She'd come to the Quicksand from the eastern entrance, by way of Pearl Lane, swearing to herself that she still could smell old perfumes in the little alley just before the entryway; smells real and imagined gave way as the doors swung open, carrying with them the usual scents of the establishment - old hardwoods, traces of mud and musky sweat, and the lingering odors of wines and liquors mixing like a fog in stale air. It was not the pleasant masked scent of old boudoirs in which she'd once been immersed, but it was an honest smell, one that she'd unknowingly tried to replicate in her own little patch of respectability in a basement cantina.
She spun her hips as the doors began to close, sparing her flaring red leggings from being caught in the swinging doors, and came to stand just before the door, expecting the hubbub of Uldah's premiere adventuring hangout to immerse her in itself. She'd not yet replicated that energy in her own domain, not yet, which is why she'd taken the time to bring herself here, submerging her well-over-7 fulm frame, hips and crimson skin and raven hair, into the scene, hoping to capture some nuance she might have missed after countless times, or, if nothing else, try to suss out another recipe from Momodi.
But a woman's bellow of a cry brought her to a halt, leaving her motionless but for the copper bangles hanging from the sash around her waist, until she made a nearly unthinking dash to the other doors.
She peered through the scattering crowd as best as the chaos allowed, but then, it was not hard to find the source, and the other Roegadyn's signature purple locks gave away as much as the voice did. She mouthed the name of Steel Wolf, a pained wrinkling of her brow betraying her previously festive mood.
But she was too far away to get to the familiar woman, and she found herself held still by the spectacle of the comparatively small Brass Blade that was apparently sizing Steel up; Magma Dancer, for a long moment, could only shake her head in wonder as to what was going to happen, and which of the two was in more trouble.
She spun her hips as the doors began to close, sparing her flaring red leggings from being caught in the swinging doors, and came to stand just before the door, expecting the hubbub of Uldah's premiere adventuring hangout to immerse her in itself. She'd not yet replicated that energy in her own domain, not yet, which is why she'd taken the time to bring herself here, submerging her well-over-7 fulm frame, hips and crimson skin and raven hair, into the scene, hoping to capture some nuance she might have missed after countless times, or, if nothing else, try to suss out another recipe from Momodi.
But a woman's bellow of a cry brought her to a halt, leaving her motionless but for the copper bangles hanging from the sash around her waist, until she made a nearly unthinking dash to the other doors.
She peered through the scattering crowd as best as the chaos allowed, but then, it was not hard to find the source, and the other Roegadyn's signature purple locks gave away as much as the voice did. She mouthed the name of Steel Wolf, a pained wrinkling of her brow betraying her previously festive mood.
But she was too far away to get to the familiar woman, and she found herself held still by the spectacle of the comparatively small Brass Blade that was apparently sizing Steel up; Magma Dancer, for a long moment, could only shake her head in wonder as to what was going to happen, and which of the two was in more trouble.
"But in the laugh there was another voice. A clearer laugh, an ironic laugh. A laugh which laughs because it chooses not to weep."
![[Image: 3610850.jpg]](http://assets-cloud.enjin.com/users/1266293/pics/original/3610850.jpg)
