ᴠɪᴄᴛᴏʀʏ.

                                   ❝  WELL ....   ❞      VIX DIDN'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THAT.   She'd followed a call she still doesn't understand into a desert war which had wrecked her inside and out; walked away from it only by borrowing a power not her own. But that had been her, not Samar. Samar was more magic than anything else she’d encountered in this world inside the world, and Vix didn’t just mean the ancient arcanum at her fingertips.       ❝   If she gets you into an accident you can always call me.  ❞ 

She’s trying out new nuances these days, lacing the ethereal with something sturdy, something equally weightless but spider-silk strong. It’s a subtle oblique cocktail: determination instead of resignation, living instead of existing.         ❝  I’ve got more than just death inside me.  ❞

vix, flirting with women: you got a name, princess? vix, flirting with men: you got a name, princess?

                                        ❝   BOOOOO.   ❞       THEATRICAL GROAN OF OBJECTION AS HALF-HEARTED AS IT IS TONGUE-IN-CHEEK ,  Vix’s gaze tracking the progress of the ottoman-now-amphibian before leaning against the edge of the table with both hands. Dorcas casual dismissal of twenty-some years of childhood magic aside...        ❝    What’s in it ?  Because you should know I’m like super allergic to eye of newt. And also ,  eye of anything.   ❞ 

                                     ❝  THEN YOU SHOULD FIND A DIFFERENT CUP BEARER.  ❞           QUIET ;  A VOICE THAT CAN BARELY be heard beneath the aural blanket of many mortal voice braided together and the low croon of music. However gently pronounced, her words were meant to dig like the shards of glass she brushed carelessly from her sleeve. The gnashes in her hands are already healing over, seams that stitch themselves closed again like weft on an unseen loom.                  ❝   One who would not like to see your GOD king’s Silver City sacked and burned.   ❞ 

                                  ❝   DUNNO.   ❞      GOOD QUESTION. BAD, THIN, DANDELION FLUFF ANSWER ,  AND VIX KNEW IT. Simpler to offer Gallic shrug, to tuck hands into the pockets of a worn leather coat, to look up at the woman standing across from her and search for some thin thread of understanding. Vix was a natural with word choice, but bodies could be just as eloquent in the turn of a palm, the angle of one's jaw, the 'I don't know, you know?' rise and fall of shoulder.        ❝   I heard this place is pretty novel for a flower shop and I’m fairly good with arrangements. Well...congratulatory wreaths ,  anyway. I thought I’d try my luck. ❞   

                                 ❝   I CAN LIFT YOUR PUPS ,  CYTHEREA.   ❞         SHE MIGHT NOT BE HER SISTER ,  MIGHTY BIA all blunt force and power embodied, but a titan is a titan is a titan. It was out of Nike's power to do anything so outrageous as to laugh outright. Half-glimmers of sly amusement; corner of eyes, catch in that neutral line of her mouth. Domesticity from the Man-Slayer brought Victory as close to hilarity as she was wont to get.           ❝   But do go on.   ❞ 

                         AUREATE EYES TRACKED THE FAINT BRUSH OF FINGERTIPS ON WOOD ,  THAT HARMLESSLY   human gesture before flicking back up to the face of a man who was decidedly aught but. A muscle jumped in the corner of her jaw as Nike stiffened almost imperceptibly. She’s yet to speak a syllable. Even when a seemingly dispassionate hand sets a silvery bottle on the bar top, only to have the slender glass neck fracture, crack, and finally shatter in her grip. A flood of gin that rinses blood and ichor from the cuts the shards rip open in her fingers before spilling over into his lap.