Azhi emits a sound that's something between a snort, a laugh, and a gunshot.<br/><br/>'Honoured Adept?'<br/><br/>It fits, has a nice ring to it. Zie likes the idea of it, rolling the title around in zir head, a little like you'd fondly look back to a half-remembered childhood - all gold-limned nostalgia and simpler times gone by. But it's been a very, very long time since Azhi Dahāka, slave of the Dark Gods, honoured bearer of the Obliterator-א, shepherd of machine spirits, behaved in any way deserving of 'honour'. Zie was never particularly 'adept' either, for that matter.<br/><br/>One hand snakes its way out of an over-sized acid-bitten sleeve, and waves feebly, dispelling the foul air of the bunker and the vile obeisances of the Machine Predator with equal disgust.<br/><br/>'That's a nice title. But not one that suits me, I think.<br/><br/>'Let's cut the pretension, though; what's the world coming to when two kindred souls can't talk to each other? My ears<em>ring </em>when I look at you, and I think I know what that means. I think I know why you're here, too, and you'd be right to think I'm here for the same reason, though, what with all the fucking greenskins outside -'<br/><br/>A rare moment of heat, of choler, of passion. Azhi's ordinary faintly dream-like voice and bearing stiffen and convulse, as something angry and ugly uncoils within her.<br/><br/>'- I guess that doesn't make you a savant. So, yes, you may have a few moments of my time, but you may as well not bother - the answer's yes. Yes, I will.<br/><br/>'But first ... I'm hungry. Just getting here - getting out of the crash-site, out of the ruins of my mothe- er, getting past the Ork blockade took a lot out of me, and I won't even be the semblance of the adept you so kindly view me as if I can't fill myself back up again. Something - something with a spirit in it. Cogitator, groundcar ... Throne, a laspistol would do in a pinch - so I'd say that's priority, as far as I'm concerned. I'm Azhi, by the way.'<br/><br/>The hand emerges out from its sleeve again, with all the disquieting fidgeting motion of an insect crawling out a burrow, and zie holds it out for this strangely confident man to shake. Azhi's not really sure what the correct greeting, name-exchange, or contract ritual is for people who haven't spent their entire lives in a six-thousand year old incestuous and closed shipboard society, but zie's got the impression that this is the way ground-dwellers usually do it.