She knew she had ruined too many things by being rash, her decisions that were guided by flaring emotions had only caused others -and herself- pain. Either she'd lost people, or was on the right track to losing them, and that she feared more. Tempering them was the only option, trade instinctive passion for calculated strictness once more; the way she'd been taught years ago. Maybe that was why she couldn't help but thank her parents for having been so cold in her upbringing, as the pokerface they'd allowed her to create would come in handy more than she'd ever anticipated now she walked among those she'd sworn to destroy. Even though these soldiers had nothing to do with the madness and destruction brought upon her, they still served some who had, and for that she couldn't stand them. Yet, she needed them. To gain allies, be it temporarily, and to guide her. Grant her access to the circles of those she'd wished so sorely to destroy. If it meant biting her tongue and faking a smile or two, she'd gladly do so. For vengeance, the red-head would do anything.
Even something as foolish as joining a raging battlefield midway past her pregnancy.
The tent bestowed to her and her companions was a large one, divided subtly by thick curtains near the back so each still had somewhat of their own private sleeping compartments; a luxury during the war, she knew. But Bellum seemed intent on making their allies comfortable and had provided them with more than the redhead had expected; and now she no longer worked under her alias, she didn't need to fear being recognised by anyone. The ring made sure they wouldn't. Aside from having naturally brushed up her hair to its original vibrant crimson, with the help of her Ring of Concealment she now hid the scars and eye she was missing behind a cleverly-crafted illusion, unable to be sensed by the mages surrounding her. She'd made her allies aware she would be using it as such however, though never fully enclosed why she was doing it. So right now her visage had been restored, and she'd made sure her prosthetic leg hadn't gotten into much trouble to minimize the strain in it until its next maintenance. Having it fail her in the middle of battle would be a real issue to tackle. That, and she didn't want to anger Caimileir by treating it the same way she had last time. Both the man and his masterpieces deserved more from her than that.
At this point in time, Pandora had already tended to her prosthetic leg, checked the minimal functions Caimileir had told her about and was halfway done sorting and donning her gear. For this occasion, although she was quite certain some rule dictated she should've worn the uniform she'd been provided by Dies Irae, the firstborn Dagger had opted for her personal armor instead. For this matter entirely she hadn't come in name of the guild, but for personal reasons. Reasons whichfor she knew she couldn't involve them in. Not without concrete proof to her name other than her memories. So instead of her uniform, she had chosen an armor of midnight black, laced with golden ornaments, and trimming on her chest plate, and a large exorbitant cape of crimson adorning her shoulders. Three out of four colors down, at least. With a satisfied tug she fastened the last of her gauntlets and checked whether they held on the way they were supposed to. With a huff Pandora rose from her chair and entered the tent's common room, hoping to have a little morning assembly at least before they would head out. Although early, maybe a bit too early depending on who you asked, the red-head had been up and about for quite some time already, as silently as possible to not disrupt the others. She wasn't sure whether any of them had woken up already in the meantime -the first scheduled attacks weren't planned for another 5 hours at least- so she didn't quite mind sitting around and waiting until one did, helping herself to a cup of homebrewed tea for the time being.
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