who we are and all that we're trying to be
The votes were cast, around and around, bits of paper slipped into bowls, secretive and furtive, much to Remi’s disapproval; but there was certain level of pride instilled throughout the proceedings. This was their choice to make. There was no maddening, incensed queen sitting upon the throne and declaring herself in charge. This was a group of people coming together to make a difference, to display their regard, to rebel against tyranny, anarchy for anarchy, and it brewed within him: a blistering, kindling formation to his nefarious heart, restored, revitalized, renewed, from all the other primal, warfare motions.
Amalia counted, then proclaimed the announcement, and his eyes maneuvered straight to the newest leader of their revolution, the smallest of smiles managing to conjure its way to his otherwise stoic features. He leaned back in his seat to listen – to nod at the intonations, the information, gathering themselves, Zariah being a manipulative heathen (and there he could meander about Rexanna and her choices, how much were her own, how much had been controlled by other means), and being careful (even though all he’d done lately was somehow manage to get himself in more peril and tribulations). He agreed; they needed to be a quiet force, a subversive, hushed measure – not a loud ruckus, not wreaking havoc, not gnashing their teeth at little, minute things – not until they were ready, not until they had their forces and plans together, entangled, embroiled, in chances, in possibilities, of success.
Then came his call for advisors, and a proud grin replaced the smaller smile, for his friends, for those he cherished, picked amongst their fold for their contributions, for their sagacity, and for all the other efforts they’d made across the terrain. Even as Amalia balked (to which he arched a brow at her), then spoke of teams, he felt more confident in their abilities now. Instead of the squalking, instead of the arguing, instead of the consistent run around that led them nowhere, they could at least begin.
His eyes flickered to the main three, pledging his allegiance to them, not the monster with her scepter, not the demon with her fangs. “You have my support.” Then – if they were corresponding as a team, as a force, as a series of manifested comrades and allies, he should provide what he could. “I am somewhat limited in my creating abilities,” not quite up to par with Remi’s skills, he’d yet to cultivate the ability to sizzle magical contortions into their manifestations, “But I have begun stockpiling weapons. I am also available for any combat training.” He shoved the snicker, the smirk, the rise of sedition and insurrection suddenly coiling through his blood – days upon days of vengeance and upheaval along mountain tops suddenly bristling against his mind. “Should the need arise,” he added.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
