[Not-a-picnic: Nel, Lear, Daddy]
Nel was not concerned. She'd no idea why Leslie had come here, but it was rather nothing special now, the new arrivals. When she'd come here, it had been, ostensibly, to hide, and now it seemed they were all hiding in plain sight at the grand gathering place of old gods. But she'd the notion that most of the gods here had lost their fire, their bite, and they all had this ridiculous desire to live quiet lives. Not that she wasn't doing the same, in living without the massive desire for chaos and subjugation that bit within her veins, but she did it for her own reasons, and those reasons had nothing to do with a desire for peace and quiet. Nel was not one for retirement, not truly, and nor would she ever be.
She feared nothing, because why would she? She could not be killed by any any here. Should they die in anything but a glorious way, then they would become hers, and how poorly that would go for them. She was not actively managing her realm, but her hatred for it, she found, ebbed with every new arrival into this diminutive town.
And this meeting was no different than any of the others she'd embarked upon, though she found she disapproved of the location. Nel liked getting filthy as much as the next girl, but she rather needed to be in the mood for it. Today, she was not. She wore black slacks and a red silken shirt, and her coat hid a pretty, deadly little banded krait that curled itself around her neck and over her shoulders. She could've come as the girl, as the man, but she chose to come as this. Her gait was masculine, strong, hips jutted forward, even as she walked in red heels. She was expensive, impressive, fearless and bold, and she regarded this messenger with an impassive demeanor. "Tell me," she said plainly, striding up to him and with blue eyes icy, "what you hope to accomplish. He must know that even you are no match for the three of us." She'd no need to clarify who she spoke of, and so she did not.