This place is obviously magic. It's full of strange smells and strange sights and strange materials, and that in itself doesn't disturb her. She's been a lot of strange places and done a lot of strange things, and bitten a lot of strange people. What does concern her, maybe, is whatever spell currently has her under its control and she can't seem to find a way to wrest herself free of it.
Ylva wears some pretty medieval-looking leather, and her feet are bare, heavily calloused, and grubby. There's a definite point to her ears, if you can see it under the tangle of reddish hair. With her arms full of lifejacket, she's had to leave her sword and shield behind her in her room, but that's never been something she needs to feel safe. Useful, but not necessary.
She struggles against the compulsion, snarling, and finally, in the hallway, just sits down, cross-legged, refusing to move.
When Ylva does make it to the drill, there is a very real chance that she'll attempt to bite Friday.
2.
Elevators are clearly some sort of wizard magic. Fucking wizards. Still, the process is pretty clear and easy to grasp. Go into small, claustrophobic glass room, press button, be brought to that floor. She's already ridden it a few times by this point and she's even starting to get comfortable with it!
Until the doors spontaneously refuse to open and the little room refuses to obey orders.
Ylva does not take this well.
She starts banging on the walls, yelling -- there's that weird Friday person down there, doing nothing, while she's trapped in this awful little magic room. Fists do nothing, magical fire does nothing, and honestly she's starting to panic a little bit so she does what she often does when she finds herself in a bad situation: she shapeshifts into something bigger.
So if someone calls the elevator to their floor, when the doors slide open they will discover that the elevator is full of panicky allosaurus, snarling and kicking and scratching at the walls and doors, the feathery mane down its neck bristling up in distress.
3.
By this point, Ylva's returned to her room for her weapons -- a scimitar sheathed at her hip, and a round wooden shield carved with wing-like patterns slung over her back. It's best to be armed in this place, at least until she has some sense of what's going on. She still has the lei around her neck. She might not know what it's for, but it's probably magic, and she should probably keep an eye on it for the time being.
In her explorations, though, she's found the buffet. And she is hungry. Half the food is unfamiliar but that doesn't concern her very much. She shuffles up to the table and starts sampling. Barehanded, she reaches into a spaghetti dish, sniffs the noodles cautiously, and stuffs it into her mouth. After taking a moment to lick her fingers, never mind the sauce on her chin, Ylva moves down the line and picks up one of the endless crab legs, which she starts cracking apart and eating right where she is.
She's happy, deliriously so, enough to entirely miss someone coming up behind her. When she can no longer fail to notice them, she turns with a defensive growl, deep in her throat.
Ylva | OC (Dungeons & Dragons)
This place is obviously magic. It's full of strange smells and strange sights and strange materials, and that in itself doesn't disturb her. She's been a lot of strange places and done a lot of strange things, and bitten a lot of strange people. What does concern her, maybe, is whatever spell currently has her under its control and she can't seem to find a way to wrest herself free of it.
Ylva wears some pretty medieval-looking leather, and her feet are bare, heavily calloused, and grubby. There's a definite point to her ears, if you can see it under the tangle of reddish hair. With her arms full of lifejacket, she's had to leave her sword and shield behind her in her room, but that's never been something she needs to feel safe. Useful, but not necessary.
She struggles against the compulsion, snarling, and finally, in the hallway, just sits down, cross-legged, refusing to move.
When Ylva does make it to the drill, there is a very real chance that she'll attempt to bite Friday.
2.
Elevators are clearly some sort of wizard magic. Fucking wizards. Still, the process is pretty clear and easy to grasp. Go into small, claustrophobic glass room, press button, be brought to that floor. She's already ridden it a few times by this point and she's even starting to get comfortable with it!
Until the doors spontaneously refuse to open and the little room refuses to obey orders.
Ylva does not take this well.
She starts banging on the walls, yelling -- there's that weird Friday person down there, doing nothing, while she's trapped in this awful little magic room. Fists do nothing, magical fire does nothing, and honestly she's starting to panic a little bit so she does what she often does when she finds herself in a bad situation: she shapeshifts into something bigger.
So if someone calls the elevator to their floor, when the doors slide open they will discover that the elevator is full of panicky allosaurus, snarling and kicking and scratching at the walls and doors, the feathery mane down its neck bristling up in distress.
3.
By this point, Ylva's returned to her room for her weapons -- a scimitar sheathed at her hip, and a round wooden shield carved with wing-like patterns slung over her back. It's best to be armed in this place, at least until she has some sense of what's going on. She still has the lei around her neck. She might not know what it's for, but it's probably magic, and she should probably keep an eye on it for the time being.
In her explorations, though, she's found the buffet. And she is hungry. Half the food is unfamiliar but that doesn't concern her very much. She shuffles up to the table and starts sampling. Barehanded, she reaches into a spaghetti dish, sniffs the noodles cautiously, and stuffs it into her mouth. After taking a moment to lick her fingers, never mind the sauce on her chin, Ylva moves down the line and picks up one of the endless crab legs, which she starts cracking apart and eating right where she is.
She's happy, deliriously so, enough to entirely miss someone coming up behind her. When she can no longer fail to notice them, she turns with a defensive growl, deep in her throat.