.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
I AM IRON AND I FORGE MYSELF
Wessex seems to be the only one who harbors a slight skepticism about Rikyn and his very public promotion - partially out of jealous (let’s just go ahead and get that out there) and partially because of prior incidents. His first impression was... nowhere near stellar, and though she was gracious enough to give him a second chance, that doesn’t mean she’s forgotten what he’s capable of, what he thought amusing - that smirk when he thought he was being so clever by demonstrating his powers on her.
The part of her that weighs the pros and cons, that great logical organ in her horned head also tells her that they’ve only just entered each other’s lives. There are others here to know him far better than she, and while that is not necessarily reassuring (sociopaths hide so well amongst the normal folk, don’t they?), it tells her that she likely does not know the whole story. And that she isn’t likely to get it, not with the nature of their relationship.
So while others offer their regards, pledges, and congratulations, Wessex turns her face to stone. Shrewd eyes follow him, but narrow only ever so slightly in their gaze, her whiskered lips doing their best to remain in neutral. Here and now is not the time to remind him of her prior vow. It still stands, as far as she’s concerned, and Wessex has every intention of repeat those words. He knows the damage she can do - and she can only get better on the battlefield. The mottled mare remains in the back of the crowd, a silent watchdog, every now and then deviating her studious gaze to Tia or the God.
She will find him after this.
W E S S E X
-- magic and force allowed, no death or permanent damage --
