( she laughs, makes a grand flourish with her hands. her fingers are longer than a human's, too, which gives them a sort of spidery appearance. )
Of course! I'm too old by half to be picking up new tricks now! Do what you love until it kills you, right?
( she's escaped death so many times. what is a life but one series of sidesteps around it? the cold, the dark, the wet, the underbelly of cassantine almost claimed her, but she's got her, but old vandii isn't so easily caught or quelled. and despite it all, she likes her work. it keeps a roof over her head and food in her belly and knives more-or-less away from her throat. she placates everyone just enough that no one really wants her dead, and she's spent a lifetime cultivating allies in dangerous places. they all know she'd stab them in the back, but it keeps them honest more than it does her.
her attention shifts. hard to track the pupil with the glow of the golden irises, but she is obviously watching his hand, the glass, the resultant ink with interest. if the glow to his chest didn't give him away, that would. and the una are everywhere.
it's self-interest more than any desire to protect him, souls know she'd throw him to the dogs on a whim and a breath, but she leans in so that the glow of his power's use is muted between their bodies, she puts her arm across his shoulder so her wool vest hangs open and blocks some of it from the crowd beyond. she tips her head down so that her breath is on the shell of his very human ear. )
Fascinating, but perhaps not the best place to indulge, hm?
( there were spies everywhere in cassantine. one learned by needs to avoid or fool them. )
no subject
Of course! I'm too old by half to be picking up new tricks now! Do what you love until it kills you, right?
( she's escaped death so many times. what is a life but one series of sidesteps around it? the cold, the dark, the wet, the underbelly of cassantine almost claimed her, but she's got her, but old vandii isn't so easily caught or quelled. and despite it all, she likes her work. it keeps a roof over her head and food in her belly and knives more-or-less away from her throat. she placates everyone just enough that no one really wants her dead, and she's spent a lifetime cultivating allies in dangerous places. they all know she'd stab them in the back, but it keeps them honest more than it does her.
her attention shifts. hard to track the pupil with the glow of the golden irises, but she is obviously watching his hand, the glass, the resultant ink with interest. if the glow to his chest didn't give him away, that would. and the una are everywhere.
it's self-interest more than any desire to protect him, souls know she'd throw him to the dogs on a whim and a breath, but she leans in so that the glow of his power's use is muted between their bodies, she puts her arm across his shoulder so her wool vest hangs open and blocks some of it from the crowd beyond. she tips her head down so that her breath is on the shell of his very human ear. )
Fascinating, but perhaps not the best place to indulge, hm?
( there were spies everywhere in cassantine. one learned by needs to avoid or fool them. )