Irian was not an intelligence officer for over fifteen years without knowing when she's being watched. This time, though, she's not bothered by the attention: it's curiosity, she guesses. Not someone who's trying to figure out her fighting style in order to exploit it later. She could be wrong on that count, but she doesn't think so.

There aren't actually a lot of kicks involved in this particular form; llaekh-aer'l is about grounding oneself in the Earth, and the feet usually (not always, but usually) stay put. Failing Earth, the metal of a ship's deck will do; it's the same thing, anyway, where the Elements are concerned. She completes the sequence she started, focused, without rushing, and only then glances over to the other woman in the room.

"Am I interrupting?" she asks, and there's the very slightest breath of humor in the otherwise dry words that makes it clear she knows she was being watched. She doesn't seem offended, though, pausing a moment to take the human woman's measure; one of her own hands moves, casually, to sweep a loose strand of her hair back behind one pointed ear.

This girl, whoever she is, knows at least something about combat — it's in the set of her body, the casual way the staff rests over her shoulder. Irian doesn't have to know human kinesics, specifically, to recognize that much.