for there are many ways to kill a man they say
‘You. Spikey One.’
Only a blind fool would have to look around to see who the God is talking about. Spoiler alert, it’s Wessex, with her crown of many horns and faux porcupine tail. If she hadn’t already been looking his way, she is now, unable to stop herself from chuckling about her penchant for pretty things. He’s right, of course - if there is anything Tiamat, Manon, and Sikeax all have in common, it’s that they’re lovely to look at.
Her shoulders heave up and down as Wessex stands her ground before the God, looking down at him and finding it odd that she should be taller than the manipulator of time. “Mutants generally aren't friends with their reflections, but I hear your mirror is something else entirely.” Her gaze flits back to Rikyn, then to the horned God, and is keenly aware that yes, this is happening in front of allllllll the festival goers. The only option is to say yes, thank you sir, I’ll do my best, sir. Not stand there like a fucking idiot, with snark dripping from her tongue.
It appears this is her time to step up - and it’s come far sooner than she ever imagined it would, and in the most obtuse way. Irreverant as Wessex is at times, she is nothing if not, at her core, a hard worker, dedicated to the Basin and its members. She will always wonder why he chooses her, now, while unrest and questions weaken Helovia’s defenses; why not Ode, or someone else who believes fervently in the Gods and their decrees? He wants Wessex to be his mouthpiece?
In a lower tone, and because the same nerves which jumble up her hooves take over, she jests a tad more with The Spark. “Normally, I don't like to look at stallions, but for you, I would change.”
In other words, she’s picking up what he’s throwing down. Offer accepted.
I am Iron and I Forge Myself
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[O] the night is young [MAIN FESTIVAL THREAD]
