<div class="floatleft">(http://i1113.photobucket.com/albums/k512/MissF1R3/Kali-Emotions/Kali-Irritated1_zpsc6ow9czd.png)</div><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;"><strong>Kali</strong></span></span><br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Everyone<br/><strong>Doing:</strong>Complaining<br/><br/>The woman once known as Kumari Natarajan was irritated. This was not an unusual state for her to be in, if you knew her. She usually fluctuated between 'coldly indifferent', 'deadly serious', and 'mildly annoyed' like they were her only three emotional states. It probably did not help that she was dressed in layers of black on a warm and sunny day. She did not make for the best face of the Z-League. Or even a bowling league, probably. The anti-materiel rifle strapped to her back and the half a dozen more weapons hidden on her person did not scream 'huggable mascot'. This was further compounded by the fact that, thanks to the tinkering done on her body, she sounded like an asthmatic going into an attack at all times. She did, at the very least, have the common courtesy to hide her spare limbs under her cloak where they would not be seen. Thus, she mostly just appeared to be an irritated, dourly dressed, well-armed woman about to have a seizure instead of an irritated, dourly dressed, well-armed woman<strong>with extra limbs</strong>about to have a seizure. When she spoke she had to take a raspy breath every few words and between inhales you could hear the faint click of some machine either on her person or, God forbid, inside of her. Like some infernal contraption was setting her Death Clock back by another minute. Her voice came out cold and gravely. It took effort for her to communicate, so when she expressed herself, her teammates knew to take it seriously.<br/><br/><em><strong>"Sway.... hhhh.... This is a stupid idea. Hhh.... And you are a stupid.... hhhh... man. I hate you."</strong></em><br/><br/>Most of the time.<br/><br/>For right now, she was just glaring at Sway from where she was standing in the shade. She looked as out of place as someone could possibly be. At least until a heavyset teenage girl dressed in a black leather trench coat, combat boots, ripped stockings, and a 'Death's Battalion' t-shirt approached. The girl's face was pierced a minimum of ten times and her hair looked long suffering under the brutal oppression of a cruel mistress with many hair dyes. It did not know if it wanted to be Raven Black, Dark Black, Black Black, or some shade of blue. Whatever color the teen's head was to start, that information had long since been lost to the ages. She stared at Kali a moment. Kali stared back. Narrowed her eyes.<br/><br/><em>"Hey,"</em>said the goth,<em>"Sweet threads. That's, like, totally, post grunge-core industrial. Are you a member of this... Z-League? I'm Raven Darkness DeMentia Way. I can paint the colors of my soul. Mostly it's black. Sometimes off-black. I did one of me, as a bat, flying in the night. It's all black. Do you guys want a link to my AnARTchy page?"</em><br/><br/><strong><em>"I am going to... hhh... find your parents... hhh... Raven... and try to find out where.... hhh... they went so wrong. Go away."</em></strong><br/><br/><em>"Killer. Sweet."</em><br/><br/>Looking satisfied, the girl takes a pamphlet from Sway and trundles off while reading it. Kali glowers at Sway again. This is not a good day so far.