- Invitation Status
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per day
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- Multiple posts per week
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Online Availability
- Depends on how crazy my life is at any given moment, but I'm usually online- at least for OOC purposes- at least once a day.
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Female
- Genres
- Medieval Fantasy, SciFi, Modern/Superhero, Dystopian
Marisol was so content. It was....frustrating. The old woman could look at the pain, at the suffering her people put others through, and still manage to hum and look outside with a smile? Zariah couldn't help but feel indignant at that, though she tried to remember things from the woman's point of view.
There was no point in being resentful- she was saving that for Richard.
The woman procured a towel from the closet, and as she did so, the man in question called impatiently from the hallway. She could practically see his expression in the tone of voice he was using, and she sunk down into the murky water even further until Marisol returned with the towel.
It was thick and fluffy and white, and Zariah took it quickly, quietly thankful that the servant was looking away this time. The dragon girl stepped from the tub and wrapped the towel around herself, shivering slightly as the outside air hit her. She was wearing it almost like a toga, with her fists balled in the corners and her nose pressed into the cloth.
Then Marisol returned with clothes. She knew she would be expected to wear whatever Richard deemed fitting, but the humans' outfits were impractical and frustrating, and she couldn't help but wrinkle her nose a bit at the dress that the servant brought. It was a simpler thing, slave garb, really, a simple light blue dress with a leather belt along the waist. The simple nature of the thing wasn't the thing that upset her, though- her own clothes were much wilder than that- rather, it was the skirt, and, most prominent...the shoes.
Zariah had never worn shoes a day in her life, and she glared at them when the woman brought them with all the hatred anyone could muster toward an inanimate object. Still, she reached out after a moment to take the outfit, dark eyes examining the dress as if it were a great mystery.
There was no point in being resentful- she was saving that for Richard.
The woman procured a towel from the closet, and as she did so, the man in question called impatiently from the hallway. She could practically see his expression in the tone of voice he was using, and she sunk down into the murky water even further until Marisol returned with the towel.
It was thick and fluffy and white, and Zariah took it quickly, quietly thankful that the servant was looking away this time. The dragon girl stepped from the tub and wrapped the towel around herself, shivering slightly as the outside air hit her. She was wearing it almost like a toga, with her fists balled in the corners and her nose pressed into the cloth.
Then Marisol returned with clothes. She knew she would be expected to wear whatever Richard deemed fitting, but the humans' outfits were impractical and frustrating, and she couldn't help but wrinkle her nose a bit at the dress that the servant brought. It was a simpler thing, slave garb, really, a simple light blue dress with a leather belt along the waist. The simple nature of the thing wasn't the thing that upset her, though- her own clothes were much wilder than that- rather, it was the skirt, and, most prominent...the shoes.
Zariah had never worn shoes a day in her life, and she glared at them when the woman brought them with all the hatred anyone could muster toward an inanimate object. Still, she reached out after a moment to take the outfit, dark eyes examining the dress as if it were a great mystery.