In fact, she may have been scowling since she was born, the way she doesn't seem to have another expression the duration of this hike. Hidden behind the blue and gold scarf - once, perhaps, it might have been something more delicate, more befitting her station and she certainly holds it like be an expression of that as much as shielding from the winds - and the cold gives her as good an excuse as any to let it hide her face as a veil ought to. Not because she's only for her husband's eyes - she never brooked much with it, and she doesn't have one any longer - but that she doesn't trust these soldiers. Or the people she's landed with, truth be told. Not that she begrudges them any. Just that they are not her Devi, or her Gallant Knight, or even Tesla and his foolishness.
Because the last thing she wants to hear is that she's come from one war, one she had not finished and has years until she does so - to another one. One that is not even hers, not her people and to be left so exposed to whoever they are and whatever they might know.
Especially when reaching for her gun gives her nothing but empty air to hold.
And she is loathe of this cold and this snow. She goes through every word she knows in Hindi on the long walk, to curse the snow, then when she runs out, she begins in Marathi, and after that English. Worse than muddy frigid slush of London's back streets, this ached. To speak with her is to ask her to pull the material away from her mouth, chin jutting forward and break the insulation she's trying to keep tucked in so close. Clenched her jaw tightly to keep from chattering, brows knitted up as she forces herself to respond to anyone that is speaking to her, resentful of them for making her do so. The steam of her breath giving shape to the words. ] Yes? Did you need something?
[ Ahead of them, is the soldiers, and despite herself, her gaze skitters, making sure no one else falls behind. Stubborn, and maybe she hates that too. ]
CAMP/OUTSIDERS TENT
[ She does her best to not make a fuss once they're there.
But after awhile, she ends up eyeing the guards. It's not like there is anything else remotely sensible to do but learn their patterns.
It's nothing overt, nothing pointed. Just the way that not having anything else to do with her hands except pointless tasks gives her as good a reason as any - and this one is simple, old to her that she doesn't have to focus and do it at the same time. It lets her gaze wander over the guards where she's sat herself in the corner of their tent - first guards, then to others around her - then when she looks too long, her gaze back to her hands. That same blue and gold scarf is laid out in her lap where she sits, and she unwinds the gold from her hair, her ears, undoes the nath pierced in her nose, drops it into the scarf before she takes up a bit of snow she'd melted on the fire back to water and begins to scrub the gold in a mostly futile attempt to buff a shine back into it.
Something to do with her hands, whilst she looks and watches and sees whatever there might be to see. At least there is a fire and that improves her mood some, enough that when she's approached, she hums in greeting, nodding her head the once, happy to sit in a conversation for awhile if someone is looking for it.
A little while later however - and she supposes she misses Devi for this in the way she misses any of her ladies, the creature comforts of being near those most familiar. She winds her hair back up and nods to anyone that doesn't look like they're too busy. ] May I borrow you a moment?
lakshmi bai