MARCO? MARCO?! - joining

[Evelyn]

The sight of a dragon brings a pang of half-exhilaration and half-longing as it swoops down in a streak of black and crimson, face halved in contrasting hues. Her tongue flickers against the back of her teeth, tracing ever so gently as she waits for the behemoth to speak, remembering all the times she'd been what he is now and reveled in the novelty of being a creature spoken only in myths and legends. Perhaps without the wings but certainly up to scale...

Boob shifts on her head and brings her back in the present, catching the tail end of his question but guessing the gist all the same.

"Hail, ser! Talia Pendragon, of the no-lands. I seek refuge in your island, if your laws permit," she begins with a deep bow, one wing coming to the front and pressing against her chest. The gesture is nostalgic, familiar--she'd always been a bit of a stickler for courtesies. "I was born in a coastal clan, and it's a coastal clan I wish to call a new home."

She rights herself and finds several more figures that have appeared in the vicinity, seafoam eyes taking care to observe them all. The first is a small bengal, unassuming and avoiding her gaze--curious, Talia thinks, very curious as she does so. It reminds her of her sister, of Fayz, of Melanie who had been her daughter.

"This one?" Her gaze flickers upward, only barely seeing the bird perched on her antlers. Boob appears to sense the attention and whistles a tune, feathers puffed up and ruffled. "This one goes by Boob, short for... well, I've forgotten what it's short for, but she doesn't seem to mind." As if in response, the pygmy owl blinks its eyes and clicks its beak, but shows no outward sign of indignation.

The second is a cream-colorer feline, long of fur and red of eyes like the younger that had come before him. He seems a silent type, rough in demeanor, but she doubts that that's all there is to the young man. People have many facets; she would know, she's seen many in her time. Never is one person exactly what they seem.

"People have said I smile even at the most inopportune moments," comes the hellhound's admission, cocking her head to the side but never letting her expression waver. It's what she was once known for. Even in the throes of chaos, she'd kept a smile on her face, manic as it might have been. She'd smiled through tragedy and smiled through loss, smiled through tears, smiled through her own death--she'd smiled because it was the only other thing she could control in a world of uncontrollable factors. "If I frowned because my life is shit, to me it would be like conceding defeat, and I don't like losing. I smile when I can, because I can."

The third is even younger, younger yet carrying a weapon that speaks of stories untold. Who had given it to them, and why? Had it been a parent or a friend, one of the people around her or one she'd yet to meet, and for what purpose? Talia parks the question in the back of her mind and lowers herself ever so gently, until she's almost eye-level to the armed combatant-to-be.

It takes only a second for her smile to grow softer.

"What's your name, stranger?" There's a serene quality to her voice, wispy as it takes hold of nostalgia bubbling soothingly underneath the surface. Adelaide, can you see? They're just like you when you were young. "I'm Talia. People call me Ta, sometimes."