They are all there - her husband, his father, her children, and the other Enchanters. Azhure opens her mouth to speak, and then... The song is like nothing she's ever heard. Her father, WolfStar, that madman. He has done this, somehow, ripped her from her very reality and put her quite somewhere else. She can remember the cold of winter that
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'Theoretical' is not getting her very far right now.
Hair wrapped up around her head, she stares blankly and with potent disbelief. Oh no no no. Not in her special little sanctuary. Not now that she's starting to make a life. Not again.
For the moment, though, a familiar, red-brown haired woman, dressed in rather practical if drab clothing, is staring nearly open-mouthed.
Hiiii and welcome! :D
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Oh, Stars! Was everything Azhure ever did just made to look like she was stalking Farady?
"I... "
And she stops, because Azhure has no real idea of what to say. Farady was here first, yet again, and then Azhure was there, traipsing around and ruining things.
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She settles for a curtsy, deferring, of course, to her betters. "Lady SunSoar." For now, she casts her eyes down, trying to mask her own conflicted feelings.
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"I didn't mean to be here," she finally says, voice barely a whisper. Azhure wasn't a cruel woman, not by nature - she hadn't even meant to kill her own abusive father. How did she always end up right in the middle of Farady's plots?
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This particular one is more of the 'batlike' variety, though, and has an expression of seriously dubious wariness from where he just landed, probably ten feet away and poised warily, posture the expert grace of a fighter. And a good one.
Don't take offense, Azhure, Lucivar looks like that at everyone.
His narrowed golden eyes might ask the question, but Lucivar has never liked beating around the bush and subtlety and silly things like that. "Who are you," and it's not really that much of a question.
(Also, welcome, but he'll get to that later. Much later.)
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"I'm Azhure," she replied, raising her chin. She ignored strands of black hair as they tickled her jaw, having loosened themselves from the already-loose braid she'd plaited her hair into. She didn't want to appear scared, and fidgeting would do just that. She took a moment to observe his wings, and how - they were like nothing she'd ever seen before. They were leathery, from what she could tell, not like any sort of Icarii being.
This was a strange place, indeed.
"Can you tell me where I am?" she asked, trying to brighten her question with a forced smile. She didn't like being sized up.
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He doesn't return the smile. "The Mansion," briefly, "From where?"
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"From where?" she repeated. Was he asking her that? He phrased it so strangely. "From somewhere not here," she said, her tone low and almost to herself. She didn't know what else to say, so nothing was said. Azhure wasn't going to fill empty space with things that meant nothing, and this man seemed keen on giving her as little information as possible.
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"Now that's almost something slightly surprising," she points out, deadpan.
Then again, the girl who can turn into a leopard and goes flying on a regular basis with Lucivar Yaslana is slightly blasee. Just a touch.
Hee! Welcome!
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Wolf, yes, just incredibly, ridiculously friendly.
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"I don't suppose you know where I am, do you?" she asked the wolf, scratching behind its ear.
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Caranthir the Dark, Son of Feanor, accomplished Kinslayer, not particularly a fuzzy fellow, is currently bringing back half a dozen hares he snared in the forest.
He'll be staring a lot, frowning slightly, and trying to decide if he should had on home to the girlfriend... or investigate the strange creature ahead.
The girlfriend, by the way? Oh, you know her, Azhure. Take a guess. Oh yes. The one and only.
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She turns as Caranthir emerges from the wood, quickly trying to determine if he is friend or foe.
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And he's usually courteous to women, and this one's pretty, but he's also learned the hard way not to trust just any pretty face, so here he is, gauging her as well.
"... Good day," he offers, finally, carefully. He probably looks fairly the hunter, with the game and the large hunting knife at his belt. His pointy ears aren't all visible under his dark hair, we don't think. He's sporting an eye-patch and an impressive scar on his face, though he might have been handsome, before that happens, and perhaps still is, depending on the beholder's eye.
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"Hello," she replies, her blue eyes trained on him. My, but he was much more cautious than some of the others. "You don't suppose anyone would get mad if I took one of these, do you?" she asks him, looking back up at the tree. "I'm not keen on being known as a fruit thief," she adds.
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