The lot of them seemed up to no good. Voices she could not hear, backs arched, and thrown around gazes from one to another were visible signs of…something in the making—or not. Each little movement the two groups made were so discernible it was a surprise the guards were not already breaking them up due to pure suspicion. Perhaps the heavy artillery simply did not know what to look for but it was easy to see from the perspective of someone almost invisible and inconsequential. Tempest took this moment to inch her small feet toward group two, the same guys as before. The others had briefly glanced at the onyx haired “mute” before except for the one with intensely fierce eyes. He seemed particularly interested in what he was discussing with the other male, which made her interested too. 

Quietly she made her way beside the man who looked like he had been in some sort of brawl earlier, and reached over to place her small palm gingerly on the side of his face without hesitation. Like the wind—the very element she had semi-control over--she felt ethereal and unseen, and almost forgot that people could react to the things she did. Interrupting their conversation was not intentional however, and she had expected them to continue talking without paying her any mind actually. Her social awkwardness and the rules regarding personal space did not apply; rather, she just did not understand the way to interact quite yet. The man’s injury though, it looked like it would hurt to receive some sort of impact to the face…probably like those missionaries who found her that day in the jungle felt. An unexpected blast of air forcing their body’s backward so violently causing whiplash and one death—how horrible.