[ They say they're not prisoners... But it's difficult not to feel like one with a storm raging outside and the wing being guarded as heavily as it is. It makes her itch for a sword or something - anything, but since arriving she hasn't even been able to muster up a pebble. ]

[ It's concerning. ]

[ But she doubts just walking up to someone and asking for a sword will help. Even if fighting off a practical army of zombies hours before would be a perfectly justifiable reason, Hazels gets the feeling they wouldn't get that so she's more watchful and cautious than she would be otherwise. Doesn't seem eager to jump into the fray of court life - she's really not - and after a while of watching storms decides the best position is to approach. ]

[ Half raising a hand to another approaching Summoned she pauses to rub one hand against an elbow. ]

Hi.

[ Helpful! Greetings! She doesn't necessarily look shy, just uncertain of where best to stab this question - her gaze glancing down the corridor before asking: ] Do you know what they're so worried about protecting us from?

[ Hazel has always enjoyed art and making it, even if she'd not been able to do as much of it these days as she'd like (Centurion - Praetor? - of a Legion in active war does that and all). It feels weird just taking time to do it now, taken as far away from Camp as she is -but when in Rome and all that. She had started off fine. Great, even. The piece turning out well for someone not at all traditionally trained in art — ]

[ — and then she grows frustrated not because of her own ability but because with every flick of the wrist the stupid brush wanted to go somewhere else. She groans, readjusts, and tries again. Again and again the stupid thing tried redirecting her and even if it was tiny, miniscule things it took all of the fun out of it until... Finally. ]

[ Finally. She gets up and throws the brush down in frustration and pushes herself away from the canvas - still a beautifully done sketch of the ship itself, even if the colors by now looked more akin to something out of a swamp. ]

That's it. What's the point of art if you're not going to let someone do it on their own?

[ Grumbled. ] They could at least give normal brushes
too.

[ Hazel spent a good chunk of her life in Alaska. The idea of a dessert is about as far away from the snowy landscape she'd found home in or the swampier lands around New Orleans. She's not used to it and found herself coughing more often than not during her stay in the Free Cities. In some ways, it's more comforting than any modern place she'd seen - probably, because it feels more like the era she was born into than where she came from. ]

[ With little else to do in this new world - a bizarre statement in itself - she finds herself helping to pass out the masks to the people who venture out. Choosing for the free standard edition, she can't help but perplex over the more... artfully designed one with a wrinkled nose as she holds it up to squint at while walking to the next distribution ]
]

This can't be comfortable. What's the point of all the spikes...?

[ Feel free to wildcard/make your own prompts as needed! Mostly seeing what sticks, so feel free to reach out to plot with my by PM or what not! No prompts in Solvunn since I have a character there, but feel free to wildcard as needed! ]