Jiao
Your clothes never wear as well the next day
And your hair never falls in quite the same way
You never seem to run out of things to say
And your hair never falls in quite the same way
You never seem to run out of things to say
Deimos promised not to tell anyone of her identity - Jiao did not trust his word, but well, she'd already put the information out there now. If it came back to hurt her, she'd have to deal with it then; she had never been someone with a massive amount of foresight, preferring to take things on as they arose.
Right now, she was more interested in how this hulking brute was going to make something sparkling, delicate. He seemed a world apart from the kinds of dresses she liked, things that flowed and caught the light, moved beautifully as she flew. Deimos seemed like the kind of man who could make a good breastplace, but fabric for a dress...? She put a finger to her chin and watched, ready to be disappointed.
As she saw the colour appear in his fingers (a greeny-blue, like pure rivers and shiny feathers) she raised her eyebrows, suddenly a little more hopeful for the skills of the warrior before her. Perhaps she had misjudged, for she could already think of outfits to make with the fabric. It was...not the kind of thing she would have made herself, but certainly not a gift she would refuse.
"Yes, I think it will." She said, taking it without thanks; this was a deal after all, no favours. "Is there anything else you want? It'll cost you something else."
