<img style="avatar" style="max-width:25%;float:left;margin:0 18px;" src="http://i.imgur.com/rOE4ZRT.png] It wasn't easy being queen.
Or that's what she had heard, once upon a time. For Quincy, however, being queen was the easiest thing she'd ever have to deal with. All it had taken was one grand scheme with the most golden of looted payouts and she was on top of the dark underworld she called home. It was impressive how easily others would follow someone with a cool head and a flair for planning, as long as they got paid. A pretty face didn't hurt either, when you chose a profession littered with roguish knaves that considered themselves the charming and clever sort.
One of which had just graced her with his presence. She didn't turn when Nymeros entered. She stood with her back to him, all done up in dark leather and glinting buckles. One hand was planted on her hip, while the other idly trailed a small dagger between her slender fingers as if she were lapsed into a bout of deep thought. It wasn't until he spoke that she turned her attention away from the maps and parchments spread across her desk, and tossed a glance at him over her shoulder "Pour vous, Nymeros, being busy can always wait," the tone she used did not quite match her words, but somehow held both the affection of a dear friend and a biting sarcasm.
She was almost surprised to see him without his pet. She turned and leaned against the desk, slipping the dagger she had been toying with back into the empty sheath strapped to her thigh. Casually, she crossed her legs at the ankles and her arms across her chest. Tossing her head to remove an unruly fall of dark hair from her vision, she settled chocolate hues on him. "Bad news?" she repeats with a sigh. "Oh, dear. I do very much hate bad news," something in the way the French accent, she'd never quite been able to get rid of, accented the vowels made the neutral tone she was attempting, sound obtrusively authoritative.
Or that's what she had heard, once upon a time. For Quincy, however, being queen was the easiest thing she'd ever have to deal with. All it had taken was one grand scheme with the most golden of looted payouts and she was on top of the dark underworld she called home. It was impressive how easily others would follow someone with a cool head and a flair for planning, as long as they got paid. A pretty face didn't hurt either, when you chose a profession littered with roguish knaves that considered themselves the charming and clever sort.
One of which had just graced her with his presence. She didn't turn when Nymeros entered. She stood with her back to him, all done up in dark leather and glinting buckles. One hand was planted on her hip, while the other idly trailed a small dagger between her slender fingers as if she were lapsed into a bout of deep thought. It wasn't until he spoke that she turned her attention away from the maps and parchments spread across her desk, and tossed a glance at him over her shoulder "Pour vous, Nymeros, being busy can always wait," the tone she used did not quite match her words, but somehow held both the affection of a dear friend and a biting sarcasm.
She was almost surprised to see him without his pet. She turned and leaned against the desk, slipping the dagger she had been toying with back into the empty sheath strapped to her thigh. Casually, she crossed her legs at the ankles and her arms across her chest. Tossing her head to remove an unruly fall of dark hair from her vision, she settled chocolate hues on him. "Bad news?" she repeats with a sigh. "Oh, dear. I do very much hate bad news," something in the way the French accent, she'd never quite been able to get rid of, accented the vowels made the neutral tone she was attempting, sound obtrusively authoritative.
I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you.
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