[center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/4nkb9ck3/subira.png[/img][/center]

[i]As usual, somewhere between belonging and… its opposite.[/i]

Not especially kempt following her long walk to the crash site, Subira wore simple leather travel gear; a wandering mind permitted a distracted hand to fiddle with a frayed edge, blindly reading it back and forth. Faded and grey, featuring little in the way of intricacies besides some haphazard modifications (if one were to look closely: faint, nesting geometries, punched in with a reappropriated stone engraving tool), the basic getup left her feeling underdressed, underprepared?

She could sense the mounting tensions in the negotiations unfolding before—suddenly, an impossible voice barked at her in the lingua franca that she was only begrudgingly accepting as the vehicle of her everyday communication. While she didn’t miss much from the Ascendancy, occasionally, she detected the absence of the comfort afforded by conversing in her mother tongue. 

[i]What an accent! Where in the world…[/i]

Whirling around, ashy feathers rustled, her eyes widened as she took in the contraption that had addressed her. 

“This is a restricted area. Please identify yourself,” it requested once more, its intonation not detectibly aggravated from having to repeat itself. Subira’s beak twitched; she stammered, desperate for answers. 

“I… what are you? I’m supposed to be here. I mean—” 

She blinked.

“I’m Subira, I’m a force mage, I work with Mythadia…” 

She closed her eyes tightly, briefly, shaking her head as though to rattle it straight.

The unliving pieces remained coldly before her, calculating.

“I’m looking for Silbermine! I have been informed of very little. Do you understand me?”

Her life had suddenly become very complicated. Having raised her voice somewhat and slowly assuming a defensive position given the otherworldliness of the talking assembly, Subira was beginning to cause a commotion that could not be completely ignored, as much as she oh-so wished to stay out of the way.