The smile on Shaw's face is unwavering, but faintly strained as she smooths a hand down her gown (its bright purple fabric clearly marking her as a member of the color-loving Aesti court, if her vendor's stall full of homecooked food hadn't done that already). "You don't need a taste test to tell that I've got the best bread here," she says, flashing a quick wink at a faerie who's perusing her wares. "For the right trade, it's all yours - but only if you've got something good to give in exchange."
She is, technically, playing the game correctly. But there's a brash directness to her not common of fae culture, and her potential customer narrows his eyes - not suspicious, but certainly a little weirded out. And instead of demuring, Shaw narrows her eyes right back, which makes the faerie let out an offended huff, and there's clear potential for this to devolve into a thing. You could help, Illyana! Or you could make things worse. The sky's the limit, really.
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mission 12; maker's market
She is, technically, playing the game correctly. But there's a brash directness to her not common of fae culture, and her potential customer narrows his eyes - not suspicious, but certainly a little weirded out. And instead of demuring, Shaw narrows her eyes right back, which makes the faerie let out an offended huff, and there's clear potential for this to devolve into a thing. You could help, Illyana! Or you could make things worse. The sky's the limit, really.