Lilly's presupposition about Yvonne's race - how she was sel darthirii - without even a mention of her dwarven heritage stimulated her, like a cat receiving a caress in the wrong direction. The microscopic hairs of her skin stood up on end, though she hid the feeling well, keeping any expression of vexation from her face. Her silver eyes acquired a considering narrow, accompanied by a warm smile that bathed her agitation with appreciation.

The dark elf was attempting to bestow her with a genuine compliment after all. The gesture wasn't completely lost on the hybrid. Compliments came few and far between, Yvonne was grateful. Her spirit was dampened however.

Proud of her dwarven lineage to a fault - if Yvonne took issue with either of her bloodlines it would be the dark elf within her. The majority of her ill life experiences were derived from the haughty superiority of sel darthirii slavers (her interpretation) and taskmasters (definitely true) coming into her mother's establishment at the end of a work shift, acting like they owned the place, making demands, putting her down and having no respect for her race whatsoever. Why would they? The dark elves were the ones who had brought civilization to her people - they were the ones galvanizing the gears of creation and progression.

The dwarves chipped away at rocks. They merely collected ore and crafted ingots. They only banged on metal between hammer and anvil, forged the implements of change in their smoke-choked smiths and workshops. They provided the masterwork armour and the magnificent weaponry which kept their vast, growing realm safe. They studied the blueprints the brilliant dark elves had sketched for them, putting the pages of still images into motion, drawing on their resourcefulness and bringing designs to life. They took dreams and made them reality.

That's all. Dwarves were simpletons. The backbone of Alerar, their short frames the foundation that held the dark elves aloft so they could take possession of their greatness. Without the sel darthirii the khazad would still be huddled in their natural cave networks, striving to store enough food for the freezing winters, struggling to keep predators at bay. Without the dark elves the dwarves would return to their tribal roots, their earth and fire gods, their wind and water goddesses.

All the same Yvonne wasn't willing to feel accepted as a sel darthirii if it meant she had to overlook her dwarven half. She wouldn't change who she was for anybody and had made peace with her hybridization many years ago. It was everyone else who seemed to have difficulty accepting both halves of her, but that was their problem in the end, wasn't it?

Yvonne ate her dinner (breakfast) politely and quietly, the picture-perfect example of fine eating habits. Her masking smile was bemused, her thoughts taking her away while she ate the delicious, spiced chicken and vegetables. The flavours popped on her tongue and tastebuds like a pyrotechnic display of exploding fireworks over Ettermire. It was Dot's best work yet. The grey dwarf closed her dreamy eyes and savoured the tastes of basil and garlic. Scrumptious.

She wouldn't dare talk with a mouthful though she certainly had a lot to say, like the long preparation of loading a flintlock rifle, pouring a powder charge down the barrel and shoving lead down after it with a ramrod, the hammer pulled back, the frizzen closed and the riflewoman taking aim.