09-03-2018, 12:51 AM
[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 55%; min-height: 9px; font-family:; line-height: 110%; text-align: justify; padding: 20px"]Brynhild's lips parted enough to allow a breath to slip through but no words tumbled forth. Guarded jade-hued eyes observed the leopard intensely. The other's speech was so nonchalant that it was almost unsettling. Almost. The comment Thea threw at her, regarding her throw of the lightning bolt, made the young child's pelt bristled. "If I wanted to hit you-" she began at last before the mighty roar of thunder interrupted her speech.
Confusion burned brightly on the bi-colored femme's features. The radiant grin upon Thea's maw was odd, yet something inside of her whispered to return to gesture. Ignoring her inner monologue, the young witch remained straight-faced. "Brynhild. Brynhild Klausen. And who might you be?" her voice was chilly though not terribly unkind. She did have manners after all. "I am not... quite sure. My entire family was traveling together, but I believe I became lost." Her fictional eyebrows furrowed at that. Her memories were hazy. In all honesty, she wasn't sure how she had come to arrive here.
Brynhild opened her mouth to say more when Onision arrived. Her face contorted in puzzlement for a brief moment. Though only one of his eyes was visible, there was something hauntingly familiar about that shade of blue. There was something odd about this one, and the look he threw Thea made her question his motifs. The pair smelled the same, so what need was there to fight? Surely, the warriors here didn't squabble, she thought. "If an attack is what you desire, an attack is surely what you will receive," Bryn sneered to the both of them, but her powers were already fading. Even now, the storm was growing weaker.
"I have a name, and it is Brynhild. You should refer to me as such, Onision... I am from -" the forest cat held her tongue. Her home. Where was her home? She squinted against the (now) soft rains. Bits and pieces of information seemed to be slipping from her mind. She steeled herself. The pair didn't need to know her troubles. "You would not know the place. It is far, far, far away from wherever this place is." She hesitated a beat. "What is this place?"
As she waited on a response, the storm slowly began to fade. The rain fell in light mists now, and lightning and thunder were ebbing away. Of course, as fate would have it, the storm's intensity increased tenfold upon Feyre's arrival. Breathless, confused, and angry at the sudden onslaught of emotion, Brynhild glared daggers at Feyre. The child could taste the disdain in the ragdoll's words and demeanor. "Brynhild Klausen. Witch. Valkyrie."
Though Bryn was not in tune with her emotions, she was no stranger to tugs in her soul. She had experienced these odd happenings before her seven days of sleep - or so she believed. Her head was too foggy to be sure of anything but the here and now of her world. A part of her, a very large part of her, was urging her to move forward, towards Feyre. Disgusted with herself, the girl held her ground, and sparks of electricity rocketed from her person. She appeared every bit a live wire. "Is there a problem you have with me, Sæta?" The term of endearment at the end was spat out and no hints of kindness could be found lurking within the name.
Confusion burned brightly on the bi-colored femme's features. The radiant grin upon Thea's maw was odd, yet something inside of her whispered to return to gesture. Ignoring her inner monologue, the young witch remained straight-faced. "Brynhild. Brynhild Klausen. And who might you be?" her voice was chilly though not terribly unkind. She did have manners after all. "I am not... quite sure. My entire family was traveling together, but I believe I became lost." Her fictional eyebrows furrowed at that. Her memories were hazy. In all honesty, she wasn't sure how she had come to arrive here.
Brynhild opened her mouth to say more when Onision arrived. Her face contorted in puzzlement for a brief moment. Though only one of his eyes was visible, there was something hauntingly familiar about that shade of blue. There was something odd about this one, and the look he threw Thea made her question his motifs. The pair smelled the same, so what need was there to fight? Surely, the warriors here didn't squabble, she thought. "If an attack is what you desire, an attack is surely what you will receive," Bryn sneered to the both of them, but her powers were already fading. Even now, the storm was growing weaker.
"I have a name, and it is Brynhild. You should refer to me as such, Onision... I am from -" the forest cat held her tongue. Her home. Where was her home? She squinted against the (now) soft rains. Bits and pieces of information seemed to be slipping from her mind. She steeled herself. The pair didn't need to know her troubles. "You would not know the place. It is far, far, far away from wherever this place is." She hesitated a beat. "What is this place?"
As she waited on a response, the storm slowly began to fade. The rain fell in light mists now, and lightning and thunder were ebbing away. Of course, as fate would have it, the storm's intensity increased tenfold upon Feyre's arrival. Breathless, confused, and angry at the sudden onslaught of emotion, Brynhild glared daggers at Feyre. The child could taste the disdain in the ragdoll's words and demeanor. "Brynhild Klausen. Witch. Valkyrie."
Though Bryn was not in tune with her emotions, she was no stranger to tugs in her soul. She had experienced these odd happenings before her seven days of sleep - or so she believed. Her head was too foggy to be sure of anything but the here and now of her world. A part of her, a very large part of her, was urging her to move forward, towards Feyre. Disgusted with herself, the girl held her ground, and sparks of electricity rocketed from her person. She appeared every bit a live wire. "Is there a problem you have with me, Sæta?" The term of endearment at the end was spat out and no hints of kindness could be found lurking within the name.
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[glow=black,10,100]there is an old cliché under your monet, baby[/glow]
[glow=black,1,100]remember the arch of roses right above your couch?