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[img]http://sherrygideons.com/wp-content/themes/flexsqueeze150/images/dividers/square-dotted-grunge.png[/img][/center][color=gray]Both of her palms entwined about the steaming cup, cuddling up to it and relishing the warmth that began to fuse into exposed flesh. Cold, like many sensibilities, was infrequently perceived. It usually required a sudden shift affecting its dispersal or those in her presence acknowledged it at the forefront of their consideration. SOLDIERs had begun to gather and it was likely the notion had leaked from one of them. She allowed her attention to divide so that Sammael’s voice retained her mind and the others fell victim to curious fleeting and flickering glances. Those ghost pale eyes returned to Samm once again as his intonation proposed conclusion. Any focus on her part was a feat, likely possible by the grace of Exsomnis IX that was trickling alongside the ever present aeon genomes in her sapient platelets, tricking them both into clarity.

She stole a glance to her bare feet, twisting her toes around in the fresh snow as she did, and then became visibly serious. The tone that slipped from between those lips was soft, coated with a lingering intonation of good breeding tainted with a drug induced sprightly chime. [color=white]“I feel the soul of the earth and want it to bleed into my flesh.”[/color] The seriousness remained for mere moments before it broke and fell into a giggle preceding her usual smile. Dark lashes and cheeks reddened by cold pinched into a wink to emphasize she was attempting a joke. [i]She wasn’t that crazy.[/i] Or was she? She failed to offer any valid reasoning and instead produced a name. [color=white] “Amentia, and it is a pleasure Sammael.”[/color] 

She didn’t await response before allowing those pale oculars to roam once again over the awkward assortment; puzzling over their involvement, interactions, motives, [i]fears[/i]. Her expression was trained to falsify the expected emotions and it worked in kind to remain unyielding to her own thoughts, whatever those may be, hidden beneath candy coating. When the blonde joined them for coffee she offered her an acknowledging bob, loose strands tickling across her shoulder while those that would obstruct her gaze remained harnessed with the lethal chop-stick. [color=white]“Amentia,”[/color] she repeated her name, flickering gaze to the woman and increasing the smile briefly before going back to her perusal and taking another deep sip of coffee.

[color=7ea7d8]“What about you two? Have you both met, or perhaps worked together before? Personally, I’m curious about the high command forming up such a large group of SOLDIERS who seemingly have had very little in the way of contact with one another.”[/color]

Her words came more gently this time, toeing the line of whisper, likely due to faltering focus. [color=white]“I haven’t met much of anyone really….”[/color] She seemed to be staring now. Kain’s emotions were roiling about him like a primal dragon goddess in heat. Sure, they were all letting out a little something, but he was a flipped car flaming 20 feet amidst a protest. She doubted he knew that ruckus he called emotions was blazing like a beacon. Distracting really. Her bare feet faltered and put distance, albeit minimal, between herself and Kain, closer to Samm. It was difficult to gauge if she had moved at all, unless you were the type to sense those sorts of things. The boundary of her form was transient, especially without due focus; wisps of shadow, ephemeral vexation, merged and sulked in the vacuous space about her with tenebrous wants and fickle memorization of form that flowed back and forth from her. Pinned only barely in reality.

Like cold, hunger was not an emotion people buried beneath their bullshit and was usually quite easy to manifest. It crept from them across the particles that tied all of this reality and tickled across her preception like a clue or key to frivolous, yet demanded, existence. With no neurological exertion from her own synapsis the feeling of hunger was found and mimicked into herself. Perhaps it was just habit that made the action involuntarily or the aeon felt the need to [i]feel[/i] hungry or blend in. Maybe it was trying to distract her from the bonfire of rage. There were quite a few that were truly hungry, the sudden lurch within her own stomach and feeling of emptiness threatened a frown but she resisted. Either way it was there now, and no, the coffee would not be enough.[/color]