[ P ] Before she strikes a match

she has little innocent demons inside her eyes—

She's been looked at by any medic her father's reach could grasp—which was far and wide, appearntly. Much to her dismay, she's been one of the many questioned, answers aren't quite clear from anyone and questions seem just the same. She's been asked and poked at endlessly for the past month—since she awoke from a pile of furs that she could have slept on for eternity. She remembers one thing very clear: the absolute chill she could feel from the worry that rattled her bones when she could first hear Nalik's worried tone, still spitting commands to others while it softened whenever she heard him close enough to her. When she did finally wake, her instinct to rise and run is what pulled her father from scrutinizing the bodies he was tearing into for not having answers—that's what she had gathered when she first came to, atleast. Her senses all seemed to be intact, freshened. She took no time in gathering to her feet and scrambling from the pile of furs, her head aching the harder she pushed herself, but she didn't stop scrambling until she found herself across the room from her father. He was dressed in a lethal cool the moment she stumbled into the room, her paws skidding to a halt.

From there, she'd been cooped up In her father's home since she woke, many tiptoed around her—both in words and presence. All it took was one moment in between her father stepping into his office with a few unfamiliar faces—and she made her way to and out the door, her legs aching to carry her as fast as they could for as long as they could. The land around her was.. off, familiar yet so distant to what she would usually recognize.

She was forced to slow her pace when she found herself buried in a crowd of wolves keeping busy. Some were peddling furs, small prey, she could even smell traces of fermented berries that were likely being muddled in the structures around her. Rionna. She was at her father's estate in Rionna, not back in the barracks where she intended on making a home out of the day she was promoted to a Captain. A captain—and she was here, not back in yorkshire. What the fuck was she doing here? She had cadets and soldiers to watch after, to train. She had smug grins to wipe off any that were aimed towards her, she had a sand pit to bury cocky newbies into inches training grounds. And instead she was here, nails scratching against the stone paths that made up the streets and being bumped into every which way as everyone moved about. Amethyst hues washed over the town square, her breaths slowly quickening as frustration built the longer she took in Rionna. The longer she observed, the clearer the behaviors became around her—some were frantic, some were cautious, some were weeping, some acted as though everyone around them weren't even there. That's when she began getting her own answers, most often being left frustrated from the lack of cooperation the citizens around her were giving, and the growing twist of snarled lips on her muzzle was the only sign of her patience slowly slipping from her the longer she tried to make any sense of what might be going on.
"the venom"

—and they recklessly play with matches

code // art

As big and intimidating as Nalik was, Vellichor met his dominating stance with squared shoulders of his own. He'd worked tirelessly to prove himself to the man; jumping at his beck and call, but giving just enough resistance to show that he wasn't a pushover as well. Years passed as the fae magick kept Rionnach in slumber, that which included the woman that would, one day, become his wife.

It was easy enough to keep spies within Naliks own home, as well. Lowly maids who tended to Rykers sleeping body then reported back to Vell periodically, summing up the goings-ons - which usually wasn't very much. Until one day, one of his younger spies burst through his doors, eyes wild as they searched and then found him sitting at the wooden table of his own manse.

He didn't need to know what had happened - it might as well have been written upon their face. The soldier was up and out of his home before his little bird could utter a single tweet.

He followed the path of bewildered citizens, swearing he could feel the rising anger permeate the air as he closed this distance between himself and the suddenly arisen Sleeping Beauty.

"Captain Ryker!" his voice commanded, booming over the heads of the merchants and causing them to skitter to shelter like fleeing mice. While he didn't expect much compliance from her, he continued to stride towards her even if she didn't turn towards him. He'd catch up eventually... whether she liked it or not.

she has little innocent demons inside her eyes—

"Useless, youre all fucking use—" her hissing ends when she notices the crowds shifting, moving not to simply move about to move *away* from something. Her ears flicker, tail slashing in the air behind her as her brows furrow, amethysts watching the civilians around her continue to ignore her as they now focused on what was infront of them and also approaching them.

Her jaw tightens, snout working to find the source of the near unease she feels slithering about the cobblestones at her feet. She hears the source, first bringing herself to attention as she seeks the figure the voice booming towards her came from. *"Captain Ryker"*. She's already too sure that the creature calling her is one of her father's soldiers, one of the fools he's sent after her. So, she pivots, soon finding the towering figure that approaches her to cooly, unwavering in the steady pace he casts his paws forth in pursuit of her. "Captain Verlice" she corrects unashamedly. Her paws are splayed, most eager to spring forward from the cobblestones beneath her—either away from the commanding creature, or towards them.

A darkened mask puts her at ease and on edge all in the same breath, a sense of familiarity and not tug at her senses—she knows this man, but in this moment hes simply a stranger addressing her in public. Ember eyes ignite her nerves, her amethysts narrowing in on him as he he approaches. She sizes him up, first and foremost, his tone not a concern to her as she sorts out how exactly she knows this man, and he her.

"the venom"

—and they recklessly play with matches

code // art

She is agitated; it's shown in the erratic spikes along her hackles, in the whites of her eyes, in the way her tail lashes behind her lick a whip. She whirls on him as he approaches, her stance ready for a fight as her eyes scour his body -- looking for weaknesses? She'd find none. His thick muzzle raises at her correction, one dotted brow rising lazily.

"Captain Ryker, until you earn the weight of your name," he responds, voice direct and prodding - looking to instigate her, to ruffle her raven black feathers even more than they already were. He knew - they both knew - she was a Verlice down to the bone; it was why he lunged at the opportunity to take her unwilling hand. How much disrespect would his wife-to-be take before she gives in to that rumoured temper? What would it take to rile her up enough to forget her rank and attack an officer? Brown eyes watched her movements eagerly, his own muscles tensing as they prepared for a potential scuffle. His mouth salivated at the thought of pinning her down to the ground, forcing his weight on her for everyone to see...

He swallowed, dark ears pressing against his ebony crown. "You are to come with me," he then instructed, unable to scrub the husky tone from his voice and he pointedly looked away from her. Get ahold of yourself! he scolded, lips twitching at self-inflicted irritation.

she has little innocent demons inside her eyes—

Hes disregarded her title correction, thrown it on rhe ground between them with ease as his harsh brown eyes glare down at her. "...earn the weight of your name." She's very fucking well done that, in more ways than one and her reputation—both out on the streets among the civilians and on the bloody, muddied battlefields she has earned every right to be hailed by her family's name, and rightfully so. The fog that follows after her in her wake is thick, but she can feel in her bones the foundation in which she's built her reputation, the structure that she's reinforced through endless, sweaty training days in the sand pits or the muddied trails of the woods around the barracks. She can feel it in the frozen paws she once ignored while patrolling as an assignment given in the dead of winter because of her questionable boundaries in the sparring rinks with her fellow soldiers. The familiarity of the face demanding her, towering over her and chalking her up to a lesser being as he stares down at her is causing her ears to ring; her frustrations building as she tries to recollect a name to fit with the face, but the longer she stares back at him, the further the memory falls.

His face falls away from hers, and she cocks her head, following his line of sight with a faux smile, one geared up to reveal her pearly whites at a moments notice should she need to. "Fortunately for you, i dont simply follow haughty assholes who hail me down—incorrectl, might I add—from the middle of the street. " Her eyes narrow, the hackles on her back bristle as if second nature in the simplest of environments."Who are you?" Each word of her question is pronounced loud and clear, but harsh and cool. Amethysts glance to either side of him, looking for a sign—guards, menacing henchmen—anything to give her a sign as to who this man is, someone she should know by rank or perhaps by criminal charge. Snapping back to his face that is clearly avoiding hers, she offers just that same fake smile, and a slight tilt of her as she holds her inquiry to him.

"the venom"

—and they recklessly play with matches

code // art