unqueensorcha:
Sorcha spares the bare mimimum of attention for the courtiers who gaze at them. Gives them a smile. Gives them a nod. Turns her attention to Aoife and lets it linger there. The girl is a curiosity, that’s for sure. The type of girl that Sorcha likes, innocent flowers that hold endless potential and endless violence in their veins.
She hasn’t admitted it out loud, but she likes the way Aoife plays the game. Likes the attitude, as well. Her sharp smiles, her bright eyes. Her own joke lands well, a humour shared in dislike of others.
Sorcha lets out a soft sounds of amusement, thoughtful in the summer air. Why did humanity hold the Seelie court in such high esteem? They were entrancing, beautiful. Sorcha knew that they held danger, too, in the eyes of humanity. But any fear was often set aside in the name of love and adoration, sweet fascination. “They’re rather dimwitted creatures, humans. They don’t understand the way of things.” It comes out with a sigh, despairing of their natures. “Weak-willed, most of them. No point fighting it or trying to change their minds.”
An amused smile blossoms on her face, and Sorcha squeezes Aoife’s arm gently. “Brín intends on finding someone with a good idea and following them to success. Little Princeling doesn’t have the grit to come up with a plan of action on his own.” Her voice is low, just for the two of them. “He’s as weak willed as they are, that’s why he loves them so much. Believe me, the ideas in that court come from others.”
She fixes Aoife with a curious look, searching for the venom and cleverness she knows lingers beneith the pretty face. “Tell me, sweetling, what would you do to survive? Do you wish to go to war?”
There was talk, Aoife knew, of her being a human sympathiser. Nobody that mattered dared think it of her, but some mistook her interest for sympathy. But they were too weak and foolish for her sympathy, and she could certainly never admire a race that kills their own people. It was just fascinating. They sat there watching their Attenborough documentaries about lions wondering at how savage those creatures were; and Aoife sat there watching them, thinking much the same about them.
Maybe there was even some greater being than the fae that sat watching Aoife, thinking how funny and small she was. It was an entertaining thought. Like a little Russian nesting doll, with the lions hidden in the middle, and the humans around them, and the fae around them, and something even greater around them.
She couldn’t quite conceive of the notion, because when you speak to the more ancient fae, like Sorcha, it’s difficult to think of anything greater. But, maybe. There’s more things in heaven and earth, yadda yadda yadda. She never had sat through that play all the way.
The point is, she didn’t disagree with Sorcha’s assessment of humans as dull creatures. They were capable of brilliance, sometimes, but somehow they always wielded it for the wrong reasons. She looked up with interest at the tidbit about Brín’s court -- was that true? That perhaps he was just a puppet, controlled by greater minds? Aoife studied Sorcha intently, curious, but said nothing. She didn’t claim any great understanding of the machinations of royalty, and didn’t want to embarrass herself by saying something ignorant. It was certainly interesting though. Very interesting.
“With the humans? No.” Aoife responded without hesitation. They were just hungry, wild creatures. You could go to war with them no more than a boot could go to war with an ant. “They already war among themselves. Why risk our people by getting involved? They can damage us, but they can’t kill us. It is themselves they hurt, with their smog and their iron and their weapons. They can’t survive the world they’re creating. We can. They will die, and earth will heal, and our home will be returned to us. They’re not a threat worthy of... this. Some of us have died, but like a fever it gets bad before it gets better. They are the real threat to our ways.”
She gestured around at the party, and all of the goodwill. Maybe it was too bold. She had told herself that Sorcha knew what she was doing, and it wasn’t her place to question it. And -- well, she wasn’t questioning it. Simply stating a difference of opinion. Surely Sorcha could not be angry about that.
