[She shushes Dixon the way she would any belligerent drunk, most of her attention on Phos.
And then it clicks, not from any whispers through the Force--and where the hell is the Force when she needs it, anyway?--but merely because she's used to being surrounded by non-humans.]
Your species is inorganic. [That part's not really a question. The sparkling hair, the perfect skin, the quasi-metallic arms. Revan will kick herself for not getting it sooner once this calms down.] Statues like this are people on your world?
[She tries to phrase it as neutrally as possible, and hell, for all she knows, Phos is right.]
no subject
And then it clicks, not from any whispers through the Force--and where the hell is the Force when she needs it, anyway?--but merely because she's used to being surrounded by non-humans.]
Your species is inorganic. [That part's not really a question. The sparkling hair, the perfect skin, the quasi-metallic arms. Revan will kick herself for not getting it sooner once this calms down.] Statues like this are people on your world?
[She tries to phrase it as neutrally as possible, and hell, for all she knows, Phos is right.]