The world was white and not gilded like Teiran was used to. Things had not gotten quite to the point of desperation yet, though she knew they would eventually, as there was no reprieve in sight. The rose hued warrior had to admit that for as much as she did not understand the party, it seemed to be helping the citizens of Solterra to keep their spirits up. A point to Bexley, she thought.
Let it be known that Teiran does not know how to party. She does not have jovial laughter, enjoyment of games or celebratory spirit wired into her. She stands still as a statue on the edge of the crowd, simply watching. Ever the alert soldier Teiran felt prepared for anything. That is, until someone decided to make their way over to her. Voice too loud, movements too sloppy. A sensory overload. Correction, Teiran was prepared for anything but chit chat.
Whther it was the chips of ice in her eyes or the responses made up entirely of only various sounds, they decided she was not worth the precious little joy they gleaned from the cup they clung so tightly to. And as they wandered off to find someone new to hold their attention her gaze landed on a familiar face, though she dared say he looked so terrible it was almost easy to pass him over. "You look half dead, Eik," and truly he did look more phantom than he ever did even with a coat as pale as the snow they were being blanketed with.
Her words were not exactly warm, but still there was a measure of care in them. It was more militant than anything, but it was there. Teiran thrived in war, and was this not any different than any other battle she had fought? A battle for survival. The only difference now was she could not kill or chase off the clouds above. "If we don't get your temperature stabilized we're going to lose you." And she bumped her shoulder against his, not to be startling or rude, but to jostle him. He needed to stay awake.
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