Obieth was usually the unseen one: bodyguard, huntress, secure in her place in both the palace and its shadows. She exulted in watching without being spotted in turn. When someone roamed, she often watched, keeping tabs or pacing along from a height or from a distance, shadowing them until they departed.
This time, however, she was caught unawares by the visitor. Her jaws were packed full of corn dogs from the theatre; she'd ordered six or seven of them ("a mouthful") and was trying to carry them all behind her saber teeth, all at once. Cheeks bulged, and ears were pinned back with the concentration of not dropping her food all over the place. Her intention was to get back to Aethril's room to eat, though as she went she took her time. Each paw settled gracefully on the white stone, cool underfoot, and she savored the feeling. The soft sound, too, barely-audible, of her own pawsteps just below. The taste and warmth of the food on her tongue.
...The brown creature that had just appeared before her as Obieth rounded the corner, nearly colliding with it. She halted abruptly, staring for a beat, torn between addressing it and... not. Addressing it meant dropping her food in an ungraceful heap of meat. Alternatively, though, she could just stand here, her mouth bulging ungracefully with said heap of meat anyway.
After a moment she dropped it all, a splattering noise accompanying the tumbling corn dogs; then she stepped over them (they were hers, after all) and pulled herself upright in a self-conscious caricature of aristocracy. She tried to forget the fact she'd just spewed corn dogs all over the floor.
Something new was bothering Aethril.
A sense of urgency that underlined her restlessness. The feeling that she was waiting for something-- though what this something was, the Hand did not know. The air in this Nest was stale-- its walls without rosy skies were entrapping and claustrophobic. As much as she tried to occupy herself with things like training and napping and nosing around the Palace, something felt off.
She had a choice. She could root out this source of strange anxiety and sort it out herself, or she could ignore it entirely and pretend everything was fine.
So, Aethril was meandering aimlessly around the palace.
Barefoot, cool marble against warm skin, silk cloth rustled as she passed through the barrier and into the corridors and began schemeing. She could find and bother Isra for some conversation-- she could find Rowan or Asher and haul them into the theatre to watch the same things she'd seen three times already, now. Eggbert would be near the entrance, greeting would-be visitors, and Eggbert was always a delight to whisk away from duties.
And Obieth-- Obieth's claws click-click-clicking against the floor was a familiar sound. Aethril's ear twitched and she paused to listen; though very suddenly it stopped and there was a moment of silence and briefly she wondered, was the cat watching? Ready to pounce? No-- because then she heard the distinct sound of meat squelching on the ground and distantly, she spoke to someone.
What else was she to do? Aethril turned and she paced down ornate hallways until she turned the corner, looming at the end of the hallway. Several feet from behind the fossa--
There was the source of the noise: dogs of hot and corn variety.
A mess laying in the middle of a pristine hallway. While Aethril would be considerably more upset if it were on the floor of her own bedroom, out here it was free reign: her lips quirked into a little smirk and in silence, almost wraith-like, she watched the two.
It was always nice to see your cat make friends, after all.
It chose, in the end, not to reply. Obieth found this remarkably rude, but at the same time, found the creature uninteresting enough that it was best to pick up her food, carry on, and then ignore it.
It was with little grace that she turned, her face finally stuffed again with all that she had dropped, and saw her mistress there. Obieth stared, for a minute, but her options were to greet Aethril and drop the food all over again, or... simply to depart. After a moment she cast out her magic, reaching for a tentative brush over Aethril's mind.
She turned, after a moment, and slinked off, irritated at her own lack of dignity--but more than ready to eat her meal.
Just-... elsewhere.
The little smirk began to fade; the muscles in her face loosened and the corners of her mouth dropped into a frown. Silence reigned, her eyes darted between Obieth and the stranger and eventually, after what seemed to her like an eternity, the Valkcat began to leave.
Obieth's short message confirmed a quiet possibility in the back of her mind. This creature was not mute or telepathic: it was merely a bitch. It was brief, fleeting anger that came in response the second before Obieth left her mind, a flower shyly blooming in the snow. It was not directed at (though she may have no way of knowing for sure) at Obieth, but instead, the silent stranger in the middle of the hallway.
It was only after the tip of her tail vanished beyond a corner that the Valkhand stepped forward.
Aethril made an attempt reign that rage in. It was intoxicating in that little way the Creator's magic tended to be-- chaotic, bloody, brutal. For the simple crime of not replying to her bodyguard, the Valkhand would have taken great enjoyment (perhaps too much) in tearing the little fossa apart, limb from limb, flesh from bone, until she was little more than another stain on the floor, indiscernable from the splattered remains from Obieth dropping her food.
It would be too much-- no matter how upset Obieth seemed to Aethril.
She stepped forward, bare feet stepping over the meat-juice on the ground.
Aethril didn't linger. Silk cloth flowing, she walked-- no, glided as though weightless, it seemed --down the hallway and twisted the corner, too, in the direction Obieth had gone. The rage was building and it left little desire for things like chatting or having tea or napping in the courtyard. Aethril had to find something to break, urgently, before she did something she'd regret.
Not that she would regret withdrawing the small mercy of letting the fossa leave with all bones unbroken.