Ithi'Ka smirks at Hawk's explanation of the Warforged... mostly out of an attempt to conceal her general wariness of constructs, but partly because the notion was just so far-fetched-- yet, when Nightshade was involved?  Not impossible.  But whether due to a general distrust of living machines, such as her teammate Mark IV, or of machines in general, the Drow finds it hard to force the smile to her lips.  Mark, for instance, had come to embody everything she knew to fear in machines; how can you trust a machine?  More so even than living bodies, whose madness and animal impulses can be so revolting, a machine can act with so little regard, so much efficiency for cruelty...<br/><br/><i>Even slay hundreds through simple sabotage?</i><br/><br/>The piercing light isn't overwhelming, but it is noticeable.  When she turns her head to survey the room, if she crosses a well-lit patch, she sees trails from it, and she finds the radiance uncomfortable.  Not wanting to appear ungrateful, she leaves her sundark goggles dangling around her neck, the flexible strap half-hidden by her thick, white hair at the nape of her neck.  She blinks a bit more than normal, keeps her eyes half-lidded like some stoned neophyte.  "I would hesitate to ask what qualifies as a, 'lounge emergency'," she adds with her best pronunciation, giving the half-elf a sidelong smirk that nearly causes her to wince when her gaze inadvertently meets a glimmering hall lantern.<br/><br/>Covering her surprise with a soft clearing of the throat, and with slightly bleary vision she catches sight of Nightshade's approach.  She blinks her gleaming, silver eyes once, slowly, and tenses her stomach, draws back her shoulders slightly.<i>I am Drow, I am Proud, I am unaffected,</i>she recites in her mind, the mantra that her mentor had driven into her for those moments where pride must outweigh affectations... childbirth, a first venom tattoo, public punishment... self-consciousness of personal attractions that threaten to erode professionalism...<br/><br/>Lacking the social knowledge to recognize the verse Nightshade speaks, Ithi'Ka still manages to grasp the basic meaning of predatory reference, even if the thought of a parlor for a spider seems a bit ludicrous.  Her lips, now that she can smell the perfume on Nightshade's creamed-coffee skin, feel heavy as she stirs them to speak-- then are left hanging open soundless when she sees that Hawk has left.  She dips her head, showing more of her cowl of thick, alabaster hair to the half-elf, then lifts her ash-colored face to regard her form.  "This is your home, Lady Nightshade.  I only hope I would make unsatisfactory meal."<br/><br/>She finds the muted lighting within to be quite the relief , and immediately her keen eyes begin picking apart the room-- more by habit than anything else, as she walks within.  Under the viridian and ebony scales of her protective shell, the rakish Drow's body moves with deliberate, sensual grace-- betraying no fear, no overt submission.