Delya knows what demons are. Her brother had been deemed worthy by them, and then he’d been deemed one of them, and then he had come back. She knows what they’re about, or thinks she knows, but it’s not knowledge she’s going to share with anyone. It’s not that the Russian dancer is a secretive sort—she’s just scared that someone is going to call her out for being wrong. Who knows, maybe she was all wrong. It didn’t matter because no one would ever know. No one would ever have to know, and that was the sober truth. Or the drunk truth. You never quite knew with her. Delya was a little confusing like that, and she was always a little confused herself.
There was a call that cut through the air, a knife taken to the careful quiet of the meadows themselves in early spring. A passer-by on the edge of the land, and Delya had been at their very heart. Though she was quick, the girl wasn’t the closest. No, Iblis would get there long before she did, as the king’s usual haunts were far closer to that edge of the territory. She understood his methods, but the breeze that carried the scent of the stranger sent the girl off at an even more dead-run. Fuck. Fallacy’s was on the air as well, and already there was a slight, frantic shake. Fuck. Delya’s mind was spinning, a lurch in her belly… though the demons, as they were, didn’t always mean poorly… she worried. She worried for Fallacy. That was what mattered.
By the time Delya greets the scene at hand, it’s come to something… interesting. A child, one not resembling the lines of the purest of demons but something else, standing among what could already be a tangle. Iblis inhabiting the space between Fallacy and the stranger, on guard, hackles raised. Fuck. And there was their healer, trying to talk logic and reason. Trying to talk sense. The thing was, the kid was a so-called angel. Call Delya of little faith, but she didn’t buy into the whole thing. Angels and demons, sounded like a long winded novel with too much subtext to really pay too much attention to.
“Iblis, she’s just a kid.” The look Delya shoots the stranger is one that tries to speak of no offense meant, but she’s trying to step her king off a narrow ledge. A glance shot at Haziel (not realizing that the medicine wolf happened to be blind) as the steward reaches out to guide her heavily-pregnant cohort from the situation is sharp, a sigh in her ribs. “There’s hardly been a demon left in that swamp since my brother left… and that was years ago.” Delya’s relation to that sort was only through the stories Dimitri would tell them some nights around a fresh kill. The gypsies were a forgiving sort, and maybe that was why she approached so easily, so readily.
She does not wish to overwhelm the stranger with another question, with another face in the crowd. Delya satisfies herself with the protection of her friend, an attempt to tuck her away to safety, and puts her nose to Iblis’s ribs. Had she been a little bolder, a little sillier, she would have made the attempt to smooth down his hackles but that would probably be inappropriate. Okay. Yeah. But the second in command would be here, supporting the man through the decisions he made, making an attempt to run interference should they need it. Though the king was small, the beta that stood beside him was a towering creature that could make an effort to pack a punch should she need to. No threat, though, just an attempt at reason.
female – 40in – 105lbs – five – jake  |