Troia dipped her head, bringing her hands up in a panic, [Why are you angry?]
"I'm *not* angry," Tycondrius pursed his lips.
[You're a little angry,] The young lady stressed motioning her palms together as if squeezing Tycon's supposed emotions.
He groaned, averting his gaze away and to the side. He wasn't angry-- he was... frustrated. And the source of his frustrations were the... hand signals from a frail teenage girl.
Troia circled around to stand in front of him, again wearing her smug, know-it-all smile, [I will help you.]
Tycon grimaced as he inhaled deeply through his nostrils. While it was nice of the young woman, he was very doubtful she was as useful as she thought.
"Hmph," He crossed his arms, "And how are you planning on accomplishing that?"
[I will call a hero to aid you in your quest,] She signed.
