[center][color=c4df9b][u]Dareen Kahina[/u][/color][/center]


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Dareen made brief eye contact with Gen after his comment about manners, and ignored Denvar talking as if Dareen wasn't right there. If they wanted to know what a Pruulish witch was wandering around Aren with an arsenal of weapons, they could just ask. No one had asked Dareen anything, yet. She'd answer when they did. Dareen shifted her attention off tweedledee and tweedledum and onto the one called Mikhail. He didn't seem like he belonged here, either. At the very least he didn't spend a lot of his time here. At the very, very least, his name didn't end in a god damn "-ar" sound. These winged, pompous Eyriens were really starting to grind her nerves. Randalvar, Xandar, Genvar, Denvar, Banvar, Shmanbar.

But, one good thing has come of this. The Black Widows still exist, and yes, they are in hiding. Still, their unfortunate circumstances doesn't seem to have steeped their ego, any. Which was...typical.

Dareen brushed some of the hair that had been sticking to her forehead out of the way of her face, and tucked it back beneath her hood. Suddenly, there was that prickling sensation in the back of her neck. She was probably safe in here, she thought. This place radiated pompous arrogance, but not backstabbing murdery vibes. Still, force of habit. Dareen stood, walked over to a corner of the room, and leaned against it, crossing her arms. Her right index finger began tracing the line pattern beneath her left sleeve.

The Yellow-Jeweled mercenary thought about her predicament. Right now, her goals were abstract. Something that probably wouldn't do as a proper explanation. Her old job didn't exactly paint her in a positive light. She'd certainly done nothing to help the plea of the Black Widows. She blinked away an image of charred corpses and sniffed, rubbing her tattooed face with the palm of her hand. Dareen was struggling with her place in the world, she needed to reel it back in. These people could be allies. You've barely gotten to know them, Dareen chastised herself. Stop acting so recklessly. She was out of her element. Dareen rarely spent time in the presence of upper class nobility. Often, she just got names and locations from people like Faeril and Xandar. Who to kill, and where to find them. So much money. So few questions. Answers. Justice. Concepts weren't a goal. Dareen had just wanted to get away from her past, and was plagued by a question. Why?

Dorothea. That's the woman she wanted to learn more about. Her employer, though she was presumably much higher up on the totem pole than the people who gave Dareen work. Hidden away in some ivory tower, flooding the lands with gold and blood. Excessive wealth was something Dareen had nothing but contempt for, despite being nothing but greedy and jealous almost her entire life. Well, no one ever said one cannot hold contempt for one's self. 

Shaking herself out of her internal monologue, Dareen's brown eyes un-glazed and sharpened on the room around her once again. She zeroed in on Mikhail, this time, ignoring the comments of the brothers.

[color=c4df9b]"Yeah, Mikhail. Watch your words. Wouldn't want to incur the wrath of your superiors."[/color] Her words were not genuine, of course, but her tone was dry. She made no attempt to make her sarcasm obvious. Protocol, she thought derisively. An asinine concept, to fluff up the ego's of those who believed themselves better than anyone else simply because of how they were born. It helped no one except those keen on oppressing others. She'd been told by so many people in her life to "know her place" it made her sick. 

Reel. It. In. She thought the words again, almost laughing at herself. This place was clean enough without your additional soapbox, Dareen.  Regardless, the woman stood in the corner, radiating apathy and looking at Mikhail.