[hr][hr] [center][img]https://data.whicdn.com/images/292908531/original.gif[/img][/center] [center][img]https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjQ4LmI4ZWZlZi5XbUY1WVEsLC4wAAAAAAAAAAAA/paprika.regular.png[/img][/center] [hr] [indent][indent] [color=darkgray]Arriving later than most would be Zaya, hearing of the festival much later than others. A mere end thought for those of Exodus. She had received a letter, requesting her presence as a guest and entertainer if she felt up to it. Zaya was unsure if she would perform for such people, but she knew Exodus was extremely wealthy, having experienced said wealth first hand as a child. The money she could potentially earn from tips was an idea she entertained. The raven haired vixen would come dressed in a revealing dress, her body was what acquired the money she needed to live, so why wouldn't she put it on display. The dress that draped her was metallic black, made from chainmail, the material hugging her curves, dripping across her body like liquid metal. She would eye the beauty of her ex-Kingdom as her carriage slowed to a halt, the familiar smells awakening memories within. A solemn sigh would escape lips painted like deep wine. Eyes like ink would stay glued to Exodus, a stare full of thought keeping her concealed inside the carriage. The sound of the door opening would break her stupor, a guard motioning for her to exit, offering her a gloved hand as support. Zaya would clear her throat, grasping the mans hand before stepping from the carriage with grace. It was always so warm in Exodus, something she remembered fondly about the Kingdom. She appreciated the warmth, her skimpy attire not suited for colder weather. Zaya would raise a hand, sharp feline like nails colored to match her hair, disappearing throughout the loosely curled locks. She would untangle and spruce the strands of silky obsidian, the exhaustive carriage ride striping her hair of volume that she would now restore. Zaya would find herself ambling down a familiar path, Exodus presenting itself just as she had abandoned it. The woman would admire the wealthy Kingdom, appreciating the expensive dresses adorned by the women. She could see attendee's from her own Kingdom of Luthra, likely scheming among each other. She herself had plans for her trip in Exodus, expecting to leave with hands far from empty. Pick-pocketing was something she was fond of, it gave her pleasure and was always a great adrenaline boost. Zaya would slither around a man who stood alone, coming to his front to offer a wicked smile. [color=lightcyan][i]"I recognize you, it's me.. Zaya.. remember?"[/i][/color] A thick accent could be heard coming from the woman, similar to Latin, something that had all but died off. Zaya would rest a palm against the mans chest, he opened his mouth to speak, face flustered from the interaction, but Zaya would stop his words prematurely with a "tsk," finger raising to his lips. While the man was distracted with these actions, her free hand would work its way to his coin satchel, gripping the small bag before concealing it behind her. [color=lightcyan][i]"Actually.. I have you mixed up with someone else. My apologies sir.. But if you are interested, come find me."[/i][/color] A cocky grin would follow her words before she would slip off into the noise of people, the man left dazed and confused, completely unaware of his missing coins. Following the simple robbery, Zaya would casually pass the satchel off to an Exodus guard, she knew they could be trusted and would never think to steal from a lower-class citizen, seeing it as dirty even. She instructed him to return the satchel to her carriage where the rest of her luggage was, insisting it all be brought to her room when it was assigned to her. The interaction was swift and brief, as soon as she had started the conversation, it was ended and the woman was off to her next form of entertainment. The bar in the garden would become her new home, downing a few drinks as she inspected the people attending. She would take note of things like race, what weapons a person carried, expressions, and many more miscellaneous details. Each item stored mentally, sure to stay with her for future reference. If something were to break out, or she would be required to defend herself, these small inspections would prove to be crucial information. [/color] [hider=Dress for Festival] A black chainmail dress that cascades down the body, loose fitting around the cleavage area, falling effortlessly over curves and lines like liquid metal. [img]https://cdn-img.prettylittlething.com/7/5/2/7/7527a5fe74530c43e3eaab6af2e92c3f50373150_CLV1219_1.JPG[/img] [img]http://www.twinportsvintagefest.com/image/cache/data/category_1/black-chainmail-diamante-strap-dress-clv1219--2660-500x500_0.jpg[/img] [/hider] [hr][hr] [/indent][/indent]