It is only after Solarel has torn the synthweave of the boot clean down the middle that she notices the zipper. Oh - oh damn. Human clothes don't grow back when they get torn. It's like Hybrasilian clothes - all straps and ribbons and knots and zips and buttons and all of these mechanisms for forcing clothes into configurations. She froze in place for a moment, guiltily staring at the ruined shoe. She also took the moment to sate her own curiosity about the human foot. No claws at [i]all[/i], not even retractable ones? So weird.

[i]Berkshires: 伯克希尔: Bó kè xī ěr: David Hilbert (1862-1943), German mathematician[/i] chips in the translator geist. Solarel notes it in passing. In her cultural context, a mathematician was a step off being a meth cook. That at least explained who she was and what she was doing with the pirates.

Well. No use crying over torn shoes. She should focus on what she could do to make it up - and at the very least, she could spare Isabelle having to walk half-barefoot over the realm of the Gods. So, with a simple motion, she wrapped her arms around Isabelle and lifted her easily up into a princess carry. 

She couldn't remember the human reassurance tic. She tries blinking, like a Hybrasilian. She has naturally long eyelashes which draw focus to her iris' spectrum of pinks flecked with tiny shards of gold. Her arms are warm, her chest is warm, her scales still glimmer with a faint luminescent glow. She steps with you into the realm of the gods and you are safe against her - unless, perhaps, should she decide to tear [i]more [/i]of your clothing off your body.

[Entice: Another [b]10[/b]]