Of course, she should have expected this. She was newly returned, and she had expected some kind of stigma and punishment. And this was it. She looked over the room of dusty weapons, and old clothing and sighed. How old were some of these, she wondered, and with one hand on her hip and the other brushing through her hair, she sighed. She had not told Sarkaska of this, he had pride in her and if he thought she was being slighted then he would not be happy. And he was a large man and that was too much unhappy for her to try and wrangle. So she had sent him off to the warder yards this morning, and then sent a missive requesting a Drin'ji'far to aid her in this. She would need someone to look over the weapons, and decide what was worth keeping and what was worth sending to the smiths to melt back down into slag.
She was dressed simply, so she could move around the items and look for what she needed, what she was really looking for. And while she was dressed in that way, it was still with her own twist, she would not bow and vanish as it seemed she was supposed to. Or at least that was how she was reading the situation. She was standing in the doorway, looking over the large room, wondering what she should start.
