The garden is beautiful enough, and Dru'sil certainly appreciates the aesthetic, but she's not inclined to blindly follow the path so clearly laid out for her. She's not entirely sure what's happening, but she suspects a meeting with one of the maybe-divinities the Travelers call the Arcana is in store.
Dru doesn't particularly want to spend much time with a probably-god, especially one she finds distasteful by default. She declines, strongly, to be claimed by anyone as their game piece. That this has already happened does not sit well with her.
She takes her own sweet time walking down the path, though the repeating view of roses and bird fountains quickly grows boring. She is very good at acting absorbed in each new bloom she pauses to sniff, admire, and pick to pieces. Once Dru reaches the lake edge she pauses, surveying the banks to see if there's room for her to step off the path. Perhaps a meander around the lake or beyond should be next.
There's room. There is also, ahead of her on the shore, where there was not before, a picnic blanket with several cushions atop of it, and a bejeweled woman with a painted face seated on one of the cushions, smiling a helpful, hopeful smile.
The desire to spitefully turn around and head in the opposite direction is very strong. So very, very strong.
But if this woman can have moved from the pavilion to the shore without a whisper of effort then she can probably do the same to wherever Dru tries to go next, so maybe she ought to just get this over with.
Eventually -- after taking another few minutes to carefully ignore the woman in favor of surveying the lake, because not spiting her own face doesn't mean she won't be petty -- Dru ambles over to the picnic blanket. She drops onto a cushion with careless grace and waits for the other woman to speak.
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Dru doesn't particularly want to spend much time with a probably-god, especially one she finds distasteful by default. She declines, strongly, to be claimed by anyone as their game piece. That this has already happened does not sit well with her.
She takes her own sweet time walking down the path, though the repeating view of roses and bird fountains quickly grows boring. She is very good at acting absorbed in each new bloom she pauses to sniff, admire, and pick to pieces. Once Dru reaches the lake edge she pauses, surveying the banks to see if there's room for her to step off the path. Perhaps a meander around the lake or beyond should be next.
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But if this woman can have moved from the pavilion to the shore without a whisper of effort then she can probably do the same to wherever Dru tries to go next, so maybe she ought to just get this over with.
Eventually -- after taking another few minutes to carefully ignore the woman in favor of surveying the lake, because not spiting her own face doesn't mean she won't be petty -- Dru ambles over to the picnic blanket. She drops onto a cushion with careless grace and waits for the other woman to speak.