The Pscion

"..." Illuminated violet eyes stare through the one who'd addressed the woman with short dark hair twisted on the back of her head into a psudo mohawk that nearly falls over one eye. Her skin, too, looks as if a dim light shines beneath it with a lilac hue. She raises one slender arm, points a delicate looking finger at the big burly man and flicks her wrist. The man follows the movement straight into the wall where he falls all over the coat rack and himself.
She says nothing. Her face is graceful and poisted as her bearing, like the face of some godess statue in a temple, tall and lean she moves to make her way back to her table where an odd collection of people watch with morbid fascination.
"Why you little!" The man struggles with his sword.
The woman snorts as if bored with the entire scenario. "Pathetic, you can't get close enough to hit me with that pig sticker." Her skin pulses slightly brighter as she speaks to the bulky man entangled in stranger's cloaks.
His face falls and he makes a half hearted attack.
Touching the crystal ball hanging in the chainmail net on her belt she holds up her hand as if telling a bar tender that she's had enough drink. No emotion flickers through her half lidded eyes as he flies out the door and into the street in a crumpled heap of moans and curses.
Unconcerned eyes turn to the fellows at the table the man had come from. "To answer your query I am Zii Azrifel, where I am from you can guess, where I am going is none of your concern; and no one can get in my way." Something flashed in her eyes for a moment before she glanced back to the table where a human teenager, a dragon borne, and a gith sat nonchalantly.
No one saw the ghost of a smile that touched the forever neutral line of her purple lips.