The gesture, caught out of the corner of one green eye, jerked Carolina out of the haze she'd let herself settle into once she'd joined the edge of the group, gathered closest to the red-cloaked mage. That had seemed most appropriate somehow. It still took her a moment to process the request, framed in a command that somehow rankled, before the speaker's appearance sinks in. All seven feet of her, horns and hooves and all.

Demons and dragons are one thing. Draenei are quite another.

"What the hell are you."

Rude, Carolina. (So sorry, Vas.)