For all the pretty speeches and convoluted drama, Dolores had endured. She stood, straightened back and poker face in hand. Time was relative and she didn’t really seem to fully grasp what the guild master was talking about. Whatever it was insinuated that it was important to some, less so to Dolores.
One eyebrow arched involuntarily at the implication that there had been a
reset of some kind. To Dolores it sounded like a purge and she decided that prodding the equivalent of a beehive was probably not the best course of action.
She weighed the options in her head, a hand absently twirling a strand of curly red hair between thumb and forefinger. Thoughts swaying between
‘Spotlights? Not my style.’ and
‘Haven’t even had my morning coffee yet.’And still she had endured…
Dolores wasn’t one for spectacle, and the grand magic games were a pastime she rather didn’t entertain. Kids playing at fighting and parlour tricks, she once said to a merchant asking the details and purpose of the games.
The S-class exams, however, she had an equal mind for. Status was pretty, but useless in the grand scheme of things. And she’d prefer ranking on a more practical basis, power wasn’t simply flinging a giant fireball in a particular direction, after all…
Regardless,
“I shall assist in any way I can, ma’am.” She offered matter-of-factly. A hand flicked reflexively near her staff, a trail of smoke licking the haft as it bellowed from her fingers.
Her violet eyes fell on Gwen for a moment. She considered finding a kindred spirit in detachment, but decided the ice alchemist had better things to do than entertain Dolores’ dissonance.
“If there is nothing else,” Her head twitched slightly in what may have been a nod.
“I will return to my duties.” Paperwork didn’t file itself after all, and for whatever reason Dolores had quickly learned that Phoenix Tear was… sloppy. Disciplined in all but administrative work, and she’d picked it up on her own initiative for want of something productive to do.
Dolores couldn’t deny that any pretence of these kinds of places irked in ways she was unable to describe. And perhaps the half-glower half-pucker face like she sucked on a lemon in between scolding a junior mage for setting the guild bar on fire gave that thought away.
So when Conq decided it was a good idea to teach everyone etiquette, Dolores sighed and gave the old man a reluctant nod. The woman glanced over at the other mages. Passing judgement perhaps, though it was hard to tell from the icy stare alone.
“We shall endeavour to follow your lead.”Not that she needed the reminder, muscle memory was one Hell of a thing; the motions almost instinct. A graceful stride, a head held high. The noble never quite faded no matter how hard she’d tried to tuck it away underneath the merc demeanour.
When Conq moved, she mirrored him with precision. A measured bow, one hand over her heart. Not deep enough to submit, not shallow enough to insult.
When the Sorcerer King descended from behind the veil of curtains, that weight of magic struck the air like a stormfront. Her stance was the same calm readiness she carried into battle: one heel back, shoulders square, hands folded behind her back. Power this concentrated wasn’t new to her, not really.
Dolores inclined her head a fraction deeper, the subtlest gesture of acknowledgment. Nobles knew that language of inches and pauses, and Dolores still spoke it fluently. She let Conq’s voice carry the room while her eyes lowered just enough to seem dutiful.