It doesn't take her terribly long to realise she's being iced out. Longer than perhaps it should, as she says nothing herself for some time either, waiting for someone else to shatter the hard and glassy silence she's managed to throw up between them. And they do shatter it - softly, and between themselves - whilst she continues to be resoundingly ignored.
Fine she thinks at first, and fuck them. Entertaining herself by thinking back to her battle in Drearburh, how fucking awesome she'd been, how many stupid shitty vampires she'd slaughtered. There are only thirty soldiers this time; she could take them. She'd have the element of surprise given that no-one is paying her the least amount of mind, avoiding her like some badly-trained animal that just went and shat on the floor. These red-drenched and furious daydreams keep her occupied for some time.
They dismount. She eats in sullen, achy silence, and by the time she's mounted and moving again her violent fantasies have worn a little thin. She can't pretend she didn't know she was being rude and provocative; it's her default position after all, naturally demeaning, disinclined to go long without some amount of sass. This realisation pushes her to dwell, instead, on Lenore's bright upturned face when she'd gone and fetched the collar and worn it as requested. The fond spark in her eyes whenever Gideon had relented from being a dick, back in the cage. She considers - briefly - drawing level with the closed sleigh and banging on it with foot or fist until Lenore emerges. What she could say to make it up to her. The only thing that reins her in from enacting this scenario is the new and small concern that perhaps she'd be fucking up again. Embarrassing Lenore in some way, making her ignore her all the harder. She's painfully aware, suddenly, of how little she knows about correct etiquette.
She sighs explosively, out of nowhere, after hours of silence. Declares to no-one in particular (her horse? the air? who knows) "Uuuugh, why am I such a jackass??"
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Fine she thinks at first, and fuck them. Entertaining herself by thinking back to her battle in Drearburh, how fucking awesome she'd been, how many stupid shitty vampires she'd slaughtered. There are only thirty soldiers this time; she could take them. She'd have the element of surprise given that no-one is paying her the least amount of mind, avoiding her like some badly-trained animal that just went and shat on the floor. These red-drenched and furious daydreams keep her occupied for some time.
They dismount. She eats in sullen, achy silence, and by the time she's mounted and moving again her violent fantasies have worn a little thin. She can't pretend she didn't know she was being rude and provocative; it's her default position after all, naturally demeaning, disinclined to go long without some amount of sass. This realisation pushes her to dwell, instead, on Lenore's bright upturned face when she'd gone and fetched the collar and worn it as requested. The fond spark in her eyes whenever Gideon had relented from being a dick, back in the cage. She considers - briefly - drawing level with the closed sleigh and banging on it with foot or fist until Lenore emerges. What she could say to make it up to her. The only thing that reins her in from enacting this scenario is the new and small concern that perhaps she'd be fucking up again. Embarrassing Lenore in some way, making her ignore her all the harder. She's painfully aware, suddenly, of how little she knows about correct etiquette.
She sighs explosively, out of nowhere, after hours of silence. Declares to no-one in particular (her horse? the air? who knows) "Uuuugh, why am I such a jackass??"