The subtle tension that dances along her spine melts a little as he offhandedly corrects her. He certainly isn't one of the Blighted at least, and he seems kindly enough. Not that Hotaru minded those of the darker persuasions, but it made her stress ease away beneath the ebb and flow of his words. She soaks in the knowledge he offers and hums slightly, not wanting him to think she was ignoring or rebuffing him for his correction. Instead, she smiles and glances back to the rose she has planted, fond memories, old memories, stirring in her mind. "I would take the compliment, but my aunt deserves the praise. She was a master of poisons and herbs, she'd have my hands if I couldn't plant a rose correctly," she laughs, unashamed to give such personal information. Her aunt had died long before her previous home realm had. It was better to celebrate her memory than mourn her loss, even with her darkened spirit this evening.
"Yes, I've not been here long. Luckily I know many of the people here, who have studied me up so to speak." He need not know who, beyond Deimos at least. There were certain things better left unsaid, either to protect those whose names she does not let sit on her tongue or to fool others into assuming she is more powerful than she is. Though that's certainly not an exaggeration. Helpless though she is now, stripped of her magic and power, connections had always been her dealing currency.
Hotaru returns the firmness of his grip once she registers it, a pleased, vixen smile on her lips. Part of her insists upon flirting, but he is far too regal to fall for such basic manipulations. A pity, it was one of her favored forms of information gathering. Though her own hands are cold, she is a northern-born dame, and they do not bother her just yet. Her own gloves remain on their string draped over her shoulders, a gift from Rexanna when she had first arrived. Though she can't conceal her bright laughter at Loren's commentary on Deimos, always ready to engage in mockery of her beloved brother.
"Oh, dear. He likely came from the womb grunting in reply to his given name, if that's an explanation of his character." Words had always been her domain, not her King's. It had worked well for them, one of the reasons they had been such effective rulers of their kingdom together. There were many positive things Hotaru could say about Deimos; that his words were carefully measured, that they held a weight no other could compare to, that his silence was only a shield to conceal the deep abiding love he held for the few in his esteemed regard. But those were far more intimate pieces of knowledge. None that she would part with willingly, nor threaten Deimos with the spreading of such things.
It's easy enough for Loren to turn their conversation away from the Sword, and she turns to gaze out over the dotted spots of red in the distance where others have planted their flowers. "For how delicate they seem to be, they are quite hardy. I'm sure that's the magic involved, but I can't help but worry nonetheless." Hotaru would not have cared enough to take action - damn the world and all its strangers was more her style recently - but Kiada falling to the Blight's hand had driven her to the Shrine and Vi's guidance. Anything to heal her. Anything.
"Yes, I've not been here long. Luckily I know many of the people here, who have studied me up so to speak." He need not know who, beyond Deimos at least. There were certain things better left unsaid, either to protect those whose names she does not let sit on her tongue or to fool others into assuming she is more powerful than she is. Though that's certainly not an exaggeration. Helpless though she is now, stripped of her magic and power, connections had always been her dealing currency.
Hotaru returns the firmness of his grip once she registers it, a pleased, vixen smile on her lips. Part of her insists upon flirting, but he is far too regal to fall for such basic manipulations. A pity, it was one of her favored forms of information gathering. Though her own hands are cold, she is a northern-born dame, and they do not bother her just yet. Her own gloves remain on their string draped over her shoulders, a gift from Rexanna when she had first arrived. Though she can't conceal her bright laughter at Loren's commentary on Deimos, always ready to engage in mockery of her beloved brother.
"Oh, dear. He likely came from the womb grunting in reply to his given name, if that's an explanation of his character." Words had always been her domain, not her King's. It had worked well for them, one of the reasons they had been such effective rulers of their kingdom together. There were many positive things Hotaru could say about Deimos; that his words were carefully measured, that they held a weight no other could compare to, that his silence was only a shield to conceal the deep abiding love he held for the few in his esteemed regard. But those were far more intimate pieces of knowledge. None that she would part with willingly, nor threaten Deimos with the spreading of such things.
It's easy enough for Loren to turn their conversation away from the Sword, and she turns to gaze out over the dotted spots of red in the distance where others have planted their flowers. "For how delicate they seem to be, they are quite hardy. I'm sure that's the magic involved, but I can't help but worry nonetheless." Hotaru would not have cared enough to take action - damn the world and all its strangers was more her style recently - but Kiada falling to the Blight's hand had driven her to the Shrine and Vi's guidance. Anything to heal her. Anything.
the horror you have seen is not who you are
