid. She appears to fight it off, saying something about proving herself and Illynx inviting her here. The statement distracts the unicorn and makes her drift through memories of the Gilded Blade. Illynx had quite a soft spot at times, the silver unicorn pondered, it will certainly be different with her absence. She observes the miserable, contorted faces of these menfolk, these pissy, unimpressed stallions. Something was quite amusing about it actually. Unintentionally the corners of her mottled lips turn upright with a smirk. It isn't a smug smirk, more playful, teasing sort of half-smile. AND THE DOVE OF HOPE BEGINS ITS DOWNWARD SLOPE... |
- You may use violence and magic against her at will, but no death.
- Please tag me so I don't forget anyone(:
