@heavyhonored
It is no secret that she is not the only oddity in this place. There is some solace in that, though she figures that between the long ears and the insistence on wearing a skirt that forces others a good two feet away from her, that she takes at least a slice of the cake. Oddity is a part of life, after all, and when one considers both her age and the strange wisdom she carries of things ranging from fey to the undead, it’s only natural that she’d hold on to some of it.
Quite frankly, she takes pleasure in her strangeness.
At the moment, however, she’s fiddling with the wooden sword she was given, still not content with its flimsy form. The weight, although lighter, contains a similar distribution of balance, and so, she finds use in it.
Twisting the rudimentary weapon in her hand, Requiem finds the ease in moving, taking quick steps and shoving her hips a little more to move the stiff boning of her hoopskirt. It’s all well and fine, but it’s still wrong, and she hates the way it feels when she tries to do much of anything. So, the practice sword fighting ends soon enough, Requiem content to simply twirl it in her hands instead of doing anything particularly useful.
Something else draws her attention soon enough, and she clears her throat in such a way to ask for the other’s acknowledgment. After all, her only experience with firearms is when they erupt into chaos not designed for a true gun.
“Your weapon is terribly familiar,” there’s a spark of intrigue in her eyes. Her grip tightens on the sword without thinking, before she idly presses the weapon’s tip into the soft earth. “Are you a sorcerer, by chance?”
