[center][h2][color=6ecff6]I R I S[/color][/h2][/center]

She felt like she was walking on stilts this morning.

For a girl who stood as tall as Iris, a masked head over nearly all her contemporaries, walking was always an ungainly way to travel. On a glider or her beloved bike, she was as graceful as the birds she shared the currents with, flitting and turning as though she and her vessel were one unit, guided by telepathy. When you spent your whole life in the skies, there was nothing to feel self-conscious of - until you touched the ground, in which case it was hard to shake that unease away. It felt more confining than a mask ever could.

Still, Iris made the best of it as she maneuvered her way through the markets of Rig, stopping only occasionally to fawn over a few down-to-earth looking necklaces or to purchase a peach. She enjoyed sparing bites of it on her way through the markets, careful not to lift her mask up to reveal more than the sleek, strong cast of her tanned jawline, which clenched with every chew and grew even tauter with each sweet aftertaste. She almost considered picking up a scarf, too, but none of the colors appealed to her; as a child of the skies, she liked to dress in sky blues and whites, and if she must pick a yellow she preferred to at least pick darker yellows or oranges, the ones that evoked the rising and setting of the sun from a perch on the skyline. Green was never her thing. It wasn't like she needed to bring out her eyes or anything.

It also wasn't like the good-natured profiteers who clotted the arteries of Rig would acknowledge any of that, not when there was a charm offensive to be mounted and money to be made. 

[i]"Nice clothes! Complement them with a sash?"[/i]

[right][i]"A high-flyer! I can always tell a high-flyer's mask! Can I interest you in one of my new kites, my wife weaves the finest--"[/i][/right]

[i]"Strapping sir! A shawl for your valiant shoulders today?"[/i]

[center][color=6ecff6][i]C'mon, man...is it that hard to tell now...[/i][/color][/center]

Still, she had to grin behind her mask. She thought about deepening her voice and barking out a "No" as a gentle prank, but she was probably running late as it was. Relief flooded through her when she finally reached Archer and saw a couple other initiates, all bent over the chest of weapons and trying to select their new weapons. Iris waited patiently behind one in a floral looking mask - she didn't like to bend over; it somehow made her look even more towering, like she was looming over someone - and selected an intricately carved Bo staff, almost long enough to resemble a flagpole. In fact, given the ornamental piece at the end akin to a blunted spearhead, it may in fact have supported some regalia in a prior life. Maybe Rig's flag, maybe another city-state outside the borders. For all her love of flight, Iris had rarely ventured far beyond where Rig's skyline could see her. Even the sky, with no visible borders, had dark patches where wiser men and women were wary to soar.

[color=6ecff6][i]Whoa, I gotta stop contemplating so much.[/i][/color] The sunny smile grew beneath her mask again, and her teeth scraped a drop of peach juice from her bottom lip.

She spun the staff in her hand and whistled; it felt perfectly weighted to her grip.

[color=6ecff6]"I'm glad someone else was already thinking of naming theirs,"[/color] she jested to the girl who had buried her head in the armory chest before her. [color=6ecff6]"It was gonna bug me all night if I was the only one."[/color]