Zirza's page

"Titles, they just weigh you down. Give you constraints to live by, and make going from place to place with no one knowing who you are, and therefore being able to be anyone you want, easy. But if you want to fuss around with all that frippery, you go ahead. I'll just keep doing the actual hard work."

"Nothing a good bullet to the face can't cure." Zirza says, throwing her head back and laughing. "Now, where can I get some ale around here?"

"Most definitely smacked by an ogre one time too many." Zirza comments.

Zirza looks down at her leather greatcoat, then at the gnome with a raised eyebrow. "A frippy pointy lady's hat or a snood? With my dusty great-coat, boots, and leather? Did some ogre smack you in the head a time or six?"

"Maybe an Akubra or similar wide brimmed hat that would actually not make me look like a complete dunce."

"A hat is not what I need unless I am disguising myself." She strokes the long feathers that make up her "hair" then tilts her head at him, her eyes dancing. "And they get in the way when I'm making a shot." She pats the gun next to her side with a grin.

"Better myself. I'm already completely awesome. Killed an orc, just one shot to the face you know. I don't need some fancy title to make me better. Just a gun in my hand and smirk on my face." She pauses and strokes the empty ale mug that hangs at her belt.
"And maybe a glass or three of ale."

The gunslinger moves herself from the wall she's been leaning against and looks at the gnome who seems who have started this... nonsense.

"Prehaps... Short Lord of Great Garish Hats would be the best for you." She says, a smirk of good nature playing across her avian face. "Or Grand Habidashier, or however in the name of Cayden's Left um, sleeve, call it." It seems she's switched a word at the last second. "Don't mind me, I'm just some half-blooed Aasimar. Who's going to grant me a title in this human loving nation. Hells, how could I remain as I need to be if I had a clunky title stuck to my name."