((Sometimes nose-dragging is good, this was a good way to move things along.))<br/><br/>Aya sat through her healing, offering a small, scolding pout to the neko-dragon when it refused treatment, but remaining relatively silent.<br/><br/>At the banquet-hall, the elf encountered a bit of a head-scratcher -- her weapons were built into her armor. She dropped her (mostly destroyed) blue cloak before unbuckling and unstrapping the suit of black, platelike "leather" that she wore, hopping around the room on one foot while the others seated themselves.<br/><br/>It was only a few minutes before she had struggled out of the entire thing (which was now gore-splattered and in terrible repair), revealing a sort of soft, grayish suit that was relatively clean. It was made of thistledown, a fine elven material. As the armor fell off though, she seemed to wither a little, as if just now realizing the ache in her bones -- like one takes their shoes off at the end of a rough day.<br/><br/>Dusting herself with a quiet huff and settling Faleemazar back around her shoulders, she put on her bard-face and took a seat with the others, heaping a pile of noodles, bread, lamb, salad, and other such things onto her plate.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>