The question takes her aback for a moment - on the surface, anyway - and Zorya glances down at her dress, shrugging one shoulder.
"Mmm, this is not the best aesthetic I've ever had. I'm fine, but you're sweet to ask. This dress, however...probably ruined, isn't it?" She pairs that with a little blase smile, as if to say unfortunate, but what can you do? Alas, it's white, Roland Mouret, and cost thousands of dollars--not a recipe for longevity in a garment.
The hatches, of course, might be able to make her a new one, but Tara doesn't want to spring this information on her too quickly. "Maybe so; I'm sorry. But at least you're alright; the last guy who arrived was on fire. Well, a couple guys ago."
"I never wear the same cocktail dress twice, anyway," she declares, with a lazy little grin, "I'll get rid of this thing shortly. What happened to the on-fire guy?"
She huffs out a breath that might have been a laugh.
"Lucky little bastard, then. All right, health having been thoroughly established--mind telling me a little about this place? You know," Zorya breezes in through the doorway of a building that seems to be unoccupied, "thing to do, people one absolutely must get to know."
"Um. T-there are a lot of people around, but the h-hatches provide everything, so you don't have to work or anything. You should be c-careful of some of the vampires though. Especially the one called Angelus."
"Angelus, huh. There's a rivetingly original choice of nom de guerre--but I suppose it's a quirk of the species." She doesn't sound especially frightened - like, at all, but Zorya is okay with vampires, really, as a whole. They're just prone to some interesting behaviors, and she has her own personal theories about them.
Tara frowns a little; much as she'd never say anything, especially on so brief an acquaintance, she's not fond of being patronized. "More or less. Most of the other vampires, it seems, are able to live with humans to some degree, but he... at least for the moment, is a danger."
Endless places to hide bodies, too. Zorya is personally acquainted, in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with her time handling the supernatural and everything to with the nature of war, with how people will do an awful lot more evil when they think they can get away with it.
"The vampires in Sunnydale didn't tend to care about laws, even when they were there," she says, quietly. She's wary of Zorya's brusqueness, of her confidence, but Tara sometimes wonders if she's over-sensitive to other people's confidence.
So, gamely, she says, "But... I don't know if he's killed anyone here yet. My friends might know. I've only been here about a month myself. He tends to like... hurting people, though, more than just killing them."
Zorya's manic flares come in just that: bursts, waves, and on the tail end of three deaths by her own hand she's still riding the adrenaline a little bit, and even when she's not like this she has, to put it mildly, a flair for drama. She climbs a set of stairs, exploring methodically, sharp-eyed but always smiling, even it's only slightly.
"Some places, they have to plan it so they don't get the military's attention- or, you know, mobs with pitchforks," she shrugs, dismissive of the type, as if those mobs are also an everyday part of life, "but one's as good as the other, I suppose."
She pauses by a window.
"I appreciate the heads up. They've always got to be out and out sadists, don't they? Like some goddamn competition to see who can make more of a mess."
"We had a lot of that at home. Bad things trying to outdo each other, that is."
For good or ill, Zorya is reminding Tara a little of how Willow could get, when she was high on magic. On power. Even if she can't read Zorya's aura by tablet, she can certainly tell the woman is riding some sort of high, emotional or otherwise.
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The question takes her aback for a moment - on the surface, anyway - and Zorya glances down at her dress, shrugging one shoulder.
"Mmm, this is not the best aesthetic I've ever had. I'm fine, but you're sweet to ask. This dress, however...probably ruined, isn't it?" She pairs that with a little blase smile, as if to say unfortunate, but what can you do? Alas, it's white, Roland Mouret, and cost thousands of dollars--not a recipe for longevity in a garment.
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"I never wear the same cocktail dress twice, anyway," she declares, with a lazy little grin, "I'll get rid of this thing shortly. What happened to the on-fire guy?"
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She huffs out a breath that might have been a laugh.
"Lucky little bastard, then. All right, health having been thoroughly established--mind telling me a little about this place? You know," Zorya breezes in through the doorway of a building that seems to be unoccupied, "thing to do, people one absolutely must get to know."
Reply
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"Angelus, huh. There's a rivetingly original choice of nom de guerre--but I suppose it's a quirk of the species." She doesn't sound especially frightened - like, at all, but Zorya is okay with vampires, really, as a whole. They're just prone to some interesting behaviors, and she has her own personal theories about them.
"Let me guess: mad, bad, and dangerous to know?"
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Zorya isn't patronizing Tara so much as the absent vampire in question, but she'll probably never do anything to correct the impression.
"Has he killed anybody? That seems like it ought to be rampant here."
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"No law, or so I'm told."
Endless places to hide bodies, too. Zorya is personally acquainted, in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with her time handling the supernatural and everything to with the nature of war, with how people will do an awful lot more evil when they think they can get away with it.
Reply
So, gamely, she says, "But... I don't know if he's killed anyone here yet. My friends might know. I've only been here about a month myself. He tends to like... hurting people, though, more than just killing them."
Reply
Zorya's manic flares come in just that: bursts, waves, and on the tail end of three deaths by her own hand she's still riding the adrenaline a little bit, and even when she's not like this she has, to put it mildly, a flair for drama. She climbs a set of stairs, exploring methodically, sharp-eyed but always smiling, even it's only slightly.
"Some places, they have to plan it so they don't get the military's attention- or, you know, mobs with pitchforks," she shrugs, dismissive of the type, as if those mobs are also an everyday part of life, "but one's as good as the other, I suppose."
She pauses by a window.
"I appreciate the heads up. They've always got to be out and out sadists, don't they? Like some goddamn competition to see who can make more of a mess."
Reply
For good or ill, Zorya is reminding Tara a little of how Willow could get, when she was high on magic. On power. Even if she can't read Zorya's aura by tablet, she can certainly tell the woman is riding some sort of high, emotional or otherwise.
Reply
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