RORY
'This afternoon I'mma have a party for all my subjects!'Well shit lady, some of us are busy. Some of us have lives. Some of us can't drop everything just because you decide that a couple of hours notice is all that's needed.
Like they were all just useless vagrants, sleeping on street corners and doing nothing but begging and thieving, and—oh wait, apparently she actually did think they were all lawless murderers, why else feel the need to impose her merciless leadership upon them all? Why else feel the need to interfere so bloody much in their lives, and in ways that honestly were either inconsequential to politics (but not culture), or just.. bloody dumb.
Rory had no desire to go into the details of it. He'd been over it five thousand times before, and had accidentally set Esaia's tail on fire once because he got too angry and wasn't very used to being able to create fire. Fortunately, he'd only burned off some hair, and a couple of carrots later the gray pony had forgiven him.
But, here's some things Rory wanted to avoid: Zariah's attention, more trouble, trouble, even more trouble, and let's see, more trouble and interference.
So he'd come, pushing some tasks aside and slinking in the back. And what he heard was.......................
Frankly, he had no words for it, and he found flames flicking along his hands at one point. (That's on you, Edy—of course he could create fire anywhere within his sphere of influence, but he's seen your hands burn, he's seen you hold the fire around them, he's seen you throw it, so he fits his newfound power into this known mold.) Quickly he extinguished it. He might feel like setting something on fire, but not the Temple. That structure belonged to him—to them, those who had lived here far longer than a year. He might hate being inside it, but he wasn't going to burn it down.
Point of interest: the talk about the army. Sane questions from a good man.
The rest was a memory-blur that had him so angry he felt like chewing wood, but in the end he did that thing he was exactly supposed to not be bloody doing—getting attention.
"I second the nomination for Wessex," he said, his voice rougher than usual, his blue eyes dark though his face was composed. "I don't know where she is, though, but should she decline, I'm willing to take on the role."
He didn't want to, but it was that thing again: doing uncomfortable things for the right reasons. No one else was speaking up.
Rory had never wanted power, and he still didn't, but this was a chance they couldn't throw away.
as if you were on fire from within,
the moon lives in the lining of your skin.
the moon lives in the lining of your skin.
