[i]Simba Etana[/i][hr]
[indent][indent]Too many people had arrived in such a short time. Page eleven of his classical read was interesting but it was nowhere near enough to keep his attention from the newest recruit. He lifted his gaze over the leather-bound book, and for a moment admired the subtle, dressed-down elegance that this woman exuded. Not even [i]he[/i] could downplay her beauty. Though he had the assumption that it had more to do with her presence than her actual appearance. 

If he had to compare the two women in the room, their aura or airs' were the only thing of drastic difference. Without making it overly obvious that something else had garnered his attention besides his book, Simba let out a hushed sigh. It could have been interpreted as annoyance, for it happened right after Jackson's colorful metaphor. 

[b]"It's obvious."[/b] 

He closed the book, his thumb a makeshift bookmark. His dark gaze found Amelia, [b]"We're all Host to the Spirits, all drug here without consent."[/b] The callous tone of his voice softened. [b]"We've been drafted ... if not something worse."[/b] 

Just hearing himself say it felt like being socked in the gut. [i]This[/i] was his new reality; whatever trials it laid before him and all of its issues were now his and as usual he hadn't even asked for it. The Spirits inside him seemed calmer despite his growing anxiety. His eyes flickered to the potty-mouth, then to the monk, before finally lingering on the [i]pale one[/i]. For some reason she made him [i]feel[/i] uneasy.

He cringed inwardly, brows furrowing and jaw tightening before returning to his read. 

[b]"The gods must loathe us all for we must rise to meet unfathomable darkness."[/b] 

That was a passage from the book he was reading, it felt appropriate.[/indent][/indent]