[i]Dirae[/i]
 
[i]By all of the Gods, except two, why is she so freaking interested in me?[/i] Dirae wondered. She was distinctly aware of, and uncomfortable with, the woman's unwavering eyes. She preferred to be a relative unknown, something that made things work but no one paid attention to. Of course, given her blood, that was impossible. Her discomfort increased when she noticed that the woman grabbed the automaton and moved it without looking away. She didn't like this. This whole, center of intense attention, thing. It was a minor phobia, probably stemming from an entire childhood of being the center of attention no matter what she wanted. "I'll be...sure to give this back quickly...you can keep the dancers." She mumbled again, eyes still avoiding the secretary's and taking the paperwork. When she tried to leave, however, she was approached by an Orc. Now, normally, Dirae would have attempted a conversation. But, given that she was still high strung and nervous from even working up the guts to walk into this place and apply, and she was unnerved by the secretary's unwavering eyes, she was in no mood to try and sustain a conversation. 
 
At least she could talk clearly. The Orc was far less nerveracking than the application process. "Dirae. From U-Samsara." She had nearly forgotten to give the lie for mask a basis. [i]Time to cover your bases and leave. Now.[/i] Hurriedly, hopefully before the Orc noticed her near slip up, "It's why I have to wear this mask, annoying as it is. If you'll excuse me, though, I need to finish this application." Quickly, the Siren fled away from the desk into a relatively empty corner. She began searching her pockts for a writing utensil. She found nothing. Her pockets were emptied and then refilled. Old coins were flashed and then replaced, string, sticks, small gears, nails, etc. All were pulled out and then quickly put back into her pockets. But not a single thing to write with appeared. "So many pockets, and not one single writing utensil? Really?" She complained to Sis. The dragon only gave a smug buzzsaw whine in response. Dirae turned and gave the metal dragon the evil eye. "You're lucky you're useful, otherwise I would have turnedyou to scrap eons ago!" The dragon gave a buzzsaw whine in response. "Just write down what I want.." Dirae grumbled. It was kind of insulting. She [i]could[/i] write, and write well. She had at least learned that before things went horribly, horribly wrong. 
 
Chuckling to herself(which sounded like metal coins clacking together) Sis turned one arm into a pen and flew down to the papers. For several moments, any passerby was given the interesting sight of a Siren directing to a metal dragon, arguing with it, and threatening several times to cut off it's pen arm and write it herself. When she was finally finished, Dirae snatched the papers from her before she could make 'improvements'. Sis huffed and flew back to the Siren's shoulder, curling into a ball once more. She walked up to the desk and handed over the papers, quickly retreating back to her relatively empty corner again. 
 
Now all she had to do was wait. And try not to let her nerves get the better of her. Unconsciously, she began making something else from the supplies in her vest.