He looks -- not exactly like a yoma, but there are a lot of similarities. The size, the inhumanly colored skin (though blue's certainly new to her), even the general shape of his face. Clare's world consists of humans, animals, and the gut-eating demons called yoma; she doesn't really have any other mental categories.
But he doesn't have any demonic aura. It's not just suppressed; he doesn't have one at all as far as Clare can tell.
It's that that has her staring at him in startlement, much more than the sight of a (presumed) yoma working with a loom at a table.
(It's the kind of startlement that's still halfway to aggression, alas, because Clare also doesn't have any mental categories for what to do with yoma other than kill them, with or without preliminary banter. But she's thrown enough to derail that a little.)
He's gotten past the warping stage, which is good mostly because it's entirely boring for the mun to think about and is thus absorbed a bit in his weaving, blue fingers coming up under the threads to check his progress. He doesn't immediately notice Clare watching him, but slowly he begins to feel the eyes staring, flicking an ear in her direction as he twists.
He doesn't say anything at first, but raises his hand slowly in the gesture for acknowledgement among his people, touching his forehead before he lowers his arm, braids shifting as the feathers that end them tangle, beads clinking.
Clare's people's gestures for acknowledging someone's existence mostly consist of staring, saying anything, or trying to kill them.
Humans are different, of course, but Clare doesn't consider herself human any more.
Her brow furrows a little, though. (Not a lot, because Clare's not much given to facial expressions.) This is another weirdness: the auraless presumably-a-yoma has clearly noticed her. That's usually about the time they start cackling and talking about guts.
(Yoma often hide well, but once the jig is up, they're not known for their subtlety.)
Tsu'tey usually refrains from talking about guts unless he is in direct contact with them already; being a rider of an ikran, who do eat meat, one does have the unavoidable moments of bloody carcass disposal at times.
His expression mirrors her brow creasing, though in the opposite direction; he raises his brows in a half-curious gesture, body language open and as close to inviting as it will get for an ordinarily ten-foot-tall creature with--admittedly small--fangs.
The fangs are another similarity, but the lack of an aura is still confusing her.
Even when it's suppressed, at this distance she should be able to sense something.
She walks towards him, steady and deliberate once she starts to move.
She's not attacking -- but she's ready, because she's waiting for the moment when he reveals what the trick was and attacks her; the idea that this won't happen is not yet in Clare's mental toolkit.
"Hello," he says, blinking big amber eyes as she approaches. He speaks stilted English at best, having not been the best student in Dr. Augustine's school near the Hometree.
He looks -- not exactly like a yoma, but there are a lot of similarities. The size, the inhumanly colored skin (though blue's certainly new to her), even the general shape of his face. Clare's world consists of humans, animals, and the gut-eating demons called yoma; she doesn't really have any other mental categories.
But he doesn't have any demonic aura. It's not just suppressed; he doesn't have one at all as far as Clare can tell.
It's that that has her staring at him in startlement, much more than the sight of a (presumed) yoma working with a loom at a table.
(It's the kind of startlement that's still halfway to aggression, alas, because Clare also doesn't have any mental categories for what to do with yoma other than kill them, with or without preliminary banter. But she's thrown enough to derail that a little.)
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He doesn't say anything at first, but raises his hand slowly in the gesture for acknowledgement among his people, touching his forehead before he lowers his arm, braids shifting as the feathers that end them tangle, beads clinking.
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Humans are different, of course, but Clare doesn't consider herself human any more.
Her brow furrows a little, though. (Not a lot, because Clare's not much given to facial expressions.) This is another weirdness: the auraless presumably-a-yoma has clearly noticed her. That's usually about the time they start cackling and talking about guts.
(Yoma often hide well, but once the jig is up, they're not known for their subtlety.)
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His expression mirrors her brow creasing, though in the opposite direction; he raises his brows in a half-curious gesture, body language open and as close to inviting as it will get for an ordinarily ten-foot-tall creature with--admittedly small--fangs.
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Even when it's suppressed, at this distance she should be able to sense something.
She walks towards him, steady and deliberate once she starts to move.
She's not attacking -- but she's ready, because she's waiting for the moment when he reveals what the trick was and attacks her; the idea that this won't happen is not yet in Clare's mental toolkit.
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"You are lost?"
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This is SO WEIRD.
"What are you?"
...Tact is apparently for other people.
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