<div style="text-align: center"><script class="js-extraPhrases" type="application/json">
			{
				"lightbox_close": "Close",
				"lightbox_next": "Next",
				"lightbox_previous": "Previous",
				"lightbox_error": "The requested content cannot be loaded. Please try again later.",
				"lightbox_start_slideshow": "Start slideshow",
				"lightbox_stop_slideshow": "Stop slideshow",
				"lightbox_full_screen": "Full screen",
				"lightbox_thumbnails": "Thumbnails",
				"lightbox_download": "Download",
				"lightbox_share": "Share",
				"lightbox_zoom": "Zoom",
				"lightbox_new_window": "New window",
				"lightbox_toggle_sidebar": "Toggle sidebar"
			}
			</script>
<div class="bbImageWrapper js-lbImage" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-single-image="1" data-src="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/attachments/2d97831f43f0077f0bca9f66ca8d362e-png.89383/" title="2d97831f43f0077f0bca9f66ca8d362e.png">
<img alt="2d97831f43f0077f0bca9f66ca8d362e.png" class="bbImage lazyload" data-src="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/attachments/2d97831f43f0077f0bca9f66ca8d362e-png.89383/" data-url="" data-zoom-target="1" height="504" src="data:image/svg+xml;charset=utf-8,%3Csvg xmlns%3D'http%3A%2F%2Fwww.w3.org%2F2000%2Fsvg' width='473' height='504' viewBox%3D'0 0 473 504'%2F%3E" style="" title="2d97831f43f0077f0bca9f66ca8d362e.png" width="473"/>
<noscript><img alt="2d97831f43f0077f0bca9f66ca8d362e.png" class="bbImage" data-url="" data-zoom-target="1" height="504" src="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/attachments/2d97831f43f0077f0bca9f66ca8d362e-png.89383/" style="" title="2d97831f43f0077f0bca9f66ca8d362e.png" width="473"/></noscript>
</div></div>Urisha had picked up her fair share of odd tics throughout life, from the way her step-father tilted his head slightly to the left when reading important missives, to the little flare her mother almost<i>insisted</i>upon when signing her name, and even the crinkle of her brother's nose whenever he smiled. It was easy, to integrate those actions into her everyday behavior. It was even easier to mimic the actions of the people right in front of her, the curling of a hand, a twitch of the eye, a miniscule jump of the lips.<br/><br/>It was a bit unfair really, how easily she picked it up, how easily people<i>unraveled</i>when she matched them for miniscule action by miniscule action. How prices would drop just the tiniest bit, the easy smiles, the natural friendships. It made her the<i><b>darling</b></i>of the kitchens back home, the favorite little apprentice of the gardener, it made what few tutors she had far more agreeable, just a bit less strict.<br/><br/>Personalities came easier, a few superficial smiles, a certain speaking pattern, maybe you scowled more than some, maybe you were an ocean of calm, or a fountain of endless rage. A gentle caregiver or a harsh taskmaster. A million different in-betweens, a thousand different people you could possibly be.<br/><br/>The point was, it was easy to mimic someone, to design personality traits that made them 'unique', to piece together a persona with tics 'all their own', to make people<i>like her</i>. So naturally, she did just that, born from trial and error, days studying her mother and step-father, the gardener, the kitchen hands, maids, other servants she didn't know the names of, hours of going over personality traits in her head, of practicing a thousand different smiles, scowls, eye twitches, hand flexes, and a million other little expressions that made someone who they were.<br/><br/>...to put it simply, Uri was bored out her Godsdamned skull. So, naturally, when she was bored she looked in a mirror, and practiced, acting like a normal, sane, person, a lunatic, like she had a life that didn't involve piracy and desperate searches for a cure to a disease she herself didn't entirely believed existed.<br/><br/>(Much less the few, desperate, restless moments between, where she curled up against herself and tried not to have an extensial crisis of some sort.)<br/><br/>Expressions, eye movements, little twitches and tells.<br/><br/>Smiles, scowls, calm facades, rage, laughter...<br/><br/>Changing the shape of her face, the color of her hair, the color of her skin, the scars that littered her body, little intricacies that made others who they were, that defined them in other's eyes.<br/><br/>All the while, her eyes, remaining a milk white, read and absorbed the information on the bit of parchment that had been slipped under her inn door earlier in the morning.<br/><br/>Another job, another day, more money to fund her eating and general way of life.<br/><br/>Captain never kept them idle for long, did they?<br/><br/>The Obsidian Wing... Might be the closest thing Uri could call home at the moment, if she had something of a reference point for a physical 'home' instead of 'place where I make myself scarce', before that, home was at her brothers bedside, reading old histories, and figuring out new languages, dreaming of adventures Rashta would likely never get to experience if Uri didn't find him a cure for the disease that ravaged his small body.<br/><br/>Withholding a sigh, and a yawn, Urisha's appearance shifted to that of a somewhat pretty, if ultimately forgettable, human woman with shaggy, chin-length, red-hair with two longer strands near her ears falling past her shoulders, light green eyes, and tanned skin, a thin build almost reminiscent of a dancer.<br/><br/>It was the appearance her crew-mate's knew her best by, (her brother knew his sister as a long haired brunette with warm grey eyes and pale skin, a rounded face and scrawny figure), and it was better that she got the appearance she was going to be using for the better part of the day down before anything else.<br/><br/>Noting the time she would need to be present at the '<i>Icey Dachshund</i>', Uri turned her attention to the things around her that she could, undoubtedly, call hers and gathered them up.<br/><br/>Finishing the whole ensemble with a thin overcoat, she smiled to herself.<br/><br/>As she tore the parchment to undistinguishable pieces, Uri idly wondered if she would be able to charm one of the male patrons into buying her breakfast.<br/><br/>Better to try here, than at a place where her crew-mates could use the scene against her.