sovereign queen

                                           ”Your attempts at sympathy prove                                              ever irksome, Nasod.                      ”

Tone remains un-amused. Uncaring to an extent. Look before he leap? Unnecessary by this point. One whom uses power of her own origin, power unfit for mortal hands, fails to grasp the idle concept as tact. That mentality is buried beneath soft dust. Relevant ever so conditionally, should it truly become a necessity. Doubted as it was. Why should he heed something as foolish as limitations derived from reason and finesse. A scoff proceeds, norm appendage to the right seething comfort from packet provided in lower ebony fabric.

                                            “Your superhuman race leaves                                              me woefully unimpressed with                                              their attempts at automail. It sh-                                              -ould be more sturdy. Especially                                              after the adaptations present.                                              However I’ll wager this use wasn’t                                              expected. Sorry for the criticism.    ”

He manages what little credit he has to spare for one so foreign, even to him. Elsword had garnered his respect, none other. But he was foolish, idly taking in every passerby, including himself. He, who was danger incarnate, under his wing. It almost pained to doubt judgement of one deemed respectable. But he was foolish. And the fact remained, he had no obligation to these— children. He dismissed the botheration, and took sluggish tailing in her direction. Maintaining a sufficient distance apart. Unsure of whether it is for the best, and of whom.

To ‘bond’ is a sufficient reason for the gesture of sinking faith in the skill of the Empress for the maintenance of his appendage. At this stage of development, twas more organic rather than mechanical, once fully automatic structure now clung to him like skin. However even he knew it was still machine, it still required ample care. The nerves were fake, the arm was fake, this power, even it was fake. A huff, he attempts, once more, conversation.

                                           ”Thanks for the help, I guess. My                                             ‘repairs’ are makeshift— temporary.                                              Perhaps you can provide some                                              sort of permanent relief.               “

     No. Highly unlikely but not... impossible. 

     Humans confuse her. Their habits, their actions, and their emotions. The latter perturbed her the most. Why did humans have to bicker? Such a fantastic exhibit portrayed by Elsword and Aisha-- they squabble like children, but there is a running gag between the members that they do have romantic feelings for each other. The Empress is equipped with a system circuit allowing for emotions. Fondness is there, though it has never been felt, and it most likely won't. It isn't like she requires such a feeling. Platonic relations will have to do. 

     "If your appendage had been manufactured by my own hands and intelligence, rather than lower forms of Nasod--if I dare say such an...insult, unfortunately--then proper circuit chips and the like would have been inputted and installed. You are not in the wrong to adjust the wiring yourself, but you are also not incorrect for seeking my assistance." 

     Her head does not turn to her recipient. Using a stringent tone, in her mind, sufficed to get her point across to a stubborn young man. Then again, her tone is always authoritarian, demanding--she is above others--and that fact remains in the small crevices of her thoughts. 

     Yet in the group of people--friends--accept her like one of them. Sometimes it makes the corners of her lips adjust upwards, a bit crookedly, for smiles are still foreign to the automation. 

     "I do appreciate your words, however," she calmly states, and although it is not seen, she wears a stolid mask. Whatever hides behind it is unbeknownst to the humans constantly around her. "It is not often someone hears an expression of gratitude from someone such as yourself. I will see to it if it is possible to provide a stable alleviation from the overheat." 

Hostility laces the moist pink of the mercenary, cruel with little preface. He detests preemption, especially thrown in such ignorant fashion. Deemed immidately and undoubtedly unfitting of porcelain that darest to occupy the space prior. Were it not a vessel deemed comradery, dactyl fangs would take haste to plunge viciously into pigment and draw crimson. Blessed was she, truly, to be considered friend, not foe. That fact alone provided patience enough to tolerate, to an extent, naivety. A push of oxygen upward, allowing alabaster locks in swish arrogant manner. Voicing obtuse disposition by gesture alone. Tan pigment demonstrates irritation, likely not at her comment, perhaps a universal norm. One of the things he’s liberal about. Chords are slow, but eventually further string forth animosity in honor of a mechanical frame,

                                           ”You foolishly spit accusations of                                             sly-intent in my direction. If yo—                                             u’re so desperate to go six feet                                              under, Nasod…                            ”

He hesitates to finish— allowing verse to linger linger. Brief, and bold to permeate the air with suffocating tension of purest intent. Amber narrows in the honor of the Empress before him. Somewhere, he understands, accusations were far from her intention. His bias is getting the better of him, and he’s arrogant enough to allow it. Spiting frigid verses with even harsher undertones, crushing her own with zero motive. Subliminal irritation if anything, being her origin. 

As demanded, he exerts haste with his intentions behind such rendezvous, raising his monstrous automail belongst to his left. The once vivid orange now tinted in dirty crimson. A faint hiss is audible to the ears, and steam manages to linger above. Even to naive mentality, it remains blatantly arduous. Safe distance away, ambers return gaze to passive, and raise intending to meet with orbs of another. He can fix it himself, sure, thus, he’d have nothing to lose from an assumed expert.

                                           ”My arm— it’s overheating. Do                                             something of it.                     “

     Such an expected tone from the both parties. Bright irises narrow down and chin lowers in the slightest to reveal such a form of discontent with the situation the other has brought himself to. There is always a dissatisfied expression upon her features, by the looks of it, in which her search party companions tend to make a humorous note of, and such a remark is counteracted with a stinging palm-to-cheek contact. Those are the only times the Empress will lay a hand--a simple finger, even--upon a foe. All other times there are her drones by her side and her faithful Nasod servants who can be summoned in the blink of an eye. 

     Of course, she wasn't really mad... was she? It can never be told! 

     "Blatant as ever, are you not?" she speaks monotonous, but the underlying chord of her voice that is struck emits hostility--or perhaps it is just intolerance. 

     The mechanical devices rising and descending at such a smoothly moderate pace withdraw from a stance that can be commonly called a 'battle-ready position.' They are at waist-height now, and sometimes the lights that are presented as eye sockets peek over the abscess that is white fabric neatly decorated with golden, rosen, and greyed patterns and accessories. 

     "You are reckless--incautious--you don't, how you say, look before you leap. There is no astonishment as to why your arm is overheating again and again, over and over." Supple arms fold below the chest, indicating bigotry towards such a foolhardy move. As she thinks, there should be no reason she should be worried, more or less alert on how the other uses his arm. It shall be used the method its owner likes.