You follow her. Circuta. Why? Because she deserves it. You've been following her for some time now, far behind her, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. It's a little difficult for you. Seeing as you're rather large, you stand out. Not to mention you have this terrible habit of falling all over yourself every chance you get. But not today. Today you manage to walk almost normally. How? You've resisted the call. Your muscles itch and your tongue grates against your teeth, but you deny them the sweet luxury they beg for. Your mouth yearns to reach into your shoulder bag and pull out one of the vines you have stored there but you won't have it. Not today. Because of her.

You don't know her name, but you know who she is. She's the stupid wench that pretty boy brought home. She speaks a few dainty words, calls those dumb wenches queens (or whatever it is she said) and suddenly she's the pretty, pretty princess of the group. And you? You stick up for yourself like any self-respecting stallion would and you're condemned to the outhouse like a dog with fleas. So you follow her because somehow she's perfect and you hate perfection; of course, it doesn't hurt that pretty boy seemed awful fond of her. And you hate pretty boy. You don't even have a plan yet, but that's not important. Your mind is clear, if somewhat overwhelmed by all the emotions you usually drown with your drugs, and you're going to make the pretty princess pay. You think.

Plans change. You suddenly realize you're back in the forest where lace-face gathered you up from. The pretty princess seems to have give her attention to something. You start to listen, then you hear it too. Noise- a strange rustling, almost grinding, sound. Somebody's coming. You almost grumble your disapproval, but remember that she doesn't know you're here. At least, you think she doesn't. Maybe she's playing a game with you too. Who knows.

Name's Adrixaura, Assassin General, you barely hear over the odd noise as you take longer steps to bring yourself nearer to the pretty princess. Then she speaks, the stupid wench with the golden tongue. Her words fall out of her mouth, soaking in sick, sugary syrup. It makes you cringe just to hear it, though you manage to hide your disgust as you come up alongside of her. Somehow. Just before you arrive, some other baby wench is there too. What is it with groups letting their young come to this place like they belong? You let her prattle on uselessly while giving her a look of pure annoyance. Finally, it seems to be your turn, though you're a man of few words. You manage to find some. “General of our group,” you lie with ease, referring to yourself while barely motioning towards the pretty princess. Hopefully he'll understand that you meant yourself. You didn't really give a lot of context. As far as the lie... There's no tell on your face because you almost believe yourself general. After all, who is? Nobody that you know of. May as well be you. And besides, no need for the Asylum to look weak just because pretty princess here wants to try and candy-coat her way through this meeting. Besides, if you bring someone home, you may yet further your cause. Sparing only a quick, side-long glace to freckle-face, you look back to the sand-weaver with impatient eyes, your black horns glinting in the sunlight.

we all look for ways to make the pain go away