Existence [closed to Yvonne]

[Yvonne]

The stunted drow had begun to feel... exposed, her vulnerability on display for all to see. One pair of pink eyes poring over her obsidian skin was enough, enough to set her on edge and it seemed they would devour every last detail about her until there was nothing left. This white lady was intensely curious about her, wasn't she?

Somebody ought ta mention it be rude ta stare.

The woman's curling smile helped to soften the severity the dark-skinned dwarf sensed from that telling gaze, feeling better as though she'd passed a silent test within the mind of her examiner. There was a promising satisfaction there now, expressed without words upon that remarkable face. Not at all like the sneers, scoffs and smirks she'd come to anticipate from strangers.

The lady's presumption made the dark dwarf flinch and gave her pause.

She knows everything. Why does she know everything? Why did that blasted human go and tell her that for? Ooh, by tha crags of tha wild goats, wait 'til I get me hands on--

Her curious questions cut right through the hybrid's flustered thoughts like a hot knife through butter. For an uncomfortable moment the dusk dwarf was speechless. Being an unknown in a strange sun-lit world still hurt, just a little ache on the heart, but she found herself respecting the lady's blunt, forward attitude.

"Yvonne of tha Mythrilmantle clan, descendant of tha dwarven defenders of Teria," she boasted reflexively, a pitiful state of affairs to be defending only herself from the comments of customers. Oh, if her ancestors could see how far their clan had fallen... their kin weeping on the hay bales and upsetting the horses.

"A dwarf with poor self-image," Yvonne quipped wryly, pulling a face. As though he knew his handler was being a smart-ass the chestnut gelding thumped her with a somewhat gentle headbutt. Whether it was to knock her back into line or to reacquire her attention, it was effective, as he achieved both.

"This be Mead. Aye, like tha drink. He who shall not be neglected," Yvonne explained, stroking her dark fingers through his red mane and down his brown shoulder. The palfrey was unusually calm, very strange. What was it about this diamond-haired dame that put the horse at ease? He liked her, the half-dwarf knew that already.

"We'd be happy ta go with ye ta Akashima, but... who'd be asking?"