You strongly consider not telling her your race - or lying about it - but in the end decide it's in your interest to keep her on the hook. "The borin' one. Accepted." The one you need, you tiny snarky bitch.
Business and trade- now you feel comfortable, back in your element and on your feet. Casually thoughtful, you rub a hand over your salt and pepper scruff. "Well, some'a my friends, they're collectors. Awful fond'a things from differen' parts'a Caido, an' it ain't often we come by things from yer neck'a th'woods." Get it? Woods?
You pick up one of the smoother stones, flipping it between your fingers like a coin. "So yeah- you get me somethin' nice from yer homeland - a weapon, or clothes, or art or somethin' - an' I'll get ya a whole locka' hair. Heck, I'll even letcha shave my head. Been needin' a cut anyway."
Zephyr
you can be the ripest, juciest peach in the world
and there's still going to be someone who hates peaches
and there's still going to be someone who hates peaches
