[hr][hr][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/q8hhsAV.png?1[/img][/center][hr][hr]The Imit tried hard to radiate power and dignity and maybe even succeeded. It was not difficult when he already possessed one of those things. Azar had seen men like him before - and they were almost always men - of course. Sitting there above her upon his fancy chair, his gaze had flickered momentarily to lewd. She didn't need to be particularly perceptive to notice it.

The ayiralite bowed low before him. These Tawrish thrived on recognition of their awesomeness. [color=f7941d][b]"I am Azar, your excellence, called Al-Hashimi or else Masoumi by others."[/b][/color] She rose in a single, sinuous motion, her hair momentarily enfolding her in ebony and flames before settling about her back and shoulders. [color=f7941d][b]"You may, of course, address me however you desire."[/b][/color] She paused for just long enough before continuing, aware that she should probably reference the Tawrish pantheon lest he suspect her of not being a follower. [color=f7941d][b]"I am grateful to have saved a man of such value. Indeed, I have come here from a place of some hardship to serve the will of the Gods and of Maatrho himself -"[/b] [i]And, by extension, [b]you[/b],[/i][/color] she thought, though she did not say it. [color=f7941d][b]"- in any way that I may be of use. Of course, as you know, my nature lends itself better to some pursuits than others..."[/b][/color] With a thought, she conjured five small tongues of flame that danced at her fingertips. 

It was near to noon and dusty columns of light streamed in through the tall narrow windows of the palace. This place reveled in that rarest of indoor commodities: sheer open space where utilitarian function was often the order of the day. Azar's attention, however, was on the Imit and her own performance, with which she found herself pleased. [color=f7941d][i]Nailed it,[/i][/color] she thought, hiding her smirk of triumph. The jinnblood's expression remained beatific, or so she imagined it. She stood before the Imit's throne, feet together, chest out just a touch, for too much would make her appear low and that wouldn't do. She allowed a slight smile to crease her lips as she snuffed out the flames in her palm. A curl of smoke arose from it and, ever so slightly, she bowed her head and awaited his words. [hr][hr]