08-19-2018, 10:12 PM
[align=center][div style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 10pt; width: 60%; text-align: justify;"]Talking is not in Melantha's job description. The Pitt weaponizes her size and strength; her muscle, but not the tongue. Which is why she approaches behind Esklav in the first place. Strong arms are a more...secret rank. They operate in the background. Watching. Protecting. Listening. Preserving the safety of those most valuable to the Pitt is her primary responsibility. It is probably a good thing, for the young puma is more comfortable in her combat abilities than she is speaking with strangers. Trust does not come easily, and she finds it off-putting to have to interact with those who do not interest her.
Like most inhabitants of the desert, communication is a not a skill which comes easily. People are more likely to stab you and steal your breakfast than they are to make small talk about the weather. So one would assume that Melantha fits right in. But that is not entirely true.
Although nowhere close to being a beacon of good morals, the tawny huntress exists somewhere in the grey area. She is more practical. More reasonable. A middle of the road, kind of person. Which is why she cannot resist the urge to speak up when things begin to grow tense between Esklav and the Rosebloods. "I do not understand why we cannot make an arrangement," says the creature as she steps closer, chiseled muscles rippling beneath her sleek pelt. Pallid olive eyes glance between the warpriest and that Peytriviing fellow. "We need food. They have food. Is it not more logical to apologize, and arrange an exchange of assets?" Melantha is surprised by her own words. Since when was she so political? Perhaps she had some experience that she cannot remember? Amnesia is strange that way: she cannot remember specific events but knowledge remains even when the memory attached no longer exists.
"We still cannot return the food," she says, expression neutral and her tone businesslike. "I would be more than willing to punish the one who did it, however." Sure, Esklav told the hybrid to steal, but Dante deserves a good ass-whooping. It's payback for all the sexist comments. And for thinking he's better than her. And for just being a little bitch. Mel recognizes the challenges of feeding a large clan when they reside in a place with little food. And yes, she understands that the Pitt is a neutral, war-orientated group but can they really risk the opportunity of losing a potential source of food over their pride?
Having said all that she needed to say, Melantha lowers her head somewhat. "Of course, that decision is not up to me." Maybe it should be. A lot of her clanmates have proven that they are far too dense to make decisions that benefit the whole, sometimes. Then again, this is a group of criminals and slave masters, so what does she expect? Mel does not care much about ethics or whatever--she just wants to make sure they can get through the difficult seasons without worrying about starving to death.
Like most inhabitants of the desert, communication is a not a skill which comes easily. People are more likely to stab you and steal your breakfast than they are to make small talk about the weather. So one would assume that Melantha fits right in. But that is not entirely true.
Although nowhere close to being a beacon of good morals, the tawny huntress exists somewhere in the grey area. She is more practical. More reasonable. A middle of the road, kind of person. Which is why she cannot resist the urge to speak up when things begin to grow tense between Esklav and the Rosebloods. "I do not understand why we cannot make an arrangement," says the creature as she steps closer, chiseled muscles rippling beneath her sleek pelt. Pallid olive eyes glance between the warpriest and that Peytriviing fellow. "We need food. They have food. Is it not more logical to apologize, and arrange an exchange of assets?" Melantha is surprised by her own words. Since when was she so political? Perhaps she had some experience that she cannot remember? Amnesia is strange that way: she cannot remember specific events but knowledge remains even when the memory attached no longer exists.
"We still cannot return the food," she says, expression neutral and her tone businesslike. "I would be more than willing to punish the one who did it, however." Sure, Esklav told the hybrid to steal, but Dante deserves a good ass-whooping. It's payback for all the sexist comments. And for thinking he's better than her. And for just being a little bitch. Mel recognizes the challenges of feeding a large clan when they reside in a place with little food. And yes, she understands that the Pitt is a neutral, war-orientated group but can they really risk the opportunity of losing a potential source of food over their pride?
Having said all that she needed to say, Melantha lowers her head somewhat. "Of course, that decision is not up to me." Maybe it should be. A lot of her clanmates have proven that they are far too dense to make decisions that benefit the whole, sometimes. Then again, this is a group of criminals and slave masters, so what does she expect? Mel does not care much about ethics or whatever--she just wants to make sure they can get through the difficult seasons without worrying about starving to death.