without the preferred company of her friends, olive is a hollow shell – a vessel on an aimless trajectory. relentless boredom a familiar chain that coils taut about her ankles, anchoring her to the dunes of the oasis at night, while they slacken yet still remain come daylight. and what is exploration without a muse, without a second officer of adventure on her heels to guide through every acre of their vast homeland? loneliness a curse she’d sooner vanquish than further succumb to as she seeks the presence of her first (and most cherished) ally: @Ghyslaine. spring sees the bog cloaked in humidity, thick with recent rainfall and warming temperatures that preface the return of hibernating flora and fauna. a satisfied smirk curling blackened lips as her gaze fixates on the wet of muck that weighs down her limbs as they churn through the mud with her stride. ghyslaine must hate this, if the mire nearby experiences similar; the very thought forces a snort of laughter from her nostrils. a small chuff rumbling through the trees now in beckon of the pallid woman as she halts near the river. oh, please hang out with me.

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Ghyslaine

Spring had sprung, and the sheer humidity and thawing of mud had frustrated her to no end. She had stepped through various frozen puddles and sank into icy mud, and to top it off- she had gotten dirty. Ghyslaine spent much of her time trying to stay clean and proper, as a lady should- and this stupid spring mud wasn’t helping.

Leaving the mire, she held her head up high and proud. Proud to be of the mire and proud of her rank. Gentry She hadn’t fought for that rank- but when Alaric had awarded it to her- she hadn’t told her king no. Instead, she went to work- defending her pride and going in to recruit.

She wandered along the river, letting her senses do the work that her eyes were not doing as she focused on the unfurling blooms around her- letting herself enjoy the moment. Her gold tipped ears flick as a light chuff sounds and almost immediately she perks up before heading towards the sound. She would recognize that voice anywhere. So, as she draws nearer, Ghyslaine begins to creep towards @Olive, keeping low to the earth and shadows- hoping to surprise her friend in a bout of spring fun. Okay

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silence falls upon her in the aftermath of her summons, ears rotating fervently atop her crown in a desperate attempt to pinpoint the approach of her friend. but they fail to catch anything save the faint trickle of the river and the cooing of birds, and a frown slides onto her delicate features. had her ally forsaken her? the very thought threatens to see her eyes flood with mourning tears, but she refrains as she gives @Ghyslaine the benefit of the doubt. perhaps alaric keeps her hostage in the midst of tension between their prides, or perhaps she and her husband were out for a romantic stroll about the mire. and who is olive to disrupt the workings of true love? a defeated sigh ripples from parted lips as she turns to leave, carmine gaze widening with horror as she glimpses a flash of pale fur nearing her heels. instinctively, she backpedals from the intruder, a high-pitched shriek greeting the quiet atmosphere in her astonishment, the fur lining her spinal column pricking with unease. for a moment, she is still – until she registers who had startled her. “jesus!” is the breathy and emphatic retort she offers, partially amused, partially bewildered. her posture straightening now as she chuckles, gaze radiating warmth as it falls upon her pallid friend. “you got me good.” – obviously. but payback is a bitch, and soon olive cups her right forepaw, striking the muddy earth in an attempt to hurl chunks of muck into the woman’s neck and chest. their mischievous antics in lieu of a proper greeting.

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Ghyslaine

She carefully crept through the brush and bracken, her feet softly carrying her across the earth. She was a super sneak, and she was going to sneak up on Olive. She grinned wryly as she other lioness came into view, and when Olive shrieked, Ghyslaine jumped straight up in the air, startled by the sharp noise.

She landed, and whirled around, her tail lashing, and then heat flooded across her face, as she realized that- she was what startled @Olive.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she slowly turned to face her friend, trying to force a cool smile to her jaws. Just as a wad of mud slapped into her pristine fur.

"What?!" She barked, glaring at the mud in disgust.

"That is just rude" She hissed in reply, though amusement glimmered in her eyes, as her tail lashed behind her.

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from the perspective of a bystander, it is nearly impossible to differentiate the scarer from the scared when both women recoil in astonishment. an impish cackle left to tumble from satin lips as @Ghyslaine shoots into open air, her pale, airborne form resembling that of a rocket in its urgency. and were olive more self-aware, perhaps she’d find her own frazzled response worthy of a laugh. however, she is oblivious, and in this, remains blissfully unaware that she is the other half of one whole jumpy idiot – the epitome of graceless written in her own reaction. her lip curls with prideful satisfaction as the mire gentry receives her assault as intended, mud left to soil and cake pristine flesh as it drips down her front. and the babe anticipates the protest of her friend before it’s given, a ‘well-that’s-what-you-get’ shrug lifting her shoulders: karma truly is a bitch. but olive’s jesting does not stop there; it never does. “gods, ghys,” disgust colors her tones and her nose scrunches accordingly, hopeful in selling feigned repulsion. “you’re hideous!” she shrieks then, the back of a forepaw kissing her forehead dramatically, her balance teetering as she mimics an oncoming faint. of course, the weight of her words is negligible when ghyslaine’s beauty is everlasting, persistent even through grime. “if you go back now, he’ll divorce you for sure,” she warns as she regains stable ground, false pity discernible in her words. and although olive knows the two do not foster romantic feelings for one another by now, it is still the only comedic material she has to go off of. and if it weren’t amusing then, surely it wouldn’t change now; tough crowds the curse that seemingly plagues her. “but don’t worry, ghys, i’ll still be here for you,” she assures the woman – or were it a threat to an eternal friendship? “you just might have to box a cactus or two to get to me.” and what a crime it had been to befriend an entire pride whilst remaining in the shackles of another. it is enough to earn her dismay, though it does not reflect upon her exterior in hopes of keeping her ally's maternal side at bay.

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Ghyslaine

Her heart hammers in her chest, the loud thuds echo through her body, as she settles again with all four feet now on the earth. Her claws still score the earth beneath her paws, and her tail twitches irritably. She can’t help but to glare at her friend. @Olive.

The mud that Olive had heaved at her, soaked into her fur and it is a rather undignified screech of irritation that leaves her as she paws at the mud with her paws, trying to loosen it and perhaps fling the wad of it back at Olive. The words of her friend do little to soothe the irritation, that is mostly friendly, building in her, and with a dramatic roll of her eyes at Olive’s antics, Ghys huffs.

“He is not my husband.” She growls, her tail flicking behind her, as she glares- perhaps playfully at Olive. Olive words about still being there for her, should Violarum divorce her, made her roll her eyes again. Teasing, perhaps, she would shoot back a rebuttal, “A cactus, hmm? What if I don’t wish to get the pricks in my paws?” She asked.

She turned her attention back to raptly, working to clean the spot of mud from her fur, before she settled down into a neat seating position.

“Speaking of cacti... how is the Oasis treating you?” She asks, her tail twitching a bit from the irritation of how Olive ended up residing there.

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chunks of mud detach from ghyslaine’s fur, flung through the air like missiles with the woman’s shimmy. and a snicker cuts through gaping jaws as she flinches from the assault, though she is unfazed by the prospect of dirtying in contrast to the mire gentry. in fact, she is in her element here: a pig who wallows in filth with pleasure. the squelch of muck beneath her paws a welcomed treat in the absence of scorching oasis sand. brows flash with feigned disbelief at ghys’ protest, though she does not push the matter further as her friend’s vexation becomes apparent in a hardened stare. manifesting playfully now as ghys’ maternal instinct to defend withers in favor of empty reluctance to come to her rescue if necessary. and olive snorts at the notion of pricks (rather immaturely); the oasis has plenty of those. “no pricks in your paws? i thought you wanted to fight the andal men,” she teases, tones exasperated. pride flutters in her chest – that was a good one, and she deserves credit for it, she decides. @Ghyslaine shifts the conversation to typical pleasantries, and olive’s posture straightens in preparation for her sardonic spiel. “ah, they crowned me queen, ghys,” chin inclines with false pride, the ghost of a smirk tugging on her features. “seneca’s about to have himself an heir.” gleaming gaze shifts to her stomach now, indicating that she’d birth the king’s hundredth litter. perhaps she should’ve stopped while she was ahead; it’s too bad olive doesn’t know how.

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Ghyslaine

She can’t help but to snort at @Olive’s rather immature sense of humor. She rolls her eyes almost fondly, and sits back onto her haunches, setting work to cleaning herself back up. It was going to take her ages to clean out her fur After a moment she speaks. “Oh the men there I wouldn’t mind under my claws- or better yet if they’d just leave others alone... I could leave them alone and we could all live happily ever after.” She finished, her tone rather dry. Realistically, Ghyslaine would like that- everyone to just get along.... not like that was ever going to happen?

She can’t help but laugh almost hysterically at Olive’s comments. “Seneca, huh? That’s the one you pick?” She teases. Even Ghyslaine can admit that the Oasis males are handsome, but its far more fun to tease Olive about which one she is apparently attracted too. “Is it just because you’ll be Queen or because you like him?” She teases, her tone soft. If her friend can be funny, Ghyslaine is going to try to to be funny too.

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her ally reclines and begins cleansing soiled flesh, but olive refrains from mimicry as she kneads the muck beneath her toes absently. her gaze fixated on the miniature tunnels her claws rake into the earth as her ears absorb the fanciful and idealistic version of events @Ghyslaine yearns for. “sounds awfully boring,” she comments, squinting up at her counterpart with an impish grin. firm in her resolve that the woman’s dreams of everlasting peace between feuding prides are just that: dreams, incapable of attainment. and even if they were within their hopeful grasp, olive would sooner swat the opportunity away in favor of the chaos that persists. life were much more entertaining in the throes of hatred, after all. ghys questions her king of choice between shared laughter, and olive merely shrugs. “i mean… there must be a reason he has so many kids,” her voice trails then, girlish in her sentiment as she envisions the painted man. perhaps he were crafted to appeal to her refined tastes, his mere purpose on earth to serve as the epitome of beauty, outshining all his competitors. “would it be so bad to be his queen?” she queries, pointed in her response to her ally’s teasing vocals. wedding the andal king, olive decides, would not be a fate worse than death – so long as she could utilize her wily ways to direct his reign to a forest, to grass. but olive is not entirely greedy, and for ghyslaine, she will share her pretend splendors. “i’ll leave the ginger one to you, don’t worry,” she vows, a sly smirk coiling the ends of velvet lips as she recalls their relationship – however deep or shallow. there were more than enough miroslav men to go around; she will allow ghys to take her pick of the draw, in all her generosity. satisfied with her taunts, she surveys the pale form of her friend then, her girlish imagination interrupted by memories of the macabre. war. a bloodbath on mire soil, and one she is certain ghyslaine had been forced into. “how have you been?” she asks, tones gentle and uncharacteristically quiet, sheepish. prying questions dying upon her tongue in favor of respectful silence, attention fully ensnared by her dearest friend.

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Ghyslaine

Perhaps it was idealistic, her view upon the world. Maybe that made her little more than a dreamer, but Ghyslaine would rather dream of a peaceful world… then just assume that this constant stress and tension… that was not all the world was. It couldn’t be.

She snorts at Olive’s words, enjoying the youth and potential naivety of her friend. “Fight in a war and tell me you enjoy the chaos after,” She added with a wry grin, and she focused on cleaning herself, and then she looked up at Olive’s next words.

The dirty implication of what Olive said made a faint blush rise to her cheeks. “Olive!” She said with a gasp- was she implying that Seneca was good… at…. Oh gods.

“You can have him.” She said with a curl of her lips, and a dramatic eye-roll at her mention of the ginger lion. Ghyslaine would never- never admit out-loud that before all of the chaos between the Oasis and the Mire… she had once found her friend- Leander to be quite handsome. Not that she would ever mention that

When @Olive softly asks how Ghyslaine has been, she looks at her friend, her normal wit fading. “Things have been…. Good. I’m a gentry now.” She added, happy to share her rank with her friend. A rank that meant that she could now freely challenge for Olive once she was ready- and had the go-ahead.

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