a goose

IC: Merrill (Peak of High Eyrie)

"Wait… you're meant to tell clans by those?"

IC: Merrill (Peak of High Eyrie)

"Sorry teach, dog ate my prophecy. That's you. That's what you sound like. You are literally just making this shіt up."

IC: Muir (Akiri Renaka's Home, Po-Koro)

"Forgive me, but if I may," Muir interjected. "While I understand that you might wish to maintain a certain level of discretion around this investigation, a token or letter bearing your seal might open some doors that would otherwise remain closed. I appreciate that you might not be able to grant it, even to be used with great caution and discrimination, but I had to ask."

IC: Merrill (Peak of High Eyrie)

"Seriously, it doesn't even rhyme. What kind of prophecy doesn't rhyme? And like - prophecies are meant to prophes… prophesy? Prophetise?" Merrill paused for a moment. Her companion's vocabulary issues were apparently contagious. "They're meant to predict something, right? But that's just like - 'you climb three mountains, you'll become a leader, for entirely unrelated reasons, after an indeterminate amount of time has passed.' That's like, a guess at most. Who told you that was a prophecy?"

IC: Merrill (Peak of High Eyrie)

“Cool, cool, very fun, very, uh, ominous. It’s just that, well - what strikes me is that you’re very insistent you have nothing to prove, and like, good on you, obviously, confidence is key, but… you kinda act like you have a lot to prove and it’s giving off some weird energy.” Merrill paused her stream of consciousness for a moment, discovering a capability for thought and observation that she usually drowned in booze. "Wait - that's not a real prophecy."

IC: Merrill (Peak of High Eyrie)

Merrill took hold of the hook and muttered something that sounded like ‘ritual humiliation’. Her legs had already begun to crack and bend unnaturally behind her, the painful healing process begun - and with her hands on the hook, she was excruciatingly sober.

“So what’s your deal, anyways? Is this some runt-of-the-litter shite, or are there people out there actually feeding your delusions?"

IC: Muir (Akiri Renaka's Home, Po-Koro)

For the first time since Stannis and his enigmatic companion had left, Muir looked to Vrill, encouraging him to speak his mind if he had anything to add.

IC: Muir (Akiri Renaka's Home, Po-Koro)

Muir nodded. This confirmed some of his suspicions, and provided additional context to what little he knew of Hewkii’s misdeeds, most of it gleaned with his Rode.

“Fascists are good business for weapons dealers.” As is war, he thought, and knew that everyone else in the room thought it too. “Thank you for being so forthcoming, I greatly appreciate it. Such details are likely irrelevant, but the more facts I have at my disposal, the more equipped I am to ask the right questions.”

OOC: @Silvan Haven @BULiK

IC: Muir (Akiri Renaka's Home, Po-Koro)

“Mm.” Muir seemed satisfied with the response, but remained thoughtful. The trade agreements were no surprise, but something was eating at him. His thoughts drifted back to something he had said earlier, to Vrill - an offhand comment at the time, but…

“I imagine they’ve got good relations with Onu-Koro at the moment too, considering.” He let that hang for a moment, calling back to his earlier comments on Onu-Koro’s current prosperity, and its relations with Po-Koro. “I’m curious; like most people, I know little, given how private he kept his dealings. How was your predecessor’s relationship with Onu-Koro?”

IC: Muir (Akiri Renaka's Home, Po-Koro)

Muir, even though many would expect otherwise, did in fact have a poker face - in his line of work, it was a necessity.

Court cases rarely held surprises, despite what every salacious legal drama would suggest; this was the whole point of discovery, opening arguments, witness lists - each lawyer knows the evidence the opposition has access to, and knows the arguments they intend to make. But in order to make the best case for a client, their representation must look confident in them at every turn. If cross-examination goes poorly, or the jury is introduced to a particularly damning piece of evidence, the damage is exponentially worsened if they see the other lawyer sweat. Every person, guilty or innocent, is entitled to the best possible legal defence.

This is the context that is required in order to fully appreciate the novelty of Muir’s visible surprise. True to form, however, he quickly recovered.

“I would be honoured, Akiri Renaka.” And glad, too - Muir could not deny that it came as something of a relief to him, knowing he would be compensated for his work. It was also both encouraging and interesting that their new Akiri would choose him for this job - she had not lied, which gave him some confidence that she had not merely hired him in an effort to ‘keep her enemies closer’. But it was still a curious choice, investigating one of the official protectors of another Koro, and allying herself with someone as… perhaps not controversial, but certainly not universally beloved, as Muir in the process. Renaka, it seemed, warranted more attention than he had originally thought.

“May I ask - Skorm’s position in the Toa Kalta being, of course, relevant to this investigation - what you think of Ko-Koro’s new Akiri?”

IC: Merrill (Peak of High Eyrie)

Merrill peeked over the edge. It was a nasty drop, to be sure, but she'd managed worse - she'd never been to the top of High Eyrie before, but she'd had adventures enough by herself, and had pulled off many a daring leap in her time. Useful as her mask was, in truth it was insurance, her back-up for those rare instances when her bravery outweighed her skill.

She took a deep breath of the cold mountain air, felt her mind beginning to uncloud. This was the moment she lived for, the adrenaline surge that came with every leap of faith. She took one last swig from her flask for good luck, and tucked it safely away. And then…

And then, she jumped.

The visceral, sickening sound of snapping bones and tearing musculature was nearly drowned out by Merrill's stream of screamed profanities. Nearly.

"SON OF A MOTHERBITCH, WHAT THE ####?!" Merrill stained the snow with streaks of red as she dragged her broken body toward Shouty. "You could have mentioned the snow wasn't as deep as it looked, you bleedin' arsehole!"

IC: Nikarra (The Iron Mahi)

Nikarra's smugness faded away, her expression turning tender. Something in her seemed to relax, tension she didn't even know she was carrying falling from her shoulders as Vyartha spoke. Her chest felt… strange, tight somehow, and she felt something ball up at the bottom of her throat. She almost felt like she might cry, not because of anything Vy had said, but because some door had been opened somewhere deep inside her, and the tears were already waiting.

She didn't cry, though. The look in her eyes broke every rule of emotion, achingly sad and yet indescribably full of affection. Thinking back on it later, Nikarra would come to the conclusion that the feeling was heartbreak - not the bitter, sorrowful kind, but the breaking of some shell that had formed around it, painful and necessary. It was freeing, and it was terrifying; it was true vulnerability, in all its joys and all its dangers, and it was the moment of realising that you no longer had any choice in whether to risk it. Nikarra knew exactly what it was - she'd felt it before, years ago, when a barman had looked at her with kindness in his eyes and tenderly wrapped his scarf around her neck.

Well, ####. She couldn't even manage to sound genuinely dismissive in her own head - the warm glow spreading inside her had robbed her of her detached snark. Which was, quite frankly, criminal. Her detached snark was great. Everyone's at their funniest when using comedy as a defence mechanism in order to bury the scary emotions inside - ask anyone!

Nikarra closed her eyes as Vy began to hum, letting the tune wash over her. Vy's voice only made the feeling in her chest intensify - it was shy, a little shaky, but deeply earnest. It occurred to Nikarra that there were few things quite as intimate as singing.

She picked the melody at first, stumbling a little - it had been a while since she'd played by ear - but once she had it, a fog began to clear in her memory, and a long-forgotten song made its way back to her in that way that only music could.

The chords she played were soft and sad, even mournful, with an ominous dissonance creeping in beneath. She was sure her simple finger-picking probably wasn't quite right, improvised as it was, but the more she played, the more she remembered. When she began to sing, it seemed almost subconscious, her eyes still closed and her voice nearly a whisper:

"High up above the crowd, the Great Valerio is walking; the rope seems hung from cloud to cloud, and time stands still while he is walking.

"His eye is steady on the target; his foot is sure upon the rope. Alone and peaceful as a mountain, and certain as the mountain slope."

OOC: @Void Emissary

IC: Montague (The Unfortunate Fikou)

Soon again, they heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

Montague's attention left their notes, eyes focused now upon the door. "Come in, I say! The door is open, good fellow - or good madam, if indeed either you prefer."

They stood as they spoke, their journal left unattended, its pages splayed upon the bed. Were Gorro to look closely at them while Montague's back was to him, the first curiosity of note might be the De-Matoran's truly abhorrent handwriting.

The second, of course, would be what they had scrawled upon the page in place of Gorro's testimony, line after cursed line until the words scarcely seemed to mean anything at all, if not for the fact that they meant far too much to Gorro. And yet, Montague gave away nothing, as genial and eccentric as before, now turning the handle to reveal their latest visitor.

The utter exhaustion of the Lesterin in the doorway was quite immediately apparent, and Montague knew in an instant that they, too, had come here to fulfil the advertisement. "Come in, come in - we're having tea, would you care to join us?"

OOC: @Perp @Nato The Whisperer

IC: Aerus (Echelon's Lair)

Aerus' uncanny smile grew wider as Atamai spoke. Well, now I know who knocked.

Apparently, the Ta-Matoran had no nose for danger - or for lying. The Ko-Matoran were wiser than him, wise enough to attempt to rescue his lie, as attested by the flickers of fear and relief that played out in the minutiae of their expressions. Above all else, though, they seemed wary; instinctively, as one feels another's unseen gaze on the back of their neck, or a predator recognises another, Aerus understood that the female Ko-Matoran was dissecting the situation in much the same manner as him, and choosing her words carefully. It was a smart play, to say so little; the other Ko-Matoran, though, seemed to prioritise digging them out of the grave the Ta-Matoran had prepared for them. By Aerus' accounting, the latter seemed the best choice - not because there was any chance of him believing their tale, but because the little truths that slipped through the cracks could be valuable to him. And if the Matoran were more valuable alive than dead, they might just have some hope of seeing the sunrise.

Returning his attention to Atamai, Aerus laughed mirthlessly through his nose.

"Ah, quite right, quite right." His tone was jovial, but sharpened by the cutting edge of condescension. He wanted to see if the Ta-Matoran was attuned enough to recognise mockery, but his eyes were by now on the two Ko-Matoran. They had more to offer. "Yes, a dragon seems more than enough to have even the hardiest explorer turned around, and the drifts do not discriminate when it comes to the lost."

"Although…" Aerus paused for a moment, in a parody of thought. "Well, you are experts, I suppose. That's the only plausible explanation as to how you made it so very far from the road in that storm - and this in spite of the fact that out here, an ill-timed blizzard can claim even an expert, once they've lost their way. So either you're the best bloody navigators in the Wahi, or you're very, very lucky."

"But if you were the best bloody navigators in the Wahi, you'd have cut that rope as soon as one of you began falling; and if you were very, very lucky, you wouldn't have ended up here." Aerus' smile had dropped, all pretense of geniality now cold and dead.

"On the other hand, two experts might just make it a shorter distance through such a storm, with enough skill and enough luck to tumble into a crevasse and survive. Two experts would think better of knocking on the great big metal door in the middle of nowhere, even with an injured party present, but I think it's safe to say that that -" Aerus' eyes returned briefly to Atamai - "Wasn't done by either of the experts. All of which leads me to suspect that, whether you came from Ko-Koro or from the Massif, neither was your destination. And if some party employed you, then you must have come out this far for a reason. So I ask you now: why here?"

OOC: @Ghosthands @BULiK @Tarn @~Xemnas~

IC: Aerus (Echelon's Lair)

"We've got to get b-b-back home before the boss gets worried."

Aerus took a moment to consider the situation he had been presented with: three Matoran deep in the drifts, tied together at the waist, one injured from a shared fall, and a tame Hapaka with them.

They were familiar with each other, that much was certain; every experienced explorer or mountaineer knew to cut the rope, without hesitation. The two Ko-Matoran had the bearing of experience, and the way the male laid his hand on the female's shoulder and reflexively moved to protect her was indicative of closeness - lovers, maybe? They didn't look like siblings, at least, but Aerus supposed anything was possible. Either way, emotional attachment seemed the most likely reason to ignore one's training and idiotically die together. The Ta-Matoran was the odd one out - a tourist, most likely, given how he carried himself and the obvious giveaway of his element.

Aerus couldn't say for sure which of the three had knocked - it was an unwise decision, but when the options were an amateur, a woman with a head injury, and a man too invested in keeping her safe at the expense of his own self-interest… well, it could really go either way.

That said, the Ko-Matoran's explanation struck him as… well, as odd, to say the least. No one made their home out here; Aerus knew the area about as well as it could be known, thanks to his journeys back and forth as a courier, and though he rarely ventured out of late he felt confident that Echelon's lair was as remote as it had ever been. The snowstorm Syrik had mentioned was indeed roaring overhead, and yet it seemed unlikely to Aerus that either of the two Ko-Matoran, with their apparent experience, could have gotten so turned around as to end up out here while trying to find either Ko or Ihu-Koro. However, he had little doubt that by now their chief ambition was to go home - but that still raised the question of why they had ventured so far from home to begin with.

But if they were here on behalf of an employer…

A hunter would find better spoils elsewhere. It was possible their work was of a criminal nature, but the kind of people who felt the need to operate this far from society didn't seem likely to risk so much to save another. He reconsidered the Ta-Matoran - out of place in the drifts, yes, but perhaps not a tourist. He looked like a studious sort, and his eyes were clearly intelligent, in a very different manner to his survivalist companions. What would bring a man like that this far into the drifts? What would a man like that bring, this far into the drifts?

Aerus had narrowed it down to two possibilities: the first, easily remedied, was that they were cartographers. Were they to vanish out here, no search effort would be mounted. Here there be dragons.

The second, and more worrying, was that they were archaeologists. Treasure-hunters. If some rich fool believed there was a ruin or wreck of value out here, then these three would not be the last to come looking for it, which jeopardised the safety - and privacy - of his and Syrik's location.

It was, of course, possible that 'the boss' was a bluff, but in that case no one knew they were out here, and their disappearance would go unremarked. No matter their story, it was clear now that they would have to die; working on behalf of a boss of any kind meant that they had an obligation to report back, and the Ko-Matoran's anxiety to return suggested some level of fear (or, at the very least, compliance), so they couldn't be trusted to disobey. But before that, Aerus needed to know just who it was that had sent them, and why.

"R-r-right, I'm a scholar, and I was hired by Akiri Tarkahn to further investigate something written on the Wall of Prophecy. These two… were hired to lead me to and from the Massif. We were on our way back to the Koro when we were attacked by a muaka, and then a literal dragon of all things showed up, and when we tried to flee we ended up falling into this crevasse."

A dragon? Aerus' face betrayed nothing of his thoughts. The Matoran were far from the path to and from the Massif - if they were telling the truth, that might be a good thing. Should Akiri Tarkahn send out a search party, he would be looking in the wrong place.

But Aerus had the sense that he wasn't being told the whole truth. It was hard to put his finger on what exactly had tipped him off - perhaps the look in the Ta-Matoran's eyes, which struck him as that of carefully restrained panic. The Ko-Matoran had said too much, of either truth or fiction, and left him holding the bag.

The dragon, at least, he didn't doubt - it was far too strange a detail for a lie, especially one told by an intelligent man to two hostile strangers. Could the Mystix, perhaps, have awoken? There were reports to suggest that members of some draconic variant or subspecies had a nest somewhere in the Drifts, but no one had actually seen one in years. Something to follow up on, perhaps, if he had the time.

"We're really sorry that we disturbed you, but when we saw the big metal door, we were hoping to find shelter from the storm, and a place for our injured friend to rest."

Aerus' smile was as grim and as unforgiving as the raging storm above. "You're an awfully long way from the road. Perhaps your employer should have better vetted your guides."

His eyes flicked to each of the Ko-Matoran in turn, carefully judging their reactions. 

"They do seem like professionals, though. Certainly, they would have fooled me. But no expert would get so turned around as to find themselves here on their way from the Massif." He turned his gaze fully to the survivalists, with a look that made the icy winds seem tropical in comparison. "So, tell me… are you experts?"

OOC: @BULiK @Tarn @Ghosthands @~Xemnas~

IC: Merrill (Peak of High Eyrie)

Merrill blinked, and suddenly pawed at her face. "huh."

She must've put her mask on. She couldn't really remember much - least of all breaking her legs, but it hardly sounded unlikely.

"issthuh mask." It hardly seemed dangerous to reveal that to a Skakdi. Wasn't like he'd get anything from it.

Merrill got to her feet, swaying slightly, but seemed to regain her balance in time to start walking groggily behind Shouty Shouty Shoulderman, fingers pressed against her temples in hopes of pushing back her headache. "i broke m'legs?"

IC: Merrill (Peak of High Eyrie)

"nnfornitly," the Ga-Lesterin slurred. Had the shouting not woken her up - and it most definitely had - the double-barrelled flare gun MIGHT JUST HAVE DONE THE TRICK.

Were Merrill a pensive, philosophical sort, she might have wondered whether the stars flashing in her eyes were the result of the muzzle flash, the flares themselves, or her excruciating hangover.

Merrill was not a pensive, philosophical sort.

"hairthdog," she eloquently elaborated as she reached into her armour, gracefully tumbling from - ####, what's his name? Did he say it? He shouted it just now, probably, during his whole 'King of the World' speech. So, uh…

Yeah, no, didn't pick up a word of it.

As she crashed elegantly to the ground next to Shouty Shouty Shoulderman, Merrill produced a hip flask - one of many - and, seemingly oblivious to the pain that her landing should have caused, took a deep swig of the golden nectar within.

"iss verrimpressive. can we leave now."

OOC: @BULiK

IC: Aerus (Echelon's Lair)

Aerus was not quite sure just what it was that he had expected to find, when he held his magnetic key to the door and watched its familiar mechanisms unfold. Certainly, he had not discounted the likelihood of some deeply unfortunate travellers, strayed far too far from the path - so, when he found himself faced with a motley crew of lost Matoran, he could hardly have claimed surprise.

No. Surprise, Aerus reserved for the Hapaka.

He wrinkled his nose in distaste, more than prepared to bat the mutt away with his cane if it got too close. God only knew what diseases it carried, marred as it was by scars and the distinctive drowned-rat stench of wet dog. His non-violent inclinations were quickly dissipating.

Satisfied that he could defend himself against the mangy little beast, Aerus returned his attention to the wayward souls before him. Though his expression was neutral, the look in his eyes as he sized them up was cold and utterly unsympathetic, impossible to mistake for any manner of goodwill. "You knocked?"

OOC: @Ghosthands @BULiK et al

IC: Aerus (Echelon's Lair)

Aerus' disapproval came more as a gentle nudge than the shock he might have expected, to such a degree that he felt more consternation over his own lack of a reaction than Syrik's blasé attitude to killing. It occurred to him that, in his time working for Echelon, life had perhaps become cheap - that he had been slowly desensitised to the horror of killing. That thought, though, was readily dismissed, even if it did bring with it an unsettling sensation of emptiness in his gut, as if he had quite suddenly and unexpectedly fallen a short distance.

After all, life was not cheap at all to Aerus. Everything he did, he did because of life's value, self-preservation already having been his primary motivation long before his sickness began to manifest.

Add to that his ongoing guilt for those deaths he had caused - although, in truth, it had been some time now since he had thought of Jalna, and Myka longer still - and the fact that the thought of he himself killing still filled him with a visceral disgust, and it seemed to him that the answer surely could not be a moral erosion. His conscience was not, by any means, clear, but it was quite certainly still extant. No, the answer lay elsewhere - it had to lie elsewhere.

More likely, then, that his lack of surprise had more to do with Syrik. Yes - yes, that must have been it. He had already identified Syrik as a predator, as a killer; why, then, would he be shocked that he so readily proposed killing as a solution? It simply made sense, then, logical sense, that Syrik would suggest such a recourse.

"Not yet," Aerus replied calmly, his concerns abated. "I'm curious now. I'd like to know who, exactly, is stupid enough to come knocking at our door."

OOC: @Ghosthands

IC: Nikarra (The Iron Mahi)

The effort it took her not to laugh was more than paid off by the sheer self-satisfaction of Nikarra's smug smile. Truly, no grin had ever eaten quite so much shite.

"Here, catch." The adorable sloth plush sailed through the air between them, on a collision course with Vyartha. In spite of the cramped quarters, Nikarra was soon up and standing on her seat in a single, fluid motion - and she quite frankly surprised herself with that. Her grief-fuelled workouts really did have her in the best shape she'd been in in-

Wait, years?

Oh god. I'm…

I'm getting old.

Reaching into the overhead storage, she shoved her sheaths and her existential crisis aside. The sheaths were new - or, rather, they were so old that she had grown out of them, prior to their unwelcome return. Nikarra hated sheaths; wearing a giant tube or two on your back or - god forbid - your legs, was extra weight and less freedom of motion, which seemed to her to be just about the worst possible trade-off in a fight. It was on that basis, and without a moment of regret, that she had ditched her original Toa Tools for her custom-crafted knives.

Her knives were a thing of beauty - perfectly balanced, yes, but more importantly, tailored to fit seamlessly against her thighs. The hidden compartments in which she stored them had proven invaluable time and time again, most memorably when abducted and restrained by pirates, during the truly absurd marathon of trauma that was her time as Mark Bearer of Lust.

And now… now, they were gone, stolen by some Po-Koro lowlife who was probably only in it for the first edition body pillow. It was a sad day for society when a thief wouldn't even leave behind a girl's knives. What's a woman without her weapon of choice, I ask you?

Behind her swords, however, was Nikarra's preferred added weight and loss of mobility - her guitar case. What, you thought I was gonna make some crack about it being Vy? No chance, perv. I'm a top.

She descended, triumphant, and sat on the table, facing Vyartha with her guitar in hand.

"I take requests," Nikarra announced to her companion, wearing a gleefully cocky grin as she started to quickly tune up her strings.

OOC: @Void Emissary

general rule for how much time has passed is 'years'

so anywhere between two years and a decade, we play it pretty loose here

but arc ii as in real life is accepted to have been substantially longer than arc i

IC: Aerus (Echelon's Lair)

"Nor were you." Aerus furrowed his brow, as the gears began turning in his mind. Merror's merry band had been close, but he doubted they'd knock. And besides, they likely had higher priorities, with Echelon dead and the Makuta returned. No, this wasn't them.

"Anyone meant to know where to find this place would have a key. So the question arises: do they know whose door it is? If they don't, then their survival instincts are sorely lacking. If they do, then… their survival instincts are sorely lacking."

He got to his feet, interest in the documents he had been trawling momentarily dissipating as he limped to the study door, cane in hand. "Could you have been followed?"

From what he'd gleaned of Syrik thus far, it seemed unlikely. But then, so did someone knocking on Echelon's door - the second such arrival after weeks of solitude.

OOC: @Ghosthands

IC: Ronan (Dark Walk)

Ronan took a deep breath as the feeling of calm finally washed over her. She was relieved - this was the moment she was waiting for, after all. The tension lay in how it would happen.

And now, she got to do what she did best.

Her eyes turned first to where she had felt the door at the other end of the room - the door which promptly tore itself off its hinges, and flew not at the Rahkshi, but at her thrall. The metal warped as it hit him, reshaping itself to fill the cavity in his chest and form two long blades on his wrists.

Then he turned to the nearest Rahkshi, and charged.

"LT, we've got an illusionist on our hands!" It was a possibility she had been considering from the moment Skrihen aired her suspicions, but the sight of her new ally, and the way that he had conveniently been able to shift out of phase and avoid both the sweep to his legs and the cage turned it into a likelihood. What made it a certainty was Skorm's 'death' - shadow or no, that should have left some trace of a body, and it became very convenient to destroy the body a Tryna wearer could use. Or, rather, detect - her first instinct was to ping her surroundings, but Skorm's body was not hidden; either he was alive, or he'd been dead for some time now.

Either possibility was unhelpful at present, but regardless, it was all far too convenient - once is happenstance, twice is coincidence. And three times means somebody's cheating.

"I opened a doorway at the other end of the room - my money says our quarry and our puppeteer are both through there."

And now, the Matoran.

That they were running was inconvenient, although she suspected they had no choice in the matter - after all, Fear was a common Rahkshi power, and moreover, few Matoran dumb enough to take on this mission would also be smart enough to run away. The Matoran who had run would likely have reached at least the hallway by now - time to put Kehuri's Earth to the test.

"You two, with me!" She called to the two Matoran still standing vigil by the entrance, keeping her eyes on the battleground ahead as she retreated, already reaching out with her powers; the iron pillars in the hallway began to shift, turning horizontal, to catch the Matoran as they ran and then - if it worked - bend around them to keep them in place.

If they were already further than that, well - she'd cross that bridge when she came to it.

OOC: @Light @Visaru

16 minutes ago, ARROW404 said:

Where the heck is Sulov?

vacation

IC: Nikarra (The Iron Mahi)

Nikarra blinked.

I- what? Holy #####, what? Hahahahahahahahoh my god, what the f"Uhhhhhhh..."

She blinked again.

Dumbfounded, perhaps, was the best word - Nikarra's eyes were wide and her mouth, she realised, was hanging ever so slightly open. Slackjawed. It was a kind of delighted, disorientated shock.

She blinked again, and this time actually seemed to overcome the bewildered fog for a moment - judging by the smirk on her face, and the way the look in her eyes morphed from incredulity to a mischievous, if still completely and utterly confused, gleam. "Well, for starters, you could always ask politely."

Stupefied - there was the word.

I'll take words I never expected to hear out of Vyartha's mouth for ten, Alex.

OOC: @Void Emissary