[center][h2]Thoris, The Ocean Shore[/h2]
[sub]When life gives you lemons, punch old women.[/sub][/center]

     Well, Grezola had effectively resigned herself to death. Brushing off Ainra? Whatever, she didn't care too much about the prophetic shit. Outright showing direct spite without just cause? That bitch is asking for it. And finally, the fact that this map Lark had sent them to this crotchety old woman to help them with was solved by just [i]opening and reading the fucking thing?[/i] Oho, not settling her already-shortened temper well.

     [color=forestgreen]"Excuse me, Jenso, if I may have a word with the prophetess..."[/color] Ainra gently shouldered past Jenso, and cleared her throat. [color=forestgreen][b]"YOU WANT TO GOAD ME ONE MORE FUCKING TIME YOU WRINKLED OLD BITCH?! BECAUSE YOUR SHRIVELED UP PROPHETIC CUNT IS ABOUT TO GET KICKED SO HARD YOU'LL BE FUCKING TASTING IT! I AIN'T GONNA STAND HERE AND LISTEN TO THIS SHIT, AND NOW I KNOW ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS [I]READ THE FUCKING MAP,[/I] I DON'T SEE A SINGLE REASON TO NOT RIP YOUR ARMS OFF, CHUCK YOU IN THE OCEAN, AND SEE IF YOU CAN STILL SWIM!"[/b][/color] This entire speech was adorned with Ainra's skin flushing with anger, her claws jutting out seemingly more than usual, and a hint of steam rising from the corners of her mouth.

     She looked quite feral, and sounded pretty serious about the whole ripping-off-arms bit. In fact, she decided to go ahead and prove she was serious by giving Grezola a seriously nasty left hook right on the jaw.