AND AREN'T I A FOOL ☆ training

[MAYARI M.]

The painted dog looks pensive as she finds herself wandering over, weary and cautious at the idea of combat but desperately needing the training. The last time she had fought, had actually fought as opposed to hunted, she had been shown no mercy and torn from her realm, cast down to earth with a bleeding eye that has since gone milky and poor. It's still clear on her face that she hasn't forgotten the betrayal—if the bitter snarl on her face isn't indication enough, the scarred white eye that stares at the gathered (albeit blurry) group of Tanglers certainly is.

No, she thinks. If she had remained Diwata, she would have no need of such practices, but she is no longer Diwata, no longer a god; the title has already been stripped from her by that heathen, and she must learn to live in this new world, as imperfect and unappealing as it may be. She figures learning how to fight might also be expected of her—so far, she has done nothing for her new group but to make her own shelter in an abandoned steel structure other Tanglers call a 'hippie van', and with that task done, it's as good a time as any to show the other members that she is not entirely useless.

"Magandang araw, Wormwood." Mayari's voice is tentative, unsure, tiptoeing across the space between them as the painted dog takes a seat closer to the back of the slowly growing group. She wraps her long tail tight around herself and keeps her distance from the other unfamiliar faces, inching only closer to the Hellhound that she, at the very least, knows the name of. Her head is dipped in a way that hides the scarred eye, facing it away from curious gazes. "I might be interested in learning, if that is alright."