Okay. That was nicer than they could have been.

She ambles back to her own companion. "That was more offensive than the pockets," she informs him, solemnly.

"...what, having stolen a book?" asks her companion with some amusement as he starts leading her somewhere once more.

She trails after him like she's some kind of duckling that's imprinted on him.

"Yes. Did this body's last occupant make a habit of just stealing things? Am I going to have a bunch of people showing up and pointing at me, being mad at me for a thing I didn't do, but that they very reasonably think I did?"

"I think stealing in particular was not so common, but more because your sire's crimes were so numerous and varied that any one type of crime can only make up a small fraction of the total."

He still sounds amused.

"Wow. I hate it."

"One problem at a time. You stinking is the first."

"... Do I stink? Did they also not bathe on top of everything else??"

She stops to sniff herself with some clear concern.

"Blood has a smell, you know."

"Oh." She resumes following him. "Then I guess I have one less reason to be mad. Maybe. Even though that one is... also still their fault, though."

"I am going to go out on a limb and predict that a full two-thirds of your problems will be because of something they did."

As a very conservative estimate.

"That's kind of depressing," she muses. "Oh, that looks familiar and interesting, hold on, can you hold this?"

Aleks gets passed her bundle of new clothes and crystal sample, and she immediately heads off to go look at something from up close.

"Are you about to go touch more things?" he says, rolling his eyes and taking her bundle of stuff...

...and then he sees what it is exactly she found interesting. Oh no.

There in the corner, behind all of the tents and almost trying to be inconspicuous for how conspicuous it is, is a... device of some sort.

It's strange in approximately every detail, its colour and shape and the way it moves—but strangest of all is the way it's transparent, not like something made of glass or anything like that, but instead more like it's the ghost of an object, unmoored from the present reality.

So clearly something is going on with this clock, but she can’t figure out what without a closer look. Something to do with time would be very aesthetic, with its clear clock nature, but assumptions like that are dangerous. Probably. They’re probably dangerous. This feels logical, but she admittedly doesn’t have very much life experience to draw on, so. She’s making educated guesses.

The people in front of the clock are not interesting, and she ignores them accordingly.

Her travel mate doesn't cuss under his breath but he does cuss in his head when one of the uninteresting people in front of the clock doesn't ignore her, and instead gasps as she sees her. Her companion, more remarkable than her by the way light sparkles between his fingers as he twitches them, seems equally taken aback.

    "It is an honour," he says in a deep, sonorous boom. His eyes flicker to the castoff's companion for a second, a spark of recognition in them, but he quickly turns back to look at the castoff herself.

"Mm?" says the distracted nerd who keeps poking strange things, blinking out of her musings. (It's not clear whether this looks like a temporal anomaly or a dimensional anomaly or something else entirely, and furthermore why it looks familiar, and she's very curious!) She looks at the people that seem to be... addressing her. And saying that something is an honor.

"Hello. I'm sorry, what's an honor? I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

    The man who addressed her glances at her companion again—has Aleks not even told this castoff about them?—before turning back to her. "I am Mimeon, and my fellow priest here is Casmeen. We are both part of the Church of the Changing God. Your church."

Her companion—Aleks is his name, apparently—looks deeply uncomfortable, but doesn't say anything.

She suddenly understands very clearly why Aleks is uncomfortable. Not because of the neat clock thing, but because of these people. Who are they, and why do they apparently worship a being who doesn't return borrowed books? Clearly this is not the sort of person that should be worshipped, they're an asshole.

But she can't exactly flee to hide behind her companion and pretend she doesn't know how language works, can she. She went and used it and everything. And clearly they... already know what she is? This seems like it could be bad.

"... Uh. No. That by definition is my sire's church. I'm, er. New. Can I help you?"

New. He knew it. "Ah—yes, I have some questions, if I may. Will you tell me about your tattoo? How did you shape it? Do you know why it differs from the others?" he asks. Casmeen nods along with the question, just as curious.

Ohhhhh no. She takes a nervous half step back, towards Aleks.

"I don't know much about it; I didn't; and no, I don't. I don't think I'm the correct person to be asking any of these questions."

"But you are," breathes Casmeen, full of awe. "You are a castoff of the Changing God, and the tattoo marks you as his child. We treasure you, revered one, you and all of your siblings."

    "You are and will always be welcome here, revered one," says Mimeon. "We stand ready to serve as we can. Have you any questions for us?"

...well, didn't the castoff say she needed help with some chamber or something? These people are as likely as anyone is to know about it.

... She thinks she might be offended. This is how they treasure her? Ha! She feels like an experiment in a petri dish, not a person that they think is valuable.

"Do you treasure my siblings by immediately accosting them with questions they're not equipped to answer when they're clearly off balance and uncomfortable? Do many of them have second visits after the first?" she asks, tartly.

..............she's kind of hot and he will not be caught in a million years admitting this aloud.

The two priests do not seem to share this reaction, though, and both look very taken aback.

"We meant no offence, revered one," says Mimeon.

    "We so rarely have a chance to meet a new sibling of yours," explains Casmeen. "We forget ourselves in our joy. Pray forgive us."