Falling asleep was easy. It had been a long day of wandering, some forest in an unknown corner of Verrerie. Livia had settled down for the night, carefully propped up in a tree, back to the trunk, on a thick branch about ten feet off the ground. Waking up... waking up was harder. She found herself in a blindingly bright room, surrounded by white light that emanated from distant and out of focus walls and ceilings. Hissing, she flung up a hand to cover her eyes, pupils contracting into narrow slits at the onslaught. Her other hand scrabbled in front of her, finding a knob. She twisted it and launched herself through the doorway, hoping for some respite. No such luck.
Squinting, she surveyed the place, because there was no possible way that she'd arrived here on her own two (four?) feet. Sterile white, extending up far beyond the eye's reach. Eight doors, including the one she'd just stumbled out of, line the circular room. It wasn't welcoming, and Livia's every instinct screamed at her to get away. She clamped down on her rattled nerves and straightened from her protective half-crouch (when had she gotten into it?). The first rule of survival was this: Never show weakness. Well. Too late for that one. Oh well. Livia would have to live with it.
To her right was a man. Maybe. It was hard to tell really, what with all the wraps and cloaks and armour covering every inch of skin. Or not skin. Livia didn't judge. What interested her more were the two swords sheathed at his back. She could feel the weight of her knives, varying in size and sheathed under her forearms, strapped at her waist, in her boots, on her thighs, the small of her back... Livia had a thing for knives, ok? Anyways, they were still there, and she was glad. Only the waist and thing ones were visible, the rest hidden under the folds of a black tunic and sleeveless, hooded trench coat. And gloves. Can't forget the gloves. Livia had a thing for them too.
There were two others, a slim girl and a lithe man, placed opposite of each other. They didn't have doors behind them; perhaps they were the ones who brought them here? Livia could feel the power radiating off of them. The girl's was bright and clean, somehow human - human! - yet not. She was on the other side of the room, cordoned off by a barrier of glass. More important was the man, danger radiating out of his every pore. His smirk hinted at fangs, and Livia finally identified that insidious scent; blood, dark, and fire. Demon. He can take me apart with his bare hands. And he knows it. But he was on the same side of the glass as Livia, therefore he was the one to watch. And then he spoke. Congratulations? Congratulations for what? Livia was afraid to ask. But someone had to.
"So," she half-mumbled, half-spoke, intimidated despite herself, and tried to keep the reflexive snark out of her voice, "Who are you, where am I, and why am I here?"