“Demons,” very distinctly, gesturing (with a knife) for everyone else to lower the assortment of blades, staves and bows that make up her current accompaniment through the Dales, “are what come out of rifts.”
(There is some murmuring along the lines of and also you, that one time. Her expression very clearly communicates it was one time, and also, no one fucking asked any of you.)
The knife she is politely not pointing directly at him (any more) is jerked towards where the rift used to be, the unpleasant demonic leavings beneath it- “A rift. And you, emerging ungentlemanly. One draws the natural conclusion.”
Mind you, most demons aren't this chatty on this side of the veil. Or knife-happy.
They have that in common; she might have implicitly issued the order, but she hasn't lowered a damn thing. Upon second, less intimate impression she's still small, but carries herself as if it hasn't occurred to her. Hair braided, armor lightweight, the upper half of her face slightly paler, as if all this exposure of it to the sunlight is a bit of a new thing - she has a lady's bearing or a dancer's, graceful, come late to something more warlike.
She doesn't look like anyone's idea of a military leader, but they are all looking to her for their cues - all accustomed to her admittedly not naturally soothing voice being the one to reason with strange, armed lunatics.
no subject
(There is some murmuring along the lines of and also you, that one time. Her expression very clearly communicates it was one time, and also, no one fucking asked any of you.)
The knife she is politely not pointing directly at him (any more) is jerked towards where the rift used to be, the unpleasant demonic leavings beneath it- “A rift. And you, emerging ungentlemanly. One draws the natural conclusion.”
Mind you, most demons aren't this chatty on this side of the veil. Or knife-happy.
They have that in common; she might have implicitly issued the order, but she hasn't lowered a damn thing. Upon second, less intimate impression she's still small, but carries herself as if it hasn't occurred to her. Hair braided, armor lightweight, the upper half of her face slightly paler, as if all this exposure of it to the sunlight is a bit of a new thing - she has a lady's bearing or a dancer's, graceful, come late to something more warlike.
She doesn't look like anyone's idea of a military leader, but they are all looking to her for their cues - all accustomed to her admittedly not naturally soothing voice being the one to reason with strange, armed lunatics.