#syll things

Arth not so much, unless you include steel and Holy magic. He’ll talk about the brightness of a sword and the gleam of the sun on helms and speartips, but that’s not really about sparkles so much as it is his martial aesthetic.

Syll and Jaira, though, absolutely yes.

Syll

Other than being a poster girl for attention deficient “ooh, shiny!” Syll is incredibly ego-driven. While her vanity tends toward the opposite direction (she deliberately avoids overt displays of wealth in hopes people won’t remember that her mother was nobility), she sees tangible success as a direct reflection of personal worth. Deep-seated insecurity resulting from not *actually* being self-made and paranoia that her peers hate and/or look down on her therefore contributed to obsessive pursuit of such tangible success - the most obvious of with is wealth.

That said, she also loves pretty things on their own merits, and always has - arguably even more so before her mental state collapsed and left her with aforementioned insecurities, innocent as she was. Her affection is easily bought (or at least rented) with such things, and she loves the eye-catching gleam of gems and precious metals, or even a particularly interesting and well-polished common stone.

Jaira

On the other side of the coin, and contrary to what one might think, Jaira loves shiny things for what they add to an overall aesthetic. While she abhors garishness (at least by Silvermoon standards), she delights in the added... *something* that gemstones and precious metals add to an ensemble. She’d never admit it, but she privately laments that her carefully crafted image as pragmatic and no-nonsense prescribes almost Marcher-level reserve in her wardrobe and décor.

She had fled all the way from Draenor, not pausing for a moment in her wild flight from the Sable Bastion in Frostfire to Ashran, then by land after the portal to  Tirisfal. Finding one of her underground foxholes, she hid her bike in a small nook and curled up in the corner to break down and cry. Great, racking sobs tore at her, the tears flowing freely from her wild eyes that gleamed with the feverish terror of a hunted animal. On the wooden floor she was shielded from being covered in filth on top of everything, but this was a small comfort in the midst of her voices, long quiet, returning in thunderous fury. Of course they turned on her - trash like her doesn't deserve friends. Doesn't deserve to be happy. Kill them all, before they kill her-- No! Hide, always hide before they kill you-- Why would they bother? Even the lowest vermin get left alone so long as they stay out of sight.