She crept through the tall grass towards the rocks that formed a small mountain, okay to her still young eyes it felt like a mountain. Though admittedly it was smaller than she originally thought- the curse of aging. She prowled closer to it and studied the rocks, before she would leap on top of them and stand tall and strong. Like a Queen- the Queen she would one day be. Or at least that was the plan. Because as a youth she has so many plans. She inhaled deeply and mockingly began speaking down to her people.

"You will bring me a warm fresh Zebra haunch three times a day, and one of you will hold a leaf and shield me from the sun, whenever it’s hot again." She declared proudly, gesturing to her peons with a paw. She would command them all and live a life of luxury- because that was what Queens did- and right? "And we will be the strongest and bestest pride ever." She declared, her voice firm- her imaginary audience held captive on her every word.

@Olive

ART BY YUMPY, CODE BY DEE, MODIFIED BY GUNNER

unlike their elder predecessors – gone with the wind – this new brood were an enigma the would-be auntie had yet to acquaint herself with. fortunately, such a lapse were easy to rectify within the close quarters of lorien; and as the domineering tones of a nearby adolescent chimes across the quiet field, so does olive’s aimless trajectory shift. furtive stride lays waste to what distance separates one queen from the next, and an impish grin comes to settle across her features as she bears witness to maeve’s regal ascension before a crowd of dust. how endearing.

the devilish glint of her gaze seeks @Maeve as she creeps from her swathe of shadows with a dramatized genuflect of sorts — as if to play along. “your highness,” she greets, neck craning to behold the yearling upon her perch of stone. she smirks: amused. “you’re a natural. just like your mum,” were the compliment offered in lieu of requested zebra haunch, visions of a former life shrouding present reality and youthful countenance with an overlay of queen ghyslaine. “don’t tell her i said this, but… she made a better queen, here, than i ever will.” had her sister’s children known of their mother’s origins? surely, they were well-informed of their parents’ conquests — and, of course, those of their very accomplished auntie’s.

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She is unaware of her actions are being witnessed, and she stands so proudly and strongly- on top of the rock. As if she is a Queen already, and somehow rules the entire Plains in her youth. She lets out what she views as a commanding roar- which probably does come out as little more than a soft spoken growl- and starts to speak proudly- until another speaks and she freezes in her actions.

Olive -- the name is at her memory instantly, and she also realizes... that this is the legitimate Queen. Yet, the brown female doesn't seem angry and her first words- Your highness! -- makes her pause dramatically and she straightens- as Olive goes on. 'You're a natural. Just like your mum.' She blinks, and tries to re-call the story, of how her mom may have talked about being Queen but... she couldn't recall. "My mom was really Queen?" Oh how quickly her own Queenly demeanor falls. "She may have said a story about it but I thought it was just a story?" She muses. don’t tell her i said this, but… she made a better queen, here, than i ever will. Her eyes widen at the thought, and she considers that- trying to think very much like a grown up and not at all like a yearling. What was a good reply?

"Do you like being Queen?" She asks curiously. Good enough, right?

@Olive

ART BY KIM, CODE BY DEE, MODIFIED BY GUNNER

while she were not the type to grovel, the pixie would make an exception in their game of play-pretend: offering sheepish glances and lax poise to the almighty @Maeve. her niece’s ambition were commendable (if not shared by an olive of ages past), and a fond grin soon sprawls across her countenance as visions of queen ghyslaine come to dominate her thoughts. but the yearling were almost wary of the image painted of her once-royal mother, and olive recoils with dramatized incredulity and the critical quirk of a brow. “you’ve lived with ghyslaine for how long and can’t believe it? with that bossiness? tsk, tsk,” she chides upon flippant tones, smirking with good-spirited intent. “but she just had to leave. otherwise, you could’ve been a princess, like the others.” blissfully unaware of the bombshell she drops upon the oblivious second litter, a soft chuckle resonates from her station amongst the crowd of invisible peons. to olive, it were just another taunt at her absent sister’s expense — a bonding opportunity she’d readily exploit for the adolescent who were much too cool for their mommy, now.

at her niece’s probing question, however, she stills with quiet contemplation. in truth, she had not anticipated taking up lorien’s mantle in the degree she had, and a dormant piece of her resents the obligations weighted in her gilded crown. “i liked being the little queen a lot more,” she admits with an anchoring, half-hearted smile. “all the glory of being a queen with only half the responsibility. marry rich, kid. seriously,” she advises: very wise and inspirational. and though olive had not had to romance violarum for her position, she had nine reasons that proved otherwise to any outsiders.

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Truthfully, all Maeve had known of her mother truly was the youth's ideal of a fairytale-esque romance with her dad. She'd heard them call each other two different names- Ghyslaine and Andras and Meira and Folke. It was a touch confusing for any youth, but she'd understood the gist of it. They had been in hiding, then when their "Uncle" and "Aunt" which she'd never met until Mom and Dad decided they needed to be in a pride- and Uncle Violarum and Aunt Olive had taken Lorien Plains back. It was a lot of confusing details, and she hadn't quite forgotten her absolute reluctance to come here- to leave their haven in the field of flowers. Though, truthfully, now she stood on top of a high rock and was actually conversing with a real life Queen.

She feels her brow furrow in confusion as she considers her mother's 'bossiness' and had Olive not been her mother's sister- she may have puffed up like an indignant fur-ball. But she can see the smirk, and the teasing tone is there- and she laughs softly- looking down at her. "She doesn't talk about it a lot. She's got older cubs too, but I haven't met them." Maeve admits. That always confused her- why weren't they together, like one big family? She hadn't ever asked though, hadn't ever gotten to pry into why they were separated- and she didn't even know about her father's other older litter- her half siblings.

Truthfully there hadn't been much in the way of -time, but she hadn't really asked either. "Was she a good Queen?" A follow up question, and a reveal of the youth of the audience that Olive now held. She considers her mother's bossy nature, as Olive would put it and she thinks that Ghyslaine would be a good Queen. Effective and smart, yeah. Kind, and wise. She'd never seen anything from her mother that made her doubt her abilities- that made her anything less than a Queen of legend.

"Mom's the little Queen now, huh?" Kinda lost on the whole heiress thing- but she's curious about it. "You seem like a good Big Queen." She adds thoughtfully- because Olive hadn't just shoved her off the rock. And she seemed cool, a bit different from Ghyslaine, but cool. "Are you two really sisters?" She asks curiously, because they look nothing alike, and well- who else could best dish out the juiciest of information, but Olive herself. The one who knew all, and could tell all.

"I should marry a King?" She asks, with a scrunch of her nose, considering that. Boys were still... yucky, and she thought of any of them acting like she'd seen her brothers act in the year past- and No thanks! "Why aren't you married?" Oh, @Olive - you've opened this can of worms all on your own- and consider Maeve nosy asf .

ART BY YUMPY, CODE BY DEE, MODIFIED BY GUNNER

perceptive to her niece’s bewilderment upon mention of the others, olive’s stomach lurches as a wave of uncertainty threatens to consume. had she revealed too much? were the existence of a previous litter a forbidden knowledge, forbidden topic amongst the children of new? in the throes of suspense, the pixie pins @Maeve with an unwavering stare while she contemplates prospective reprimanding from her absent sister, allowing only the whisper of shallowed breath to permeate her heavy silence. but relief were slow to find her as the trill of maeve’s laughter chimes through the tension, alleviating her woes with subsequent affirmations of prior knowledge. thank the gods! ghyslaine would not have her head, yet — and an emphatic, forced chuckle of her own billows from a too-wide, gaping grin in response.

even so, there were little humor to be found in implicative negligence. and though a dormant piece within her withers at the thought of maven’s litter – replaced by the girl, perched so confidently before her, and so callously – olive does not linger on the topic... nor does she yearn to as the pang of her heart intensifies with unearthed memories of the olden, golden days.

the yearling’s soprano anchors her back to present reality, reeling in her thousand-mile stare with its inquisitive lilt. with the swivel of her crown, olive rids her psyche of residual contrition (at least, for now) before offering a distant smile, a thoughtful nod. “the best,” she corrects, but not unkindly. in truth, ghyslaine were a better leader than the reigning queen could ever hope to be, and a fond hum graces her lips as she envisions the former sovereign upon a throne of grain. “if you’re even half as good a queen as ghys, you’ll still be among the best of them,” she claims, punctuating the praise with a reaffirming nod.

but maeve were particularly keen upon politics – so she’d learn – and she quickly squints up to the girl while mulling over the slew of probing questions. how lucky for the yearling that she were a chatterbox, through and through. “kind of?” were the wisdom shared through her uncertain wince. “she’s like, the back-up big queen. better than the little queen,” she elaborates, satisfied enough with the explanation given her own mediocre understanding. her niece’s compliment, however, has the queen’s chest inflating with pride, and she flashes her cleanest pageant grin with all the gratitude she could muster. even still, the expression were a fleeting thing in the wake of great amusement, but she stifles the oncoming giggle to deadpan: “what do you mean? we are twins.” obviously.

feeling as though a fountain of knowledge, a sage nod follows maeve’s clarifying inquiry in regards to marriage. “parents set those up, sometimes. maybe your mom can set you up to marry some head honcho’s kid. just inherit it that way? someone from the summit,” olive advises: keen upon securing the good favor of morrigan, herself. but her high spirits quickly sour with maeve’s final question, and an indignant pout settles across her features. “it’s not for lack of interest,” she asserts in her own defense — terse and childish in a way that reminds her of past bickering with a long-forgotten brother. “i just haven’t thought it important.” so take that.

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