Soren peered over at the blonde boy, the one who the relaxed man had been speaking to. His large brown eyes were on her, and their gazes clashed. The boy quickly swung around to glare meekly at the man whoâ€™d spoken. â€œSheâ€™s NOT cute!â€ he cried vehemently.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Um...ouch?</span><br/><br/>Then the boy became flustered, backpedalling and trying to erase the previous insult. He even unintentionally called her beautiful, while blushing profusely. Soren watched the embarrassed boy with expressionless curiosity. Did he agree, and believe she was cute? She eyed his fine suit and well cut hair, wondering why he would get so flustered about how<span style="font-style: italic">she</span>looked. Surely there were girls of his standing who were far more attractive.<br/><br/>But people were speaking, and she turned her attention to them.<br/><br/>Soren was surprised to see the young blonde boy agree next, just after she issued her own agreement. The raccoon eyed girl was next. Followed by...<br/><br/>The life story of the orange haired lady?<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Dear god...</span><br/><br/>She prattled on about her home town, a farm, financial leaps she had taken, the death of her parents and her weeping....<br/><br/>Soren<span style="font-style: italic">honestly</span>didnâ€™t care. Not a bit.<br/><br/>She also didnâ€™t care for how the lady belittled the blonde boy â€“ whoâ€™s name, ironically, was Reginald Vincent Alexander the 15th, the child of one of the highest most standing families in the universes. Accusing him of riding coattails, the nerve! What did she know? Besides how to prattle on about needless things. Oh, and her name was<span style="font-style: italic">Miss Naureen Rose Merrieweather of the village in the middle of no whereâ€</span>, which Soren intended to call her at all times.<br/><br/>After the business of an owl and strange sounds coming from down the hall, Soren spoke up; quietly, unobtrusively, and monotonously. â€œBeg your pardon, lady,â€ she started properly, only the slightest hints of impatience under her carefully toneless words. â€œbut you seem to think you know<span style="font-weight: bold">exactly</span>what youâ€™re talking about. Please, whenever you feel the need, feel free to analyze me. Youâ€™ll have my utmost attention.â€<br/><br/>Soren, with ever lessening patience, said, â€œAnd if it assists you, my name is Soren Agro.â€ She was sure it wouldnâ€™t, however. Her family was so off the grid it was ridiculous. There wasnâ€™t a record out there with the names of any living member of her family. Besides the dead ones. They had death certificates. To hang on her mantle, or whatever.<br/><br/>While this went down, in her peripheral vision, she noticed one of the males â€“ not the chill one or the Alexander child â€“ go speak quietly with Joseph. She spotted the gleam of metal and peered over curiously, but didnâ€™t catch what was engraved there before the metal slipped away.<br/><br/>What Soren wanted to know was what sort of thing they were facing. The weak points, the strong points, strategically plans, where it lived, what it ate... But there was no information about it. That had already been stated.<br/><br/>How were they supposed to fight something that only existed in imagination?