[center] > ah...fuck.[/center]

More friends come forth, shadows shaping and speaking up, and for a short time she pauses her approach toward the hut to admire the precious things. Particularly adorable is the little lady in her darling cape. [i]A cape! Love that...how does one even get into cape-wearing?[/i] She has to wonder if there are good beginner capes to ease into the practice with. It'd surely be nerve-wracking to start off with such a nice, proper cloak like what the little woman's got on, but a professional cape-wearer like herself must have started somewhere. 

Then there's the funny-looking gentleman at her side, and the one further off and [i]on fire[/i] ([i]!?[/i]). Her immediate neighbor is gifted a smile and a fast wave, which is enthusiastic but almost painful-looking.

"[b]No. I don't know my name.[/b]" A beat. Then she shrugs this off, wincing at the tightness in her shoulders. "[b]Those things are everywhere, though. I bet we'll find new ones in no time. After we exchange names, you [i]have[/i] to tell me why your ears are like that.[/b]"

She's not a fan of the burning man's tone when he speaks, but his observation is a good one, so no fuss is made. She doubts he came from the same place as [i]her[/i], either. Looking at him brings about the same faint, patronizing kind of amusement she feels looking at most of the people here; their strangeness feels so [i]novel,[/i] like some new treat. She nods emphatically, not actually sure what to make of this information right now so instead she uses the sweetheart who had [i]why?[/i]'d waving back at her as a palate cleanser. [i]How nice![/i]

Now she's moving again.

The request that they stay where they are goes unheeded. She doesn't mean to be a pest, but she's got this overwhelming certainty that she is untouchable and above the demands of these costumed strangers. She'll careen around their charming little hellhole at her leisure, thank you very much! Then the man, which she swears had just been [i]over there[/i] but is now [i]right here[/i], remedies her arrogance by shoving a spear at her. This would be hiiiilarious if it hadn't touched her in the next split-second. [i]That's not supposed to happen.[/i]

She doesn't flinch. It's not that this woman fancies herself all brave and unintimidatable but that whatever instinct a rational person might have to shield themself is long gone. Because [i]this isn't supposed to happen.[/i]

And yet.

[i]I'm right here.[/i] She's right here, the danger's right there, and in spite of what she feels should and should not be able to happen, it can touch her. Hurt her. It [i]is[/i]. That sting at her unguarded neck is all that she can focus on for the moment that follows, and it stretches, 

[i]—this is a horrible way to make friends, you know...whatever happened to class—[/i]

and it stretches, 

[i]—shoving your great big weapon at me, not even a mention of treating me to dinner, for shame—[/i]

and it stretches. What has he done to her? Had she felt slow and irate [i]before?[/i] Well [i]this[/i] is agonizing. Had she thought the spear was silly before? Well...[i]well!![/i] For weeks she is held at spear-point and for months a pale hand creeps into view. Distantly she can tell that other things are still happening, but it's hard enough to discern the slow crawl of events happening immediately front of her. 

It could have been years before the friend at her side has fully grabbed the spear. She admires the gradual light-show that ensues since it's a fun way to conclude ages of watching something otherwise very boring. These arcs of electricity [i]slowly[/i] blooming from his hand, which doesn't seem to be easing the sting at her throat, but may at least be preventing the spearhead from digging any deeper. She can't tell. 

There are words. Several. She cannot register them any better than she can make sense of the things happening in her peripherals. Sick dread is finally setting in after a forever-long lag; what does she do if she's just stuck like this forever? In a sense, it already feels as though she has been. The man at her side's hand pries up after the light-show is done, dragging out of view little by little. Plumes of soot are starting to climb into the air, pushed by some other force. She'd be disappointed and amazed by these two things if she wasn't already super busy quietly wishing that Strange-Eyes' ([i]she couldn't make out Meko's proper introduction[/i]) horned head would explode as a way to stay ahead of the despair. She isn't proud of this, but it helps.