legionworld | I've been hoping for a sign...

Who| Marjara Lavellan, and YOU?
What| The new kid in town is finding her way around.
Where| Around the ship in general.
When| First arrival.
Warnings/Notes| If you're squicked by mentions of amputation...well. Here's your warning.

As Inquisitor, she's traveled through the Veil to the Fade, the realm of abstracts and dreams. She's traveled through time. She's delved into the literal hearts of beings too massive and ancient to fathom. But this place is something else entirely. Sleek and metal, with no ground or dirt to be seen, outside of the lush forest that's been afforded her as her biome. And Elgar'nan, she'd never seen so many stars in her life.

Yes, she could certainly be found on the Observation Deck, putting it to its purpose with wide, dark eyes. One sleeve hangs empty, but her other arm extends to grip the rail, allowing her to lean forward as far as she dares. It's all a bit dizzying.

People might blink to see her poke her head into the training room, given her size and slender form, but she does so with great interest. With the loss of her arm, she'll have to relearn fighting with a staff, regaining proper balance with the weapon. She'll need to learn sooner, rather than later. Particularly if she's agreed to fight with the Legion.

Another fight to save all of creation. At least it doesn't fall entirely on her shoulders, this time.

She traverses the halls as well, taking in all the sights and sounds with perked ears and all the curiosity of a kitten. There are a great many humans here but none have mistaken her for a servant yet. So that's a pleasant change of pace. There have been whispers of a farm or garden, something of that nature. Perhaps a place she might be able to continue her study of herbs and potion-making? She may as well cultivate any advantage she can get.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's a masterful display, the sort of thing they told her people here would be capable of. Blending physical prowess and that sort of energy is what she's hoping for, although this is...feral. Wilder than the disciplined techniques a Knight-Enchanter is taught.

She can't help but be intrigued, standing to watch until she's noticed there lingering at the door, and she straightens upon Velvet's eyes falling upon her. "You look as though you could pull that off in your sleep, as easy as you make it look," she opines, before stepping a little closer.

Nothing to be wary of here, Velvet. See how friendly she is?

It's not Marjara's fault, really; Velvet's just a pacing caged animal around everyone. It's how she's wired.

"I've slept through doing worse," she says, simply enough, because it's simply the truth. The Abbey didn't really care much about whether she was awake or not when they decided it was their daemonic garbage disposal's feeding time; she learned how to adapt, because she wasn't about to learn how to die.

It isn't her intention to make that sound like a threat, but the flat grumble of her default tone of voice is what it is.

Luckily, she's not easily frightened off. She'd gotten actual threats pretty regularly, and she'd like to think she knows the difference between an implied threat and a surly disposition in general.

But she's talking to her, isn't she? And she can't help but be curious, one arm folding across her chest.

"What do you mean?"

"Just a lesson I've learned that I'm still debating if I want to unlearn," Velvet says, calmly enough. She claps her hand and the hologram lunges at her - at which point she very neatly spinkicks it across the throat - without the blade this time, leaving it to stagger backwards, hand over its throat as it feigns choking, unable to prevent her from swinging her bandaged hand into its face, fingers clawed, and slamming it to the ground.

She smacks the floor with her free hand and the hologram dissolves as she straightens once more. "When you spend time in prison you either learn how to sleep unsoundly, or you don't get to sleep."

"You learn a thing or two about being cryptic, as well."

Her eyebrows pitch upwards as the woman straightens. She has an air of mystery about her, that's true. She's spent time in prison, fights with a feral grace, and she doesn't seem terribly socialized. Maybe not the friend she should be making, but she feels compelled to stick around a little longer just the same.

Maybe it would help if she acquired a jar of bees.

Velvet grunts, then waggles her wrist, testing to make sure the spring in her bracer isn't loose. "The gory details of my life story aren't the sort of thing I'd enjoy throwing in the face of a total stranger."

She pauses, then gives Marjara a flat stare, adding, "I don't think you'd enjoy hearing them either." Without missing a beat, she moves to stretch her arms above her head, loosening the tension that's naturally settling around her shoulders as they talk. "You're welcome to prove me wrong, but the last stranger I took up on that offer ran away screaming."

For her part Velvet doesn't look very guilt-ridden about it, but she isn't exactly looking like she considers that something she's proud of, either. Mostly she doesn't look like she feels any particular way about it except vaguely disgruntled, like it's yet another fact of life that she just has to live with, but one that makes life harder on her than she really needs it to be.

Harder than it needs to be? You could say that again.

Marjara offers the woman a wry smile, shrugging lightly. The empty sleeve at her side sways as she does so. "You don't need to tell me anything if you don't want to. I just thought that you were rather skilled at fighting. I'm not trying to put you on the spot."

And it seems as though she's had poor experiences sharing her life's story in the past. Whatever it is, it can't be worse than the last person to keep secretive and cagey about their past.

She might still reeling from that revelation, though privately. Like any good leader.

"Where I'm from, the townspeople had a name they'd use if they knew I was coming. It was funny, because they didn't really think of me like a real person." Velvet's mouth quirks. It's an inward smile, full of poisonous mirth. "I could sit in a bar and hear people talking about me at the next table over, and they'd have no idea I was already there. Like a bedtime story, or a legend. They called me the Lord of Calamity."

Her bandaged fist clenches. She works at her neck with a rolling motion. There's the cracking of tendons taut in the joints. Her smile was already gone, vanished as fast as it appeared, the somber certitude returned. "For better or worse, I can't say I didn't live up to the name."

She exhales, noticeably vexed - but it's an aimless frustration, going nowhere, directed at no one, trying to exhaust itself already. "And now I'm here, being offered an invitation to a 'Legion of Super Heroes'."

"Forget what people say. They don't decide who you are. You do."

Alright, maybe that touched a nerve. Maybe, as something of a figure of legend herself, Marjara understands what it is to have people think they know you, to give you all sort of names or tales, or regard you as more of a idol -- or some fearsome nightmare -- rather than as a person. She's not about to indulge in doing the same thing to someone else.

So maybe her expression gets a little sterner, her normally round, dark eyes narrowing.

"So who do you say you are?"

I've been hoping for a sign...

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject