Sawtooth Spire there is no hourglass, only sand

Indie could almost feel the man’s heavy handed gaze as he regarded her carefully, but she did not wilt under his microscope. The vaudevillian had never been one to shrink away from a challenge; no matter what that challenge was, even if it came in the form of this man’s hardened exterior and gruff manner of talk — there was little that a certain grace and glib tongue could not remedy — but then Indie was pleasantly surprised when a grin split his maw and he shrugged, denoting that no, this would not be a hostile encounter. Indie did much better when working with tact and affability, rather than anger and flashing emotions — but, the vaudevillian could preform both with ease. 

The shadowed woman flashed the tips of her teeth as she smiled, reflecting the brute’s sentiments upon her own features. ”Indeed.” she returned huskily, turning her head and looking sidelong at the man cloaked in white — a fashion so starkly different from her own pelt of ebon. She waited a moment to gauge his reaction to her continual evasion before giving her head a shake and lifting her molten gaze to glance upon their sawtooth milieu. “These peaks are yours?” she intoned cooly, further distancing the conversation from herself — but for no reason other than the enigmatic appeal of the abstruse. If he truly wished to know her, she would reveal herself; but the way he had questioned her raison d’être begot his perceived ownership of this place… and perhaps he might receive some of masculine satisfaction from hearing his purchase be recognized. It never hurt.