(it’s short and cheesy srry)
They aren’t all that interesting to look at. A little shorter than you (well, a lot, but that’s not surprising), a bit rounded in the hips and shoulders. They’re like a small wall, barreling about and bringing things to and from the court.
Their name, you remember vaguely, is Rovell. They have some strange horns, they sweep backwards, with some peculiar twists at the ends.
You’ve seen Rovell pretty much every day for something going on five sweeps, but you never actually paid much attention to them.
Now, with them sitting at the edge of a cliff over the sea and humming in time with the irregular crashes of the waves, you wonder why. They really are quite pretty, with the dual moons reflecting off the sea and lighting their face. You’ve been watching them for a while now, and they look amused when they look at you.
"You know." They start, their voice like water in a glass bottle. "The sea looks much better from right here than all the way over there."
You open your mouth to retort, but, well, they are right. Once you settle next to them, you see that their legs are just kind of dangling over the edge of the precipice, while you keep yours tucked under yourself. They don’t say anything, just go back to humming to the 5/4-2/4 beat of the waves hitting the rocks a few hundred feet below.
They’re pretty, you think again. Short hair, a soft face, glassy, doll-eyes.
"I never see you here, Grand Highblood." They start, in that ringing voice you’re starting to enjoy. "Is there something you needed from me?"
You could snap that you felt like watching the ocean, or that your actions shouldn’t be questioned by a lowblood like them, but for whatever reason, the only thing that reaches your lips is a soft “No.”
They smile widely, showing the sort of dull points of their teeth. You smile gently, hardly twitching your lips upwards. It’s very quiet.
You’re about to speak to them, but then you wake up to someone knocking at the door of your block. Though you’re loathe to even broach the idea of it being a possibility of a thing that is happening, you find yourself looking forward to Rovell’s many, many deliveries to your court that evening.
Your night is so, so awkward after that dream...though now you notice the occasional glances in your direction, where you hadn't even paid attention before. It's probably nothing, you tell yourself. Just your imagination. You've got other things to think of, most of them involving your recent injury and planning of upcoming events, both for the public, and private religious. You just need to focus on that for a while. It'll pass. It always does.
