Clack, scrape, drag. She did not exactly make her entrance or movement a secret, exploring the shelves like a lost child as she felt her away along the bindings, fingering the knobby ends of scrolls that bristled from nooks and crannies. She felt frustratingly dim as she did so, finding that she did not, in fact, understand the organization of this place at all and that she had somehow gotten trapped in what seemed a never-ending font of information about how to stab a man with a pointy stick, information that seemed fairly universal.
Exhausted already by what little progress she had made in her exploration she looked around dimly for some sort of bench, her expression sagging a bit more symmetrically in a moment of defeat. She was tired and admittedly frustrated by the physical limitation of discomfort and injury though she had come quite a way already. Even worse the volumes upon volumes of athletic prowess and exploits seemed like some sort of spiteful cosmic joke, one that stung a bit more than she cared to admit. Hobbling about with a stick, a shoulder that would reasonably demand more time still to fully mend, and an absolute divorce from whatever personal strength or capability she had bargained for in the past but not the physical ramifications of it, she couldn't see herself stabbing anyone - at least not so gracefully as they made out in the few pages she had skimmed.
It was as she began to slip into a distantly haunted expression, dwelling on the realization of her situation that she was delightfully interrupted, snapping her attention toward the stranger's voice. Pulling her right shoulder forward she hugged the arm to her belly, guarding it jealously as she leaned into a nearby wall for support, watching him sharply with no effort made to conceal the jagged red scars that carved from her hairline down across her cheek and the bridge of her nose, nor the patch that covered the right eye. She focused, repeating the greeting beneath her breath as she squinted against the gloom at the buckles and leathers with her good eye. Though the language wasn't entirely alien she doubted that it was familiar, either, and hesitated to draw conclusions as Jigano's warning rang in the back of her mind. Instead, she offered a thin, tense smile and the best poker face she could manage. She didn't understand this place and was hesitant to make assumptions or take risks - perhaps he was some sort of official or guard of some sort. Perhaps she had broken a law- Mel didn't know any laws. Mel didn't know anything.
"Afternoon - it's a lovely place here. Are you, um..." She brought her right hand up haltingly as though watching for his reaction before completing the motion, toying with the fish pendants nestled in the collar of her shirt. "You're not... official, are you? Do you work here? Maybe... security?" Perhaps it would be difficult for some to find that smile threatening - it was almost dog-like in its sincerity, reminding her of the pleasant panting of hounds piled around the fires she had read about, though experience told her those hounds could also tear out your throat with only seconds of notice, if that. "Melinoë, I'm Mel - I can be here, yes?"
Exhausted already by what little progress she had made in her exploration she looked around dimly for some sort of bench, her expression sagging a bit more symmetrically in a moment of defeat. She was tired and admittedly frustrated by the physical limitation of discomfort and injury though she had come quite a way already. Even worse the volumes upon volumes of athletic prowess and exploits seemed like some sort of spiteful cosmic joke, one that stung a bit more than she cared to admit. Hobbling about with a stick, a shoulder that would reasonably demand more time still to fully mend, and an absolute divorce from whatever personal strength or capability she had bargained for in the past but not the physical ramifications of it, she couldn't see herself stabbing anyone - at least not so gracefully as they made out in the few pages she had skimmed.
It was as she began to slip into a distantly haunted expression, dwelling on the realization of her situation that she was delightfully interrupted, snapping her attention toward the stranger's voice. Pulling her right shoulder forward she hugged the arm to her belly, guarding it jealously as she leaned into a nearby wall for support, watching him sharply with no effort made to conceal the jagged red scars that carved from her hairline down across her cheek and the bridge of her nose, nor the patch that covered the right eye. She focused, repeating the greeting beneath her breath as she squinted against the gloom at the buckles and leathers with her good eye. Though the language wasn't entirely alien she doubted that it was familiar, either, and hesitated to draw conclusions as Jigano's warning rang in the back of her mind. Instead, she offered a thin, tense smile and the best poker face she could manage. She didn't understand this place and was hesitant to make assumptions or take risks - perhaps he was some sort of official or guard of some sort. Perhaps she had broken a law- Mel didn't know any laws. Mel didn't know anything.
"Afternoon - it's a lovely place here. Are you, um..." She brought her right hand up haltingly as though watching for his reaction before completing the motion, toying with the fish pendants nestled in the collar of her shirt. "You're not... official, are you? Do you work here? Maybe... security?" Perhaps it would be difficult for some to find that smile threatening - it was almost dog-like in its sincerity, reminding her of the pleasant panting of hounds piled around the fires she had read about, though experience told her those hounds could also tear out your throat with only seconds of notice, if that. "Melinoë, I'm Mel - I can be here, yes?"
