Location: Balcony
Tag: Open [Come Play!] - In the Area: [member="Kerstan Blackmoore"] | [member="Hisashi"] | [member="Áine"] | [member="Alden Akaran"]
Standing With: [member="Adron Malvern"] | [member="Krystal Estain"]
Dark thoughts rolled around in her lovely little head like a storm. Her silver eyes moved while burnished gold bled in from her iris. The more the ill-educated male before her let noise pass from the holes in his face the more she wished to end his suffering. It would be so easy. Simple. The universe would thank her for keeping something so spineless from contaminating the gene pool. As if that wasn’t bad enough, crimson, seemed to be the wrong color to wear. It attracted all sorts of annoyances.
“Leave.”
She was a woman of few words. The Lord didn’t seem to have the common sense or self-preservation to obey, however, a young woman fortuitously intervened. Was it an accident? Her glacier eyes flickered over the lithe form of one [member="Krystal Estain"] and looked for signs of instability. Weak ankles, poor balance, but truthfully…She could only conclude that it had been deliberate.
“No bother at all.”
The Exarch offered her untouched beverage to the young woman to replace that which she had dumped down the Lord’s highly expensive suit. It was only fair, to replace, that which had been lost. Deliberate or otherwise. Her lips parted to speak further, however, someone new decided that it was a wise decision to invade her personal space. Hard eyes gave no quarter while the rotund human, Lord Ashlan, made his way toward them. Part of her prayed that he had noticed the scantily clad Ms. Estain.
No—He ignored the winsome creature at her side and began to address her directly.
Srina had nothing to say to his open, lecherous, flattery. There was a rather large ring on her finger that signaled she was already taken but the portly Lord did not seem to mind. Her head tilted while he sang her praises and her nostrils became assaulted with cologne that was far too heavy when he came far too close far too quickly. Everything about her seemed to still when his hand raised toward her face. Even the air—As if she stopped breathing altogether. Echani were genetically designed to hold a singular standard of waif-like attractiveness. On the whole, they were generally stunning, graceful, and endlessly poised. Her eyes were luminous, with hair that appeared to be softer than silk, with the almost cruel addition of a curving form that tempted almost as well as it fought.
The Exarch found it boring. There was no mystery, no allure, simply a group whose genetics couldn’t get any less original if they tried. To that end…who could blame this man for falling into a ruse that had been built in to her DNA centuries ago?
She could.
Srina let the Force move in her being, a swath of darkness, and she envisioned the man from “
The House of Golden Waters” as a construct versus a bargain basement human. She saw beneath the surface of fabric and useless fatty tissue. An old injury in his knee. Poorly repaired. Golden corruption pooled into her gaze while she prepared to pour the Force into it so that she could pull him apart. She would awaken his pain, rip open the old wound, and teach him a whole new respect for women.
Something stopped his hand before it made contact.
Srina inhaled softly and recognized that one of her closest friends had arrived to save the day.
Pity. As Lord Ashlan stalked away her hackles slowly lowered and her eyes cleared.
“Adron…”, she murmured softly, and her body turned, so that she could lean partially against her fellow Exarch. He was warm. His scent was calming and her ivory head tucked itself briefly against his shoulder. He was so much taller than she was—It was only natural.
“I could have handled him.”
By handle, truthfully, she meant dismember.
Her head turned toward Ms. Estain while Adron addressed the flaxen haired woman in his usual fashion. Her fellow Exarch had been born to nobility on Serenno. It would never truly leave him. Srina was the opposite. She was a daughter of Eshan, certainly, but it did not denote any special titles or any kind of high socialite behavior.
“Your name?”, she inquired of the woman, pausing, to reach up and take the hand that Adron had used to remove the offending Lord from her presence. It may have seemed quixotic in nature, but truthfully, the dark-haired man was one of her best friends. She trusted him with her life and so very much more.
“You may call me Srina when our hosts are otherwise occupied.”
Bring referred to as “
Exarch” or “
Lady” always left her feeling disgruntled. Her focus shifted toward the arena below as the sounds of combat and monstrous wars floated up. She was interested in the Confederate fighters that had chosen to participate. Always, violence drew her attention. Combat was in her blood. Nothing, no pretty dresses, nor titles, would ever change that.
