Why can't we be friends

Marina couldn't resist the little scoff of amusement when Wylan promised to be cheerful enough for the two of them. Oh, he certainly had the market cornered on chipperness, that was for sure! At his remark about her being a grump with his brother though, Marina shot Wylan a dramatically offended look, complete with gasp and clutching at her neck and everything. "Excuse you?! A grump? Me?! I'll have you know, I'm a delight!" she remarked, teasing him back by turning her nose up in the air—which admittedly didn't work very well when the lad still towered almost a whole foot above her. "I suppose I'm going to have to do as you command, Your Grace, and show you how much I'm not a grump." Was that her accepting his invitation? Eh, it was probably as close as he was going to get out of her.

Marina wasn't blind. She saw the way Wylan's expression deflated a little and how his body language sank when she retracted her second request. She would have felt bad for concealing away such a crucial truth about herself, but the last time she'd mentioned her mentagion to anyone, they had immediately turned her most precious relic into the most deadly weapon to use against her. Trust did not come easy with the Minoan fae. Wylan then tried to frame her slavery as an opportunity for her, trying to point out the silver lining that slaves in the Armada didn't remain slaves forever. He even offered to help her get there.

Raising a suspicious brow above violet eyes, Marina scrutinized the giant lad. She still wasn't sure about him... but what more did she have to lose at this point? "You really don't give up, do you?" A pause before she finally answered, "If you can keep me away from Basilisk, then I'll gladly join your 'treehouse club'." Which, speaking of... "What is a treehouse anyway?"

"Marina"