The Mahogany Queen’s initial prodding does not find a kink in the girl’s armor. At least, not where she first hoped. Instead of feeding into the baited words, the painted girl remains silent, her jaws taunt with the pressure of clenching teeth. Even with her back to Nyimara, the silver witch knows that before her lay a sandviper, just waiting for a wrong-placed hoof to strike.
And strike she does.
Fury and defiance lay bare in the girl’s words as Tony pivots on muscular haunches to once more bring her face-to-face with the Desert Queen. Near-black ooids narrow in warning as her own raven-tipped dials disappear beneath the thick mantle of silvery white tresses at the girl’s vicious tone. ’..I don’t need your permission…’
”Actually…. In this moment…. You do, dearest.” she quips, a Cheshire grin sliding effortlessly across the mare’s ashen labrums. ”You are my pawn for the time being, remember?” she taunts, allowing her sultry words to drip with venom-laced honey. Unusually long whipcord lashes audibly against the supple curve of her hip as Nyimara sidles around the spotted girl, with the same concern she might give to a pointed stone in her path. An obstacle that help little concern to her.
The prodding that DOES find its way beneath the girl’s armor is much more obvious. Although her remark of Antoinette’s heritage does not quite hit the mark she aimed for, the glancing blow does at least flay open a wound that Nyimara intends to use to her advantage.
’I’m of the Peak.’ The firm finality in those words alone is cause enough to raise the mare’s brow in suspicion. Paper-thin nostrils flare as she exhales an amused smirk, listening with a mask of boredom firmly in place as the painted girl goes on to explain that Marceline had managed to become the Prime Minister of the Peak. A position that was elected to power instead of self-proclaimed boundaries that battle and the prowess of strength brought.
It is now her time to roll her eyes.
A wicked grin ghosts across her ashen labrums as Nyimara cocks her head back towards Tony. ”Oh yes I’ve heard all about her defaction to the Peak mares…. At least, to what is left of them anyway.” she coos, slowing her pace if only to ensure that the champagne girl did not miss a single word. She needed her to hear just exactly how impetuous her mother could be.
”Tell me, little bird, did your mother ever bother to tell you why she even came to be a member of the Peak to begin with?” The curling purr of her voice is filled with promise as the impish grin continues to spread across her lips and through her very soul. One small step at a time, one child after another, Asmodeus and Marceline both would pay for their transgressions against the Witch Queen of Salem.