[center][color=c4df9b][u]Dareen Kahina[/u][/color][/center] 
[center][i]outskirts of the village[/i][/center]

	Dareen hadn't thought about that. As evidence by her bold entrance into the tavern where she had met Xandar not too long ago, she had never disguised herself or bothered to hide her presence whereever she went. Let them gawk, yet? Usually, though, she was just one merc in a crowd of many. Perhaps it was a bad habit. But...dolled up? The wording might hurt a more fragile ego's feelings. Passing as wealthy? She laughed outloud and pinced the bridge of her nose. [color=c4df9b] "Oh, man. That's funny," [/color]she shook her head. After a moment she flattened her palms and shrugged.

	[color=c4df9b]"I think you overestimate my ability to blend in, Faeril. But I suppose I could give it a shot," [/color]Dareen wasn't proud. Still, there was something richly ironic and pretending to be the type of person she had spent her entire life trying to avoid being. The doting wife of some Warlord Prince, all done up and dainty.  How much makeup would she have to put on just to cover up her tattoos? What kind of clothes would she have to wear? When was the last time she even put on makeup, period? 

	Jean and Dareen had been introduced to each other over the course of the carriage ride over here, of course. He and Fatima were close, she could tell, though the details of their relationship she couldn't quite discern. Either way, if everyone else paired off that would just leave Mikhail and Dareen, which would probably be one of the most suspicious couples in the universe. 

	[color=c4df9b]"What do you think, Jean? Would I make a good noble?"[/color] She asked, turning to the man with a wry smirk on her face. She put one leg behind the other and lifted the sides of loose fabric and gave a little mocking bow. Clearly the kind of bow she had only seen whenever she saw someone else doing it, but that was part of her joke. Especially since she was dressed as a lightly armored nomadic warrior, all straps, tough fabric, and earth tones. The closet thing she'd ever worn to a dress was the long part of her tunic that came a few inches down her legs at most. Straightening herself she rolled her shoulder joints, as if such a pose, even done in satire, put strain on her body. Joking was all well and good, but she was wondering if she could actually pull something like this off. She was smirking but there were undertones of embarassment and nervousness in her body posture and voice. Though her good humor was genuine the apprehensiveness made itself apparent as she stared into the middle distance for a moment before glancing back between Jean and Faeril. Crossing her arms she took a few steps back and leaned against the carriage, subconsciously making it harder for any would be attackers to sneak up on her.