rattle the cage

ASHE I'm not a girl.    Ashe brought her hand up to stroke one of Soot's fuzzy legs, but the spider had all eyes on the Auni. She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding when Amalia was confirmed to be on the mend, and she made a mental note to stop and see the woman as soon as she could.    An arched brow quirked up. "Captured by the fae?" She frowned. "I didn't learn much about them before the storms." How much was known about them now? She let the topic go, however, and she tensed instead. Fighter to fighter.    She straightened, muscles coiling tight. So it was known what she was, then. Spectacular, thanks Jigs. Looking closer at Kiada, she could see the network of scars on her. Her hand hovered just by her hip, close to a knife. Scars like that were marks of survival - of strength, and staying stubbornly alive when Death beckoned.    Ashe looked at the beautiful knife held out to her - dark and jagged and gleaming, something she certainly could appreciate - and then darted electric eyes up to meet ones of ice. She couldn't help it at her smile - her own lips pulled upwards, and she stepped forward to accept the blade. She gave it an experimental twirl or two, admiring the way it sliced with precision through the air.    "A girl after my own heart," she quipped, flipping the blade downwards to tuck under her belt. Soot gave a little chitter and moved to clamber down Ashe's arm, but lost his grip at the last second. He tumbled to the floor with a squeak, and then clumsily staggered toward Auni.    Ashe crossed her arms, tilting her head to Kiada. "You know what sort of fighter I am then," she said. "So what about you?" I'm a storm with skin.