@hellsking inquired: "You know, even in my position I haven't come across many merfolk. They don't seem to mingle much with those of us on land." In his limited experience at least. They aren't exactly out in droves here, so even a lone one stands out like a sore thumb. "I can only assume that means YOU are the Miranda my Damien talks about, crown princess of the Merkingdom? It's a pleasure to finally put a face to the name."
In stark contrast, it hardly takes the mention of Damien for Miranda to recognize a hellborn royal when she sees one. Dealings with Hell tend to be rarer than they used to be anymore, and she’s never been personally involved in such things, and even then she mostly just knows Damien’s dads through, well, Damien --- but, oh, how old habits kick in with a force to make gut instinct quiver in fear at such efficiency.
Before she had noticed him, before he had spoken ( even with the worst of the differences accounted for, merfolk were nowhere near as reliant on vision as their land counterparts, and things could be easily missed if Miranda wasn’t looking for them ), Miranda was... well, just Miranda. The kind of passive, friendly body language that one might’ve suspected not only from what might’ve already been told about Miranda, but just from what was normal for a student at Spooky High. Fins happily switching position, up and down and forward and back, twitching their tips and listening to the world around her. A tail that swished even as she moved along, all heavy bones and dense muscle made to allow her to swim in the oceans she was made to call home. A smile on toying lips that could’ve spoken of mischief or excitement or play all, bright eyes with pupils that widened from slits into large, circular things, a gleam in them whenever something shiny caught the light nearby.
But oh, with the voice, with the turn of her head to see Hell royalty, to understand abruptly that she was in the presence of another royal --- in an instant, she changed.
Where there was the warmth of life and simple youth there came a rigidity. Back straightened with sudden shock like she was electrocuted, and fins that had never seemed to stay still now abruptly were. Held back and lifted in a friendly way, a strange pseudo-relaxation that implied confidence, but... was stiff and sudden, straightened like a board. To call every muscle in her equally as stiff wasn’t exactly right, she looked calm and in her element at first glance, but... Unnatural. Puppeteered, almost. Less like she was the one moving into that new body language, looking up at him with thinly slit eyes that betrayed nothing of thoughts that she had no problem showing mere seconds before, and more like she had been moved into position. Something so instant and sudden that even she hadn’t realized it. All the image of a predator at rest, calm and yet dangerous, a royal down to her bones, but watching it happen, watching the abruptness, watching the shift, was... uncanny.
The Merkingdom certainly wasn’t keen on sharing too much of what they were, and the existence of Miranda up here, on land, was the biggest outreach they had possibly ever done to show their existence - and in a moment, that alien unknown was all the more prominent. The Merkingdom did not show their hand. They did not walk beyond their own borders without careful consideration, without highest approval. They did not share what it was like, inside their borders, inside their cultures, inside their lives. Not if they could help it.
And yet Miranda couldn’t help but show exactly how her kingdom’s royals were expected to behave.
“Indeed, and it is a great pleasure to meet yourself. Do not worry much about only knowing a few of my people - we do like to mind ourselves first and foremost and see to our own. I am sure you can understand the need, and we do enjoy our privacy.”
A voice that might’ve laughed before, now came cold. Not the type of coldness that blew with bitter winds, but rather... The stark coldness, coming when there was no heat to be given, no sun to be shared, nothing to hold onto and give into motion. Defined by an absence. Her voice luted with an accent that was half-melody, twisting consonants and vowels into musical notes, but even that remained walked upon strict lines. Her face showing nothing, even when the edges of her lips lifted up in a smile.
Somewhere, even Miranda herself realized how those couldn’t be her words, coming from her own mouth, for sure she was saying them, but it wasn’t her. Like watching her own eyes through someone else’s, moving her own body like a ghost in her own home.
Perfectly trained, as always.
“I have heard much of yourself from Prince Damien, though I do believe a proper introduction is still in order, if you would so kindly do the honors.”
