[center][h3]Sinmara[/h3][/center]

Once the irate Chairwoman stormed off, red with embarrassment, the atmosphere around the table returned to normal. Sinmara neither launched into another bombastic anecdote about her past exploits nor voraciously tore into the remains of her meal. Instead, she pulled her chair close and slouched over the table with her jaw resting on her fist, cushioned by her glove, and her elbow on the table. In such a manner she picked at her food and sipped her water, her boisterous and larger-than-life attitude somewhat muted.

While her pride wouldn’t let her capitulate even when directly reprimanded, Sinmara wasn’t a mean-spirited or spiteful person. She didn’t want to be the center of attention all the time, and she didn’t actually want to cause trouble. Sure, the huntress might be a little ditzy, but she’d have to be downright oblivious to not realize that she didn’t exactly fit in around here. Glitz and glamor, peace and plenty…compared to her usual lifestyle of wandering through the wilderness trying to scrounge together enough quest rewards to keep her muscles fed, this was the lap of luxury. When she finally tracked down that scraggly, mustached fellow with a rustic cowboy hat and a cheap corduroy suit the color of brown mustard who’d been petitioning monster hunters with a look of desperation on his droopy face and a golden envelope in his hand, she’d practically begged him for it. Mom told her to join this campaign, of course, but who in their right mind would turn down free food, not to mention the company of powerful combatants?

So naturally Sinmara had come here intending to enjoy herself. Wasn’t that what parties were for? But as much as she loved being a big deal, she didn’t want to cause such a scene that she got thrown out, or worse, thrown in jail again. Though never for more than a night or two, she’d been in and out of a number of small prisons across the continent ever since her grand debut. She’d been charged with stuff like brawling (serial offender), petty theft (if meat speaks to me, I listen), drunkenness (things got out of hand), barfighting (bars can be dangerous, just ask a lawyer), disturbing the peace (it was SO boring), destruction of public property (those were all accidents), unauthorized possession of a deadly weapon (it’s literally part of me), indecent exposure (how’s it my fault nobody makes anything my size?) and so on. Of course, the ability to obliterate solid matter meant that she never needed to stay anywhere longer than she wanted to, but who’d turn down a free bed? The stockades were less comfortable, but still. Besides, some of those ancient, small-town sheriffs, dozing their days away in the shade of their porches, hadn’t seen action in decades. They’d welcomed the chance to feel important again, and when all was said and done Sinmara often ended up making some friends. Of course, in a big city like New Anton, people were more likely to clap her in irons, leave her to rot in a dungeon, and so on. Better not to risk it. So for now Sinmara just sat here, bored and disappointed. If stuff didn’t start happening, she might start to disassociate again, and boy howdy would she not enjoy [i]that[/i].

Luckily, Sinmara wasn’t the only odd duck around. As she sat there, daydreaming about epic fight scenes, an unfamiliar voice stirred her from her reverie. A well-groomed man with the slender, waifish prettiness one might expect of an elf, juxtaposed strongly against the industrial artifice of his sophisticated augmentations, was saying something. Sinmara neither registered what he’d been doing nor the first couple things he said, but when the elegant engineer introduced himself, the huntress lit up. Even if he didn’t ask her to return the favor, which he did, she’d eagerly jump at the chance to get her name out.

“Wow, everyone’s got a super long name today. Fae it is!” she laughed, standing. Assuming that his bow was a cultural norm of some sort, Sinmara copied the gesture as best she could, although she had a little trouble holding her hands to her chest in exactly the same way. “I’m Sinmara!” she introduced herself before she sat back down. “Not-so-humble earth-shakin’ prizefighter and slayer of mythical beasts! That’s right, THE Sinmara, so if you want an autograph, you’d better ask now before folks start lining up! And if you wanna spar, dandy man, you don’t even gotta ask! I’m ready to rock any time, day or night!”

On the heels of her introduction, another woman rolled up, offering her own name and an invitation. For a moment Sinmara just blinked at her, wondering if she’d heard Marissa correctly. This wasn’t just wishful thinking, right? RIGHT? After a moment Sinmara lit up, springing to her feet with her heart racing and a wild grin plastered on her face. “You wanna take this outside!? Fine by me! Fair warning though, [i]you’re[/i] gonna be the one who ends up gettin’ smoked!” After a moment though, her eyes narrowed, and she heaved a heavy sigh. “Crap, I almost got carried away again. I’m actually tryin’ to stay outta trouble for now, so I can’t afford to bust loose just yet. But uh, hold that thought, will ya Rissy? Once we’re outta here, you’re on!”

Right on cue, an enigmatic individual put in a surprise appearance. Sinmara watched, highly amused, as the Jester performed an acrobatic stunt and landed next to Rissy. “Nice to see you too, I could really use a laugh!” She put her hands on her hips, her brows scrunching up as she tried to put together a summary of the situation. She was a little short on the specifics herself, though not quite as short as Marissa. “Uh, I think they brought us all here to find the seven weapons. Right? That’s just about all I know though, I dunno how to find ‘em or where to look. It’s all been pretty hush-hush.” She shrugged in resignation. “Honestly though, I could just skip all the explainin’. Just point me in the right direction and let me punch something!” With a jocular smile she pounded one gloved fist into the palm of the other, allowing everyone present to see their helpful labels of ‘left’ and ‘right’.