[ She's quiet as she moves, stepping through into the main light of the Station proper. It's a place she had been to before, of course, but each time she gets close she is in awe of the magic it possesses. It's all bright lights and flashing metallic that is still foreign to her, even now, and her lips twist down as she tries to take it in. It's more barren than she recalls from her last visit, more broken, though it's obvious some effort has been made to clean things, to repair what had been damaged - that she turns her nose up at.

The idea that it would be so easy to repair something war-torn is an uneasy weight on her shoulders.

Eventually she stops at the edges, watching as people move around inside; this is close enough. All she needs is somewhere safe to rest for a while, an evening at most, and then she can move on. She has no desire to waste her time interacting with people brought here to play a game that they cannot win; there are more important things at stake, at least for her. Solemn as ever, she does little more than move, shrugging off the thick robe around her shoulders and beginning to make a bare-bones camp. ]

[ Nimh Gleanne is familiar to her, at least, and in a warm, comforting way. She would say it reminded her of home if the memories of that place weren't clogged with nightmares and howling in the back of her skull; the forestry is handsome, the buildings mostly quiet, and few bother one another here. She knows this is a point of neutrality, that there is nothing here that anyone will do to upset that delicate balance, even now. This is a place for the fools and idiots alike to come and find a resting place, and she steps inside to do nothing more than seek refuge, to barter, trade and collect on the secrets she is owed.

The quiet of the place settles her and Lauralae doesn't do much more than walk through, her robe thick and her face hidden in the shadows of it. Should someone stop to look at her she will pause, tilting her head, considering, before she continues - people know of her in the Drabworld, of course, but rarely by face. That is still a secret she wants to keep for herself; if people knew her face, attached it to her name, her life would become significantly less simple. It's as though she can feel the hounds snapping at her heels and she refuses to allow it, her nose wrinkling in the darkness.

Rather than taking advantage of one of the localities (she could, she has the money for it) she moves to sit alone under one of the trees, her fingers brushing along the greenery. For all that she claims to hate the world around her, and most of the people within it, she finds a certain swell of affection for quiet moments like this - at least until she is bothered by someone. ]