[Basma]

Basma

Slit pupils shift, mirror-like in the moonlight. Their Minister is missing-- the citizens are starting to notice, now. Soon, someone will have to take charge, or the pack will fracture once more. Basma won't let the throne be stolen from him again.

Eyes almost as bright as the snow they scan, for pawprints he knows aren't there, a perfunctory search for signs he has already seen. Rainer was last seen in the desert just beyond their borders-- by Basma, of all wolves-- and that doesn't bode well for anyone, least of all someone that will soon ascend to his vacated position. His damn daughter will never trust this new leadership-- she hated him the second he slipped from the shadow. Basma is not her father, and if that alone didn't earn the girl's ire, how will he explain the living situation that made him aware when Rainer didn't return?

Simply put, he won't. He is well versed in politics; he knows better than to introduce a scandal on his coronation day. His time as Historian cemented that ideal-- among other things.

His lip curls slightly as he spies someone in the distance-- the subtle smile of his namesake twinging a touch aggressive before his expression extends to an overbearing grin. Being pack librarian taught him much: possibly worst of all, how close he and the pack crazy really are.

[Fable]

She had given the warning, but their Minister's disappearance was a step she had not considered him taking.  Was he clever?  Or just a coward?  Or perhaps, he had not been the proper boy after all.  As she was spied, so too did she spy the smiling one.  The mixed breed. Most of her kind was obsessed with bloodlines, with traditions, with the past.  The Raven Witch was the past, and had seen more seasons end than some had seen begin.  She didn't care about the blood, although hers was considered pure.  She'd found it was not overly important, except within the cadges of the mind.  Fable had flown free of those cages long ago.  She was aware of her connection to Basma, but it was not something that occupied her everyday thoughts. She had more interesting musings, such as those about the smiling boy.

While Basma was obsessed with the fact that his bloodline should make him a king, Fable did not think twice about the fact that she could have, by purity, been a Queen. Bah, let the bloodsuckers have their politics.  Fable wanted the world, and didn't care if anyone was there to see her enjoy it. But all the politics could make her life less pleasant. Their previous Minister was content to let her be the pack crazy. Best make sure that the smiling one was going to do the same.  She was too learned to accept collar and cage.  But not too old to make sure she wasn't caught. If Basma was wise, he'd remember there was a reason she was the Raven Witch.  But then, how clever is the boy?  Only one way to know... With a grin of her own, she changes direction to make her way towards him.  Above her, her ravens dove and swooped, bouncing on and off of tree branches as they followed in her wake.  

[Basma]

Basma

Fable, he greets, uncomfortably saccharine. As the two draw nearer, he circles to the side, an intentional little dance. You don't come to me. I won't answer. How have you been?

He doesn't care for her reply, if there even is one-- if she knows him as well as she seems to believe she does. Even Meztli didn't know him, really. Only one has come close. No one ever will, now. Have you seen Rainer recently?

No one has; it's why he's here, trudging through the snow when he could be curled by a fire. The halfbreed despises the cold, much like he detests Fable-- her clean heritage and how the pack looks up to her as some sort of spiritual adviser. A layover from their refuge in Nardir, with Rainer's hippie sibling. Let the past die with them.

If only Fable was spiritual enough to disappear with them. He looks her over-- the black and white barring reminds him of Bitterkeit, closer to the throne than she ever was, or will be. Basma passes behind her (unless she makes the move to follow him, proves she doesn't want her back to him in this affectation of appearances between them), No no, don't move on my account. Rest. You'll need it.

Leave leadership to me.

[Fable]

"Fable, How have you been?"

Bah, an empty pleasantry, like that smile of his.  Pin came to land on his mistress's shoulder, and croaked at the smiling boy.  Needle cawed a response from overhead.  She doubted he could understand them, but then, he didn't care for an answer anyway, so their replies were enough. The witch huffed a chuckle, and met Basma's waltz.

"Have you seen Rainer recently?" He asked

"Lost him, have we?" She asked coyly. "Isn't he clever?"

"No no, don't move on my account. Rest."

He'd slit her throat with that smile.  She could sense that he was trying to force the power, to dominate her and claim the crown.  He circled her, and if she turned, He'd take it as suspicion.  As fear.  She was not afraid of him.  So as he walks around her, she sits, leaning back on her haunches while Pin irritably takes flight. When he rounds to walk behind her, she leans into him.  The coy, almost flirtatious mood reminding him that while she was not young, she was also not as old as she pretended to be.  Not a yield, a counter.

"They certainly think so."

She said, referring to the rest of the pack. but let the following remark go unspoken, yet hung between them. What do they think of you? We know what they think of me. If he wanted them to like him, killing their loveable  ol' witch was not the way to do that.  He knew it, she knew it.  She batted her eyes at him.  Was she attracted? No.  But she had birthed for Bacchus before, and knew that males took the signs of female attraction as something akin to worship.  She was giving him a chance to have them think she liked him.  If he acted pleasant enough, she wasn't going to argue.  If he wanted her help, he'd need to pay special attention.

The world is watching how you treat a lady. Give us a kiss sweetums. Smile for the cameras.

[Basma]

Basma

"They certainly think so."

With good reason, he warns, curling his neck over her shoulder, tail lazily draped on the opposite haunch. He's the sort females generally avoid finding themselves alone with, and for Fable to tempt it... If her reaction throws him off, there's no indication. She bats her eyes; Basma's grin widens, voice lowering. So am I.

The threat is obscured by tucking his chin against her chest, high by the throat. A nip there is deference; an attack is deadly. Even if the only birds watching are her own, Basma understands the importance of public opinion. He accepts the role Fable holds within the pack, so long as it does not interfere with his own.

Smile softened, he lifts his head and leisurely steps to beside her, sides still pressed together. He studies the reflections in her eyes, measures the depths of her breaths. I do hope he turns up, and he's hardly even lying. If you need anything in the meantime, Fable dear, come to me.

It's a probe as much as an invitation. If I lead, will you follow?

... Won't you?