#nemmymouse

Hello Nemmy! <3

Truu stares at the message a few times to make sure she knows she hasn’t misread it.

She chuckles and starts typing up a reply on her datapad:

:c *Offers hugs*

Oooooh

Pros:

An excellent cook

Adventurous

Pretty laid back

Honest

Will beat up anyone that messes with you

Is tiny and cute

Cons:

Sometimes too adventurous

A little bloodthirsty

While she is generally laid back when she gets mad she gets mad

Really likes dates in dangerous areas (though this might be a pro?)

Has a tendency to disappear without telling anyone where she is going

“Oh no you don’t,” Cuanthi hissed, her thorny vine hair curling and writhing in a display of her agitation as she dodged and shoved her way through the crowd that milled through the crafting area of Divinity’s Reach.  There were too many people to shoot an arrow at the fleeing Asura that weaved through the crowd far easier than the heavily-armored Sylvari.  If she were a little more ruthless she could force herself not to care about collateral damage.

But the pay was not nearly good enough to deal with Seraph.  Or a warrant.  Or Licinia’s angry roar when she looks at yet another bill from merchants wanting compensation.  The first three times she could make excuses (”Guardians spontaneously catch on fire all the time, I swear!  It’s not my fault silks are so flammable!”) but this time she was worried she would be forced to do work duty for Yfgar.  Training under him was bad enough, actually working for him would probably make her wither.

She spotted him, a flash of bright blue hair darting through a portal door ahead of her.  Cuanthi sneered, looking around quickly before darting into a nearby entryway, the bright light of the upper levels almost as jarring as her teleportation as her boot hit the cobblestone again.  It was less crowded up here, obvious by the fact that she could see that smarmy little blue-haired thief taking off once more, but the Seraph were more plentiful and noble humans had their own sorts of bodyguards.  And lawyers.  Don’t forget the lawyers.

“Rekett, get back here you little shit!” Her roar echoed off of the bricks, stares ignored as people hurried away from the Sylvari as she launched through the air.  He was hard to tackle, being nimble and small and obviously terrified, but she managed to pin him under her with a cacophony of shrill protests that overpowered her growl.  “Give it back!”

“What are you, a Norn in the shape of a tree?!  You weigh as much as a wild boar!”

“You’ll wish I was a Norn after I get finished with you!”  Her hair snaked, thorns jabbing into his ear as she snarled against it.  Rekett squirmed.

“Viva la resistance!  Long live the Queen!  I’m a tax paying citizen, I swear!”

“Viva la wha–” Cuanthi was cut off, lifted bodily off of Rekett as she angrily kicked through the air and tried to beat the offending hands that held her with a guantleted fist.  She was held high, making angry noises as she watched Rekett worm to his feet and take off. 

“Calm down, Cuanthi.”

The voice did nothing to calm her down, only making her angrier as she registered who it was.  She growled something obscene, held at arm’s length by dark hands as she tried to break free.  Her sharp eyes followed after Rekett, watching him looking smugly over his shoulder at her only to be suddenly snatched up by a tall and lanky Charr that seemed to appear from thin air.  He yelped, flailing helplessly before being slung over one shoulder.

“Yfgar, put me down so I can show him how much of a boar I really am.”

“Cuanthi, if I put you down you’re going to be thrown in jail here and treated like a Mordrem,” Yfgar replied quietly, looking serious as Cuanthi finally calmed down.  There was a small crowd staring at them, whispering intensely before backing away from Yfgar as his massive form started to move in the vague direction of the Asura Gate to Lion’s Arch.

“I thought you said you could get this done quietly, Cuanthi,” Licinia joined them, finished with binding and gagging Rekett as she narrowed her eyes at the Sylvari.  The thief was slung over a broad shoulder, only wriggling in a desperate show of resistance before going slack as he glared daggers at the ground.