H
er name has barely left her lips when another approaches - a stallion with a mishmashed coat similar to Asmodeus', patches of inky black painted over silvery grullo tones and eyes that shone like shards of ice. Marceline allows herself a moment to subtly slide her gaze over his figure but otherwise maintains a mask of indifference as he inserts himself into their little group.
His words nearly send her eyes into orbit around her skull again, but through some small measure of self-restraint she stops herself and instead issues a soft snort.
"Compliment her intelligence, or her confidence, or the way she carries herself, of course," she replies as if her answer answer is the most obvious thing in the world, and he is a fool for not thinking of it himself.
It is then that the seal mare chooses to chime in, Marceline's gaze turning swiftly towards her. Marceline repeats the name softly to herself, its syllables slightly distorted by her faded accent as it rolls from her tongue. Invidia is nothing, it seems, if not straightforward, shirking small talk and getting to the heart of why they have all found themselves gathered around her like a flock of crows, eager to take home the shiny prize.
Raegar speaks first, though his comment is aimed at
her and not Invidia. He regards her by name, a fact that throws the spotted mare for a loop. Surprise flits across her features, quick as the beat of a hummingbird's wing, before she schools her expression into cool neutrality.
"Non, chérie," she replies dismissively,
"I've just moved onto bigger and better things."
When Raegar opens his mouth again he
does address Invidia, his own words as precise and to-the-point as hers had been.
"Salem is fine, if you enjoy sweltering heat and going months without rain." The former Hills queen was not above disparaging her beloved island if it meant swaying Invidia to her side, though her heart ached faintly as she recalled memories of the place she'd once called home. A place she thought she would die in, wizened and content, but now could never fully return to.
With a soft huff Marceline forced herself to avert her attentions, once again, to the task at hand.
"I would be remiss to not offer you a place in the Peak." Marceline motioned with her russet muzzle towards the northern end of the island and the towering mountain that lurked there on the horizon.
"It is a where mares can live independently of stallions. Where we make our own rules, and bow to no man. A place I think you could find yourself at home, if I am to be honest." The half-smile that found its way across her whiskered lips was more genuine than the ones she'd shot towards Raegar and the chimera, no edge of derisiveness or hint of haughtiness.
prime minister of the peak
Marceline