[Iskierka stares back with an equal lack of expression--at Kaworu, at Paul. At Paul, at Kaworu, her faceted crimson gaze settling there as he's the last one to have spoken. Whatever menace Paul might've presented to her is apparently less important than that.
What did she want? She clacks her beak, curling a forefoot into a fist with one claw extended. With it she mimes scratching letters on the page at her feet.
no subject
What did she want? She clacks her beak, curling a forefoot into a fist with one claw extended. With it she mimes scratching letters on the page at her feet.
She needs something to write with.]