That's Yseult. She's called Janna today, and the sling of her elbow over the chairback and the snap point of her finger, the gaudy flourishes to an otherwise practical outfit, all color in the shape provided by that dockside Marcher accent til it says Coterie, maybe, or something like.
"Don't look at him," she says, when the fellow hesitates a second. She's dropped a knife out her sleeve into the hand hidden behind the chair. "He's nobody. Look at me."
qarinus
That's Yseult. She's called Janna today, and the sling of her elbow over the chairback and the snap point of her finger, the gaudy flourishes to an otherwise practical outfit, all color in the shape provided by that dockside Marcher accent til it says Coterie, maybe, or something like.
"Don't look at him," she says, when the fellow hesitates a second. She's dropped a knife out her sleeve into the hand hidden behind the chair. "He's nobody. Look at me."