Stuff that stabs

Satira carefully cleaned off both sides of the blade with the fur until the silver steel shone in the bright sunlight. She checked it over meticulously, and once satisfied with her work, retracted the blade back into the spring lock mechanism. Then she began to wipe down the actual leather bracer, both inside and out. She really needed to find some oil or something to apply to the leather and the blade to keep them smooth and supple, and keep the mechanics working the way they should. Part of her missed the availability of resources back in the Armada, but there was no use crying over what she didn't have access to anymore. She'd just have to be innovative and creative with her solution. Maybe some of those weird ruins would have things she could use if she went looking around in them.

Arcturus gave a nonchalant comment about just doing the "same old stuff" he'd been doing—which in Tira's mind meant moping about and being miserable. She decided not to pursue it further, though the tiny frown on her face did deepen in empathy for her brother. When he asked what she had been up to, Satira also gave a blasé shrug of her shoulders. "Been doing a lot of exploring. Checking out places that sound cool." A little smirk crept across Tira's lips when she thought about her most recent trip to the southern fjord and how that had gone. "I met a cute girl the other day. We kissed and she taught me how to make out. It was fun." Casually avoiding her brother's gaze after dropping that news bomb on him, Satira began to adjust the leather laces on her bracer as well to fit better around her foreleg now that she'd grown to what would likely be her approximate adult height. She wondered what Arc would make of her promiscuity. Maybe it'd distract him from his own depression for a few minutes.

"Satira Star Fatalis"