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05-24-2015, 03:39 AM
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Ophelia had no personal qualms with Thranduil, and when she stated him a candidate to be lead, she had been genuine. In her attempt to end her rule the right way, she wanted to give Deimos all the facts he needed to succeed, but it seemed most of her attempts to take the moral high grounded ended in disaster. If only he could know her thoughts, he would realize that she rather admired the golden stallion. He was powerful and strong, and he had no need to prove himself to her – he had already done so. In fact, he was one of the few mortals on this very ground that she could honestly scared her, deeply. He had secrets. She was unsure of his loyalties. Even when she was lead, he kept his information close, not telling her what he knew of the Dragon’s Throat. Ophelia had to learn that from Gaucho’s own mind, and that was more than a little disconcerting. Thranduil was the only spy she assumed could match her talents and skills – perhaps even surpass her if he could stuff down his pride long enough to make friends, and that was highly unsettling. Ophelia was used to being one of the only master manipulators in this Helovian chessboard. Now another queen was on the table, armed with every available move and watching carefully from behind the unyielding rook of the Aurora Basin. His attempt to show her his skills were unnecessary because she was already wary, and her words to Deimos had not been meant as an insult – not in the least. Ophelia was factual when she was not pissed off, and when she was angry, the emotion was obvious. It twisted her expression into something horrible and ugly, and blood rained down upon her coat like sin. Ah, but she did not go peering into his mind, though she desperately wanted to know what Deimos had done. Had he actually taken her advice? Would he get off his arse and go down to the Throat to thank them like she suggested? Ah, so many questions. Ophelia was not ruffled by his presence. Thranduil was like her in many ways – everyone at once. The lies beneath his tone were almost palpable – too reassuring from what she had experienced as his leader. Still, she nodded gracefully, her calm exterior cool as marble and firmly planted as he spoke his truths. “Thranduil,” she returned softly, wishing she could get him alone to talk (but even that was an unsettling thought). Did she truly want to be alone with him? “He speaks the truth about the Aurora Basin. I lead it not so long ago, and it is safe, a fortress, and beautiful – almost as if trapped in time,” she said gently. “The journey is long, however, and winter may arrive on your way. Traveling through the snow is not for the faint of heart – not through the Steppe.” One of the greatest downfalls of the Basin was its location. The journey was terrible, undeniably so. Ophelia rather liked the snow, and thus she had not been bothered. But, some she had brought to the mountain land had expressed their irritation. Ophelia decided to turn the direction back to the gods, and she offered this pale stranger a smile. “I wish to know more about her as well. She is mysterious and strange, and though she has been recently mired in tragedy, I admit to having never spoken to her before.” The pale princess was unsure of the direction this was going, but she would keep on until the end; Glasgow deserved that much, if not more. “You are more than welcome to follow me, without obligation, if you wish to look around. I am sure none will mind.” She turned to Thranduil, opening her mouth as if to say something and closing it with a lost expression. Ophelia frowned, looking down at her cloven hooves awkwardly, trying to summon the courage to speak. “Is… ah…” she trailed, clearing her throat. She had not been aware that Thranduil watched her display, but she had no doubt Deimos would grunt out his disapproval once she left. “I am sorry if I failed you,” she said quietly. “You… you were.” How could she admit this aloud? “You are… excellent… at what you do. I hope you become lead soon - you would be great. Formidable. ” The difference between her and others? Ophelia could be genuine, even when she knew that she would be stepped on. She had no doubts that Thranduil would laugh in her face and cast aside her honest expression of herself, but for once, she hoped, that he would at least listen. In leaving, she had not wanted to hurt anyone – that was why she offered to stay and help with the transition. Deimos had ensured she could not do so, and she was sure that that strained the herd in ways she had desperately wanted to stay and remedy. Now, she would be painted as the ‘one who left’ when she had intended to care for the herd until it was properly functioning in her absence. Ophelia averted her gaze, the gesture almost shy. |
 Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done. Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning. |
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