[huh. that's one of the more... flamboyant body mods Cheris has seen in a while; people usually go for something simple, like gills or tiger-stripes. from behind, their wings remind her of the ravens she loved in her home city. they're moving fast for their bulk, though, not as coordinated as she'd like to see from someone very large moving very quickly through a crowd, and there's little space to get out of the way--
a chill spikes through her when the stranger turns, their sewn lips reminding her of some of the more lingering Vidona rituals she'd put a stop to back home. and they're old. she can't tell where the thought comes from, with no more senses to work with than the usual human, but the two immortals who defined her world for the past eleven years didn't leave her blind to the ephemeral weight of centuries, and memory paints her veins with ice.
she hasn't seen open hostility, doesn't reach for a weapon without cause, but the reflexes in her mind try to catch up with the reflexes no longer sharded through her body, and her twist to get out of the way has her stumbling over a potted plant and they've definitely noticed her noticing them by now.
so much for dignity.
she shakes herself off, a short woman in undistinguished black knits with hair cropped much shorter than the military bob she used to wear, and tilts her head to acknowledge the very tall very old mute winged person. maybe foxes fly here, and maybe ominous-looking strangers are friendly.]
no subject
a chill spikes through her when the stranger turns, their sewn lips reminding her of some of the more lingering Vidona rituals she'd put a stop to back home. and they're old. she can't tell where the thought comes from, with no more senses to work with than the usual human, but the two immortals who defined her world for the past eleven years didn't leave her blind to the ephemeral weight of centuries, and memory paints her veins with ice.
she hasn't seen open hostility, doesn't reach for a weapon without cause, but the reflexes in her mind try to catch up with the reflexes no longer sharded through her body, and her twist to get out of the way has her stumbling over a potted plant and they've definitely noticed her noticing them by now.
so much for dignity.
she shakes herself off, a short woman in undistinguished black knits with hair cropped much shorter than the military bob she used to wear, and tilts her head to acknowledge the very tall very old mute winged person. maybe foxes fly here, and maybe ominous-looking strangers are friendly.]