“Aah~? A visitor? How quaint.”
The woman coos, her tone saccharine and disgustingly “sweet”. Her smile doesn’t seem genuine. More like a mask, or a facade she holds up in public.
She tilts her head - antlers atop her head jingling as the decora she’s placed upon them move with her head. Her smile is.. Calm. Far too calm, for somebody in the situation she’s in. The one-eyed snake around her neck writhes for a moment, causing her to tut.
“Oh, Now, now, you big baby..”
She quietly scolds it, which causes the writing to stop. The snake turns it’s eye to Morax - staring, unblinkingly.
She sighs, one of her hands coming up to flick its head before she fixes her robes. Interaction with outside Gods is the last thing Diana wants to deal with at the moment. She just wants to go home to Leshy and her other spouses, not.. Deal with this.
“So.. What brings someone like you all the way down here, hm?”
Her tone is an artificial sweetness, like such found in candy. She’s playing dumb - she knows what Morax is here for. Of course, she doesn’t care. Age and seniority means nothing, when you’re the goddess of death, and can kill an individual just by touching them when in a bad mood. Obviously, Diana is refraining from doing so. This world isnt hers, so its not her place to “fix” the gods here.
Though.. Is she going to give the refugees back..? Of course not! Not even if he asks. That’s just how it is. If you’re a cruel god and your people leave you, it’s your fault. Its not her fault Morax’s people could be so.. ‘easily misguided’… by her ideologies.. Okay, perhaps it is. So what? Shes not giving them back as if people are property. Sure, shes no better, but here, people have freedom to do as they please, at least.
“Surely a God as important as you did not join me here today, simply to make casual conversation.”
Diana joins her hands in front of her chest, feeling completely confident in her ability to annoy Morax into leaving. Of course, that will come later. For now, Diana can be professional.. Or, er.. professional-ish.
Her hooves dig into the grass below her, hidden beneath the long train of her robes which passes her feet, dragging behind her on the ground. Not that she minds, of course.