Identifying that crest on the door didn’t dissuade them from coming out this way: they made a promise to look out for Loki’s other sort of wards, after all. Neither have they chanced coming too close. Still, the only surprise in hearing their names called is that it’s not Loki doing so- at least, it doesn’t appear so for a moment.
Blaze stops in her tracks, rocking her weight back and lifting a hand in greeting as she takes in the climbers. The Guardian is back in her polished white armor, rifle at her back and sidearm at her hip, holstered over the brightly embroidered cloth hanging from her belt. Her bright gaze flits over the young women: lingering on the one who speaks, flicking briefly to the red-haired youngster, studiously skating past the child. The woman calling to them is Asgardian from her dress, pretty and impressively graceful as she jumps down to the grass.
Blaze’s aesthetic appreciation, however, is overridden by the sheer fact that she doesn’t recognize the woman and that’s weird, for an Exo. She remembers every face she’s ever encountered. (So far as she knows. So far as she can tell.) The stranger is hauntingly familiar (something in the bone structure, those sharp eyes) but not immediately known, identified and catalogued already. ‘Can I help you, ma’am?’ is on the tip of her metaphorical tongue when Loki names herself.
“Oh.” Behind her shoulder, Ghost is quicker to get it: a blink of his optic, a spin of his points, and the little bot drifts further up into view. Blaze still looks nonplussed for a moment, while her programming catches up, but then she relaxes. “That explains it. I wondered who’d be yelling at us all the way out here.” She considers Loki again, as if updating her mental notes. “That another new look?”
Blaze secretly sad she missed the Chilly Blue Giant
Blaze stops in her tracks, rocking her weight back and lifting a hand in greeting as she takes in the climbers. The Guardian is back in her polished white armor, rifle at her back and sidearm at her hip, holstered over the brightly embroidered cloth hanging from her belt. Her bright gaze flits over the young women: lingering on the one who speaks, flicking briefly to the red-haired youngster, studiously skating past the child. The woman calling to them is Asgardian from her dress, pretty and impressively graceful as she jumps down to the grass.
Blaze’s aesthetic appreciation, however, is overridden by the sheer fact that she doesn’t recognize the woman and that’s weird, for an Exo. She remembers every face she’s ever encountered. (So far as she knows. So far as she can tell.) The stranger is hauntingly familiar (something in the bone structure, those sharp eyes) but not immediately known, identified and catalogued already. ‘Can I help you, ma’am?’ is on the tip of her metaphorical tongue when Loki names herself.
“Oh.” Behind her shoulder, Ghost is quicker to get it: a blink of his optic, a spin of his points, and the little bot drifts further up into view. Blaze still looks nonplussed for a moment, while her programming catches up, but then she relaxes. “That explains it. I wondered who’d be yelling at us all the way out here.” She considers Loki again, as if updating her mental notes. “That another new look?”