#buttcrflics

          ‘ shouldn’t you be guarding your mistress? ’    the venom in her voice isn’t directed at the girl, of course, but her tone is icy anyway.

          ‘ tell me, are the rumors true? ’  there is a flick of long tendrils over a shoulder wrapped in her signature blue that is meant to feign disinterest, but the new baroness' eyes that flicker carefully between the assassin and the view from the balcony. ‘ those with friends in the right places say the widow is DEAD. ’

" Since I very much doubt you’re here of your own accord, " She marked her words with the smallest traces of acid as she flung away the latest letter, the latest declined wedding invitation. It was no use. She might as well lay out the good chairs for the gifts, as grand as they would be, instead of guests. “ You might as well tell me the message the Widow’s bird brings."

QUINN is complicated. very very complicated.  he’s someone sunny used to respect and admire——- used to being the operative word. when he was that young boy quinn found by the river, when he was brought back to the fort to be trained as a colt, when he first became a clipper. throughout all that, he respected and admired quinn. respected his authority, his wisdom, his accomplishments. admired his strength, his power, his fearlessness. slowly but surely, the world chewed sunny up and spit him back out a different man. what was once respected became simply accepted. what was once admired became feared. sunny learned the hard way there was absolutely nothing quinn wouldn’t do to protect his power, to protect the fort. it was that ruthlessness that lost quinn sunny’s respect and admiration. now he still follows quinn’s orders (usually), but it’s not for the same reasons it used to be.