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"Wait -you can understand me now ?” Steve asked, surprised, annoyed, and confused in equal measure when she decides to say something in a language he could understand. They all blended together to land him solidly in ‘bewildered’, especially when she decided to grab his map and…draw the seashore on it.

"<It's not like I want to understand you. Why can't you speak my language instead?>" Because his people hold all the power even though they don't deserve it. She doesn't understand how or why that is, only that it is the truth and it infuriates her.

"Aw, hell," Steve sighed, brushing his bangs away from his forehead. "So. We can’t understand each other, and I bet you can’t read this”- he waved the map- “either, seein’ as you didn’t want it. Damn it. No wonder you’re so pissed.”

Why did he care whether or not she could understand the map? Was that... pity coming from him? The nerve. She's tempted to ignore him when he pushes the map at her again-- 

"Cool?" she echoes, unfamiliar with the term. She wonders if he's referring to yin energy versus yang in which case it's formidable that he can tell from a single glance. Her head does ache. Perhaps her body is unbalanced.

It’s the first time she’s come across someone who she can’t understand, which shouldn’t be the most bizarre thing that’s happened in this place. Perhaps this woman was deliberately communicating in a different language?

She can't refuse. Though, she is afraid of what awaits her. Is this some sort of trap? The woman seems kind enough, but she can't just follow the whims of every stranger who opens their arms to her. Lalu is conflicted.

The heroics was not so much the problem as what came after it. Dealing with the mess he had made of the streets, and what people would say of him now. Hopefully this woman wouldn’t spread anything too drastic, though she didn’t look too keen on rumors. 

Oh no. Had she upset him? Poor thing. He looked old enough to be her younger brother. A good son would have stayed on the farm, unlike her. Her father couldn't keep her. Empathetically, she rested a hand upon his shoulder and watched over him gently. "You are very kind. Strong man." One who was willing to be vulnerable before her? Such a rare sight.

The smell of fear was always difficult to decipher. Perhaps reason being was that she hid it so well, overbearing confidence and pride masking the scent so there would be no traces for him to sniff out. Monsters and demons of the like are supposed to be good at that sort of thing aren’t they? He, on the other hand, uses his other senses to decipher such emotions among mortals.

His words are disorienting. Casual. Too familiar. She can't tell what his intentions are and she refuses to lower her guard. But then again, if she's too abrasive, too quick to accuse him of something, he may very well live up to expectations.

Huh, weird. The way she talked that was. Also, he had never really had anyone give him a bow before for just being helpful. A kiss on the cheek sure, but this was so strangely formal. Looking at what she was wearing, it was sort of like a water tribe outfit, though more touched with red, and more traditional then most. Bolin scratched his head again, unsure of what he was supposed to do.

He isn't used to being a hero, she realizes. His modesty is, in truth, quite refreshing. A small ghost of a smile sits upon her lips. Maybe she can trust him to help her. Someone with his talent and skill has more access to this frightening city. "Home. Need to go home. Don't know how." Her hands paint a thatched roof and animal pen. The plains are vast and wide.

"Um I’m not a sorcerer though…" Bolin said softly as she moved behind him. The fact that the rock she flung drew blood made him loosen the grip on his own stone. Damn, she meant business with these guys. Bolin waved his free hand in his own defense.

She's lucky the edge was so sharp. Enough to make an impact, both literally and figuratively. She's proud that she can instill fear in those bad men. Let them feel ashamed for what they have done. Let them know that she will not forgive them.

Bolin peeked down the alleyway after hearing the noise of rapid footsteps. There wasn’t much to do in this city, so anyone who ran from place to place usually was up to something. This wan’t just one person though, it was a gang, chasing after a girl, even trying to pull her down by her hair. Like hell he was going to let that stand. Sure, he had made the mistake of helping thieves in her position by mistake, but this guys really looked like the type of scum even Bolin wouldn’t have felt too bad about conning. 

He moves the art like a sorcerer. She has heard tales about men like him, who can command the elements of the world, but never did she think men like him still existed. This is a world of magic, then, and she is but an ant among ferrets. Anxiously, she ducks behind the stranger and prays that he won't find reason to turn upon her. His temper is one she should not test, not unless she wants rocks smashing her face.

To be frank, rarely does she pay much attention to new comers (and it was always very obvious who they were) but this woman is familiar in nature—somehow relatable, obviously human and obviously not of a time period or place in which television existed.

The sudden voice startles her and she retreats from the glass, her skin already flushed from the incessant pounding. She meant to help those people, to let them out, but this woman insists that they are not real. What are they then? Ghosts?

Steve knew he screwed up when the woman’s body language shifted from ‘don’t fuck with me' to 'fuck off’. He had the good sense to step back before he got decked, hands held up and away.

Was that the name they gave her language? It sounded so ugly on his lips. What was Chinese? She spoke 官話, not this 'Chinese' that he spoke of. And they looked down upon her for being illiterate. 

Someone did arrive soon after she did, though he seemed to be hauling something to her instead of the other way around. Steve huffed and puffed his way over to the housing directory, carrying a small cardboard box that should not be as heavy as it was, and let it drop to the ground with a relieved sigh.

A man whose eyes were too big approached her and waved something at her. Why was his hair the color of dying grass? She tensed up and shrank away. There was no woman barking at her in a foreign dialect, telling her to stand tall and look pretty. Though she was thankful for that difference, she was still torn between annoyance and disorientation.