Quinta reaches out and draws short fingernails along Alfonse's scalp/  "You're not going to be left out, never fear."  Snd starts to she her armor after a brief look around.  Stacking it here is as good as any.  Helm shield, weapons belt all quickly go t the gournd.  Her brigantine shirt, takes but little longer.  A quick release of a neckline buckle and she hauls it over her head.  The boots go next, they too have quickly loosened buckles.<br/><br/>Quinta then pauses, slightly abashed.  Within an inch or two of six feet tall herself, she doesn't have Fiera's willowy beauty, and although at least as muscular as Vash'ti, she lacks that woman's fluid grace.  She doesn't hesitate for long, though.  She pulls her long-sleeved linen undershirt over her head to bare her torso, and unbuttons her trousers smoothly stepping out of them.  Like Vash'ti, she has a bush as black as midnight.  Strap-like female muscles flow under her olive skin, her breasts were small domes of soft flesh riding over hard muscle.<br/><br/>And scars.  A hands-breadth sword cut along her lower right ribs, a puckered scar from a stab in the front of her left upper thigh drew the eye at once, from their look they were near-mortal.  Numerous other cuts, punctures, lacerations, all told the story of battles and skirmishes lost and won.  No great beauty, but glowing with health  she looked like what she was:  An infantry trooper.<br/><br/>The soldier's mouth goes dry, then even dryer as Vashti cirlcles the mage, then turns to face her.  She interlaces the fingers of one hand with vash'ti's and raises it for a closer look.  IF there is a transition from flesh to talons at the end of those digits, Quinta can't see it, just a smooth flow of one to the other.  Wunta raised their join hands to her face and slowly sucked the other woman's thumb into her mouth.  Quinta's other hand has not left Fiera's body but has moved upwards to one shoulder.