Life is tough my darling, but so are you.
Astaroth's flippant dismissal of her is annoying, but Isar's offer to braid her hair sounds more like he would make a noose out of it, so she smiles sweetly and tilts her head in Isar's direction. "Only if you let me braid yours first." Her fangs peak through her lips in a returned challenge. She doesn't take kindly to threats. In fact, it usually makes her more volatile and reckless, but she restrains herself with a mocking look before pulling out a dagger which she proceeds to expertly flip between her fingers. "Thalassa" is her only response to their watching stares.
Leaving her answer simple, Thal considers the men's similar accents and parallel origins, wondering as to their resemblance to one another. Yet their differences are apparent in terms of appearance and mannerisms, like relatives from different time periods. At least, that's what Astaroth's words imply. She decides that maybe it will prove entertaining to stay and hear their conversation. To separate herself slightly, she pretends to focus on her knife skills, its blade flickering in the sunlight.
Leaving her answer simple, Thal considers the men's similar accents and parallel origins, wondering as to their resemblance to one another. Yet their differences are apparent in terms of appearance and mannerisms, like relatives from different time periods. At least, that's what Astaroth's words imply. She decides that maybe it will prove entertaining to stay and hear their conversation. To separate herself slightly, she pretends to focus on her knife skills, its blade flickering in the sunlight.
Thalassa
