While Donovan spoke, she'd flipped her head upside down and was raking fingers through her thick cobalt mane, shaking free more sand and separating the strands stuck with dry blood. She was listening, though. Donovan took her behavior for<em>arrogance</em>, but Aza would tell him it was pure<em>pragmatism </em>-- if she knew the word. The future was always uncertainty and the past had already passed, so Aza only ever considered the present. And presently, Dean and his rape-y shadow friends were downstairs, and it was the oddly conciliatory Donovan standing before her now. Standing and stammering just a bit as he explained the situation to her, apparently believing he had any idea of what was actually going on or why.<br/><br/>Upright again, she tucked some fluffed hair behind one tiny ear and eyed him until he pulled his gaze almost guiltily up to hers, as if he should be ashamed for examining what she had just made obvious effort to exhibit. "You are very attractive," she decided, sidling the few steps across the small room to him, and reaching up to brush lightly at a patch of soot at the neck of his leathers, just alongside his tanned skin. "And you are very wrong."<br/><br/>The collar in his pouch still gently shone, each remaining jewel faintly sparkling. "Is to sleep 'cooperation'? If yes, I wish to cooperate with you," she continued. Whatever the rest of them did to each other in the hold, they would hopefully go about it with a minimum of screaming.