The bastard of a fox had grown quite bold. It was disheartening how his infatuation crept from the shadows and now basked so brazenly in the light. Samara privately enjoyed torturing the mongrel with his secret longing. However, it seemed such a game now presented itself as dull. Watari's antics were met with an unamused and cold glower. The wiggling of her nose alluded to the bovine's displeasure. Samara's chest inflated and sank as she discharged a sough of indifference. The rolling of those eyes dispersed with any semblance of ambiguity. So Watari considered himself a friend? What trite! A goddess has no friends, merely allies and tools. Nevertheless, she'd humor and manipulate the fox's delusions to further her crusade. "Ever the optimistic lout. Unhand me. My skin shouldn't be blemished by your foul oils." She demanded before wagging her tail to break free. The Jezebel's buttocks flared out as she stomped her right heel. Those golden eyes bounced away from the love-stricken pup and to that of the feline. Not wishing to entertain Watari any longer, she'd snap her fingers as the ground opened up and swallowed the general. "Fret not; the mongrel still lives. I sent Watari to my fortress. He's in time out until such a time as he learns manners." She added as Devante and his compatriot followed the general's lead. Samara's painted nails combed back her ashen mane before her fingers tugged to adjust her form-fitting threads. "Bound? Curious, where is your master now?" She replied to Casimir before roving her eyes to Florentina. The question labored as a two-pronged inquisition. The diva was not amused, narrowing her golden eyes as the muscular dame settled her arms under her chest for support as she stood confidently before the Jinniyah. "Despite crossing paths many times, Your purpose and mission always eludes me. Humor me, what is it that steers the famed tactician?" Her question was a demand. Florentina understood what was asked. She also apprehended what the cow pursued. So be it; it was time she confided in another. After all, even she required allies. "I have unearthed a truth long since buried—a path to power disinterred by thrones and councils, overshadowed by a conflict with no true victor. I've glimpsed a vision of the future, a globe engulfed in flames. The Dynasty would tell you to seek power and embrace a dark path. The Eternal House will describe it as a reward for success and deception. But power belongs to those few who aren't afraid to carry it. Those few gutsy enough to openly exert it. The Dynasty and your house claim dominion over the world. Dishonorable tyrants guided by councils of fools. Now, it's time for someone to break free. I'll never again have a master. No longer will another rule over me. I will never return to the Dynasty. I've accomplished what many rulers pretend to do but never achieve. I've broken my chains." That jab wasn't lost to Samara. Her once stoic deportment fractured as the Jezebel sniggered. "How observant and bold. Indeed, like all jinn, I am bound to a lamp. Albeit, this one is far grander. I see now why your council seeks to exile you. I'll be watching your campaign with significant interest. I won't interfere. After all, the world always needs its betrayals." Samara added, considering the diva's quest to end in tragedy. " I wonder if my deception will sting? It matters not. The fire will light the way for the strong. And once the entire world is ablaze, power will await all. One needs only be willing to burn." Florentina added, clenching her fist as her muscles flexed. Samara arched a brow, letting out a huff. The claret temptress was amused. Naturally, she'd refrain from exhibiting this fact. Could it be she had misunderstood the brute? Possible, but irrelevant to her grand scheme. That's why she wouldn't get in the bimbo's way. "And what of the defiled?" She added. Flora grinned. She found that Samara was concerned about such inferior creatures as comical. "What's so funny? Tell me, what inspires that smirk? Explain why you've been behind countless conflicts and incursions." This is yet another demand the diva would entertain. "The Desert is conflict, the jungle is conflict, and the swamp is war made manifest. That's why they're perfect and why I respect all sides. The defiled seek to pacify and stagnate. They speak big and present themselves as all-knowing or wise beyond our understanding. Yet, despite their pretentiousness, they fail to grasp what it means to be alive. You ask why? I fight because that is what I was made to do. The defile understands what it means to be alive only partially. They fail to comprehend the fundamental nature of the universe, that it is conflict." Samara looked over to Casimir and Lyra as the blonde blabbered off. She wondered what they'd think of their "comrades" words. Still, she'd pry just a bit further. 'So, you're a keeper of peace?" She pressed. Flora scoffed at that descriptor. "A keeper of the peace and a dog of war are synonyms. It's a matter of perspective. One driven by who materializes as victorious or the side of the map you stand on." Samara found little reason to disagree. That response sufficed, yet would be met with another question. "And what of the dead?" Florentina's smirk faded as she tapered her eyes. Her chisel build towered over the little strumpet before her. "Soldiers die in war; that's the price that must be paid. What we deserve is extraneous. What matters is who has power. Because the survivors of the conflict come to see life more deeply, their understanding matures. That alone is purpose enough." Once Florentina concluded her retort, Samara locked eyes with the mare. Lyra had asked her a question. Grant it; she took it a bit literally. Nonetheless, an answer was in order. "I haven't the faintest clue. I've never encountered a blindspot in the flow of the leylines. Is this an omen? Is it a blessing? I can't say." The blonde looked down at her little centaur. Did Lyra regard her as an aberration? Was she disturbed by the woman she had married? Was she just a project, something that the mare could fix? Some great challenge or hurdle? "The emptiness she sees is the absence of chains. I need no fixing. I've evolved beyond my limitations. But don't worry, just as I fill your holes, you fill mine." Flora was vulgar as ever, giving Lyra a wink and a forceful spank to remove any confusion. "Charming...As riveting as this is, I still wish to hear what fate befell Casimir's master. I wonder if he sees you as his new surrogate mistress." Samara drew focus back to an earlier topic. Florentina's malachite eyes peeked his way as she added her thoughts. "A friend. One who also has broken their chains. We might appear different. But there is more in common than most may perceive." She concluded with absolute conviction an certainty.

Samara Exits the Roleplay

There was little doubt that her words weighed heavily on the pup. Nevertheless, Samara couldn't afford to deceive Roha. Tahira had demonstrated herself as an indispensable instrument, and something told the bovine that the Nokhoi before her wouldn't disappoint. The foxkin were a superstitious yet loyal people, something she intended to manipulate for the prosperity of the Eternal House. And should they remain devoted, their species would reap the rewards. Roha included. Samara kept muted as the vulpine rose and affirmed her allegiance. Those topaz eyes studied the cretin before she turned and began to walk away. The door to that balcony reemerged as the jezebel stood at the threshold. Her hand clutched it as she looked back at Roha with an authoritative glare. "Relax now; our great exodus is already underway. I will call on you once the time is right. However, for now, you should take in the enormity of what has been revealed. Once we dock in the fathomless expanse, I intend to dispatch you to train with the Diva. Another operative will be present, Indemira. You're to learn what you can while under Florentina's tutelage. I plan to implement what you'll both learn to enhance our people's regiment. I'll make sure she is aware of who you are. Speak of me only in silence. You're the red herring, the apparent member of our coalition. Indemira, however, is both a jinn and a spy. Do not compromise her ruse. Please send my regards to Matsumota, and tell the giantess I wish her and her broodmare a long and healthy union. Given my obligations, I won't be able to attend their wedding. Still, I'll send a fruit basket or something to commemorate their matrimony." She commanded before stepping through as the doorway vanished. Another passage opened behind ROha, leading to her room. Roha would be bunking with Tahira until such a time as Samara could purchase them both estates, befitting their noble status.

Samara evaluated Roha's commitment, character, and usefulness as an instrument. Tahira had demonstrated herself as the ideal loyalist. Despite what that mer had been through, she never once turned her back on the plan. The jezebel secretly admired the imitation and had begun to see her as a daughter. Her student, however, had yet to be quantified. The heifer kept hushed as the nokhoi prattled off. Roha spoke of days before her time on this globe, but she didn't do so out of love but rather indifference. There was a great danger and temptation to look to the past and yearn for it. Many before, Roha had tried to capture lightning in the bottle twice, only to become atomized. There was no route to salvation by clinging to a virulent carcass. The only way forward was to move ahead and chart their own course. Samara didn't wish to live in the shadow of a dead regime. No, she aspired to the creation of an eternal one. Something the vulpine seemed to entertain, albeit in her inferior way. "Those were days of plenty. However, it was stripped bare by the last generation's reluctance to heed reason or logic. The yearning for power and racial supremacy choked the land. Do you wish to see the consequence of denying my will? The inescapable conclusion of charting your course alone? Look out a window." She stated confidently. Her predatory gaze never deviated from Roha. "Tahira tried to warn you of this precipice. Fret not little pup, you've done well. The fact you're still among the living is evidence enough. Reluctance leads to death as much as overindulgence. And when I am the most humble soul left in power, that should speak volumes." Samara aired before sashaying to Roha's side. Her eyes peered at the fox from their corners as she smirked. "Honor, like anything if misaligned, is foolish. Tahia learned this the hard way. She bled for a dead empire that didn't value her as a person. I, however, regard her as so much more than a shaitan. Did she tell you she was created by Matsumota's brother and me? Grant it, I didn't have much of a say on the matter. Regardless, whether from a flask or my womb, she bears the same blood. She's a Del'fluent, evident in her stubbornness to fade silently into nothingness and her quick adaptation." Samara paused before turning her head to catch a better look at Roha. Her eyes met the Nokhoi's gaze. "As you were and are, you're nothing. But, if you accept my homilies and fight for something greater, you'll become better. Tahira has already taken the job. It seems only fitting for you to aid her. Shed yourself of the old ways and bonds, assume my mantel, and become my ordinator. Together we'll redeem what's left and create a future. A nation and house worthy of that honor." The jezebel purred as she offered her hand. The building itself shook almost as if it had started to move. "Take my hand, become reborn and baptized with my blessing, and I'll let you loose on the heretics that will challenge our future. You need only accept me as your Sharmoot." She concluded.

Those topaz eyes never once strayed away from the antagonistic pair. The mer and the fox, both blessed with life everlasting, seemed to have their bravado and conviction wane under the realization of their predicament. The jezebel stood resolute, her profile marked by the hallmarked resting bitch face throughout the other's approach. While they strutted forward, Devante and Herbahn mulled over how things might proceed. Samara could feel them squirming internally, a fact that puffed her bosom with pride. She'd reach a new zenith once they put away their weapons and stepped forward. Samara extended her dominant hand while the other remained settled on her posterior. Hesitantly, the two immortals wisely bowed, having come to terms with their circumstance's futility. Providentially for these louts, the crimson menace felt extraordinarily charitable, so she'd pardon their lackluster opposition. "Good. Your potential is too great to see squandered." She added as her hand motioned for the duo to rise. Her eyes ranged over to Watari, who made his little remark at this time. Plump? The Nokhoi wouldn't understand beauty and grace even if it kneed him in the crotch. It figured that one spawned from the blood fox taste toward women reflected his proletarian palate. Outwardly, Samara seemed unperturbed; however, internally, her knickers were quite ruffled. The jinn took great pride in her magnificence and privately feared obesity. Their tete-a-tete was always quite unorthodox. If it were anyone else, she would have reduced them to ash. Watari was brave and foolish to test just how far that leash of tolerance extended. She'd soughed, ignoring the other's idle bantering before redirecting her focus toward the centaur and the felid peasant who had polluted her protege's feminine garden. Casimir gave off a most peculiar glow, a resonation of magic that, at first glance, resembled a jinn. However, after further analysis, it came off as a low-grade imitation. Samar was always quite tight-fisted concerning the dissemination of flattery or compliments. A little factoid the feline will soon realize. "Tell me, does your guise deceive most? Against the ignoble rabble and the blind, it must be relatively successful. Your existence is an effrontery to one birthed from magic. You're a crude and artificial construction stitched together by some sorcerer I'd wager, one who suffered from narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. You're no jinn, but you're also constructed from the latent flow of the arcane. You will tell me what you are, either publicly or privately." She stated matter of factly as Devante and Herbahn rose and looked at one another. Florentina glanced at her roommate with confusion, yet she said nothing. Her mighty hands ran up and down Lyra's back as she appreciated the faint worship the mare bequeathed. Somehow, despite feeling weak and flaccid like Watari's cock, her betrothed still admired her. The chiseled giant felt that odd sensation again, one that others knew as love but she regarded as an unknown experience. Her extra growth twitched from excitement as she visibly bites her lower lip to keep it from expanding. "I don't know, the party wasn't too bad..." She quipped. The blonde's joke forced Samara's eyes to look at the lovers. Her gaze peeked at the dangling flesh before roving to meet Lyra's eyes. "I forgot how the Jorgenskull like to dangle their private bits for the world to see. You must be built differently to handle that thing." Samara's words caught the attention of the diva, who stomped forward. The jezebel smirked devilishly while looking up at the muscular brute. "My my, I never thought I'd see the day the butcherer of the desert developed a soft spot. Don't worry. I'm not judging either of your tastes. I'm merely impressed that any lady has the grit to weather your barbaric nature and wild proclivities." Florentina balled her fist as those golden eyes peeked over at Lyra. "Congratulations. I thought I was powerful and influential. Yet, somehow, you did the unthinkable. You demonstrated that the giant has a heart. Young love is always commendable. I look forward to getting to know you." She spoke bluntly before gazing back up at Florentina and patting her thigh. "We may have been enemies in the past, but that's why I greatly respect you. I get the feeling we're going to get along swimmingly. We just need to work out the kinks." Flora visibly arched her brow from confusion. "You know nothing of me." She barked back. The jinn chuckles in response. "I know enough through your tactical prowess on the battlefield. Additionally, the eyes that betrayed Casimir betray you. Every life form gives out a subtle glow. Usually, it's faint and useless for combat or sleuthing applications. Most might term it a presence. You, however, give nothing off. It's the first dead spot I've seen. In truth, it reminds me of the defiled." She smirked before turning around and walking toward Watari—her hips and rear swaying with that fluid and graceful strutt. "Watari, your technique with women is as uncultured as ever. It's impressive; despite all this time, you're just as oblivious as you were back in the canyon. It is a pity to have conquered territories but never a woman's heart or body. If I didn't know better, I'd assume you were saving yourself for me. You're a cheeky little man. I'm afraid I'll have to decline your bungling advances. I'd be a shame to suffocate you with my plumpness. Something tells me your mother and sister would disapprove." She purred before running that spaded tell up and down Watari's forearm as her back faced him while she turned to face the others. Florentina stepped back to her broodmare as she resumed patting her back while she thought over that comment. What did the heifer mean by dead spot? Was Samara being literal or metaphorical? Whatever the case, she wouldn't cogitate on it for long. No, the atomic blonde needed to appear assured and decisive. "For being smug, I will lay with my wife on your bed, Samara. Maybe I'll teach an old cow some new tricks. It might help you and Watari out." She jested. Flora's sense of humor caused the jezebel to wiggle her nose. "Right. I agree Watari could use some sex education. But there is little you could teach me flo. Now, if you're done swinging your pecker around, are you good to go? Is everyone ready to leave? I don't mind offering some time to answer your insightful inquiries before I take the stray cat back to his foxy mama."

The great silence left much to the imagination. Samara wondered what great mullings had bewitched Roha? Was the vulpine grappling with the truth she so confidently aired? It mustn't have been an easy choice, but seldom are the ones most pivotal to our future anything but onerous. The expanse that enveloped the pair exhibited her earthly attainments. It broadcasted not just her affluence, but also her power and genteel love of the arts. A message that stood at odds with the barbarity the jezebel discussed so liberally with the Nokhoi.  Those golden eyes were despotic as Samara brooked the absence of a reply. The rumination of her guest was nothing short of shoddy form. She regarded it as rude to keep your betters waiting. Let alone one of the heifer's station. Roha tardily communicated her thoughts, her first words were judgmental. The jinn maintained her resting bitch face throughout it all as she stood resolute. Her posture was unwavering as she permitted the pup to speak.  A heavy sigh followed as the crimson menace wiggled her nose- an inflection that would elude Roha, but one that expressed her disatisfaction. She had given the child so much to weigh, yet she provided only the most lackluster of rejoinders. Why was it so difficult to find both good help and stimulating company? No matter, she'd be sure to reply without delay. After all, it would be most churlish to deny this infant her thoughts. Roha's fidelity and kiss had been stomached, only to be followed by her stern voice. "I just condemned your people to die, and yet you offer nothing in their defense? Sure, some will be redeemed and cleansed of their impurities. However, not all will experience my forgiveness." The bovine presented a bratty grin as she turned her back to the fox. Her bosom raised with pride alongside her distinguished chin. "No matter, the deed is already done. You can't hear it, but I can. I stand now amidst a valley of a million damned souls. My elect are onboard, likely confused by the sudden change in their environment. Rakata, Nokhoi, Shaitan and Bovinite alike. It's best if we don't let those left behind sacrifice be in vain. Mourn if you must; chastise me if it brings you an ounce of dignity. Regardless, come morning we start anew." Samara spoke with a heavy heart. The jezebel took no elation from what had transpired. "What a waste. Let their blunderings serve as a lesson to all. That potential not realized is the greatest of all sins. I won't stomach failure, especially as we prepare for the great war. Roha, would you like to meet the diva? The great tacician and butcherer of your people? Can you swallow your pride and work with someone who was previously an adversary? Would you be willing to die by her side or under her command if necessary? Or would your honor prevent you? Honour, a funny word. I never understood your kinds fascination with it. Tell me, what do honour mean to you?" She demanded.

A profound silence had taken hold of Roha. Long gone was the confidence of the Nokhoi, replaced by humility. Whatever imagery filled the vulpine's mind demonstrated itself as inconsequential. Samara had ascended; she no longer required her kind. The fact that the fox was spared the coming judgment was proof of her benevolence. That act of kindness wouldn't be dispersed so liberally. No, the province that rejected her couldn't escape their sentence forever. She had suffered indignity at their hands; the jezebel intended to end this cycle of insolence once and for all. Roha seemed content only to offer sparse glimpses via her body language. The stroking of the chin was either an indication of introspection or a soothing gesture. Whatever the case, Samara couldn't be bothered to extrapolate which. Those sols for eyes burned with righteous indignation, a glimmer that betrayed her otherwise tranquil deportment. While delayed, the little pup eventually chimed in. The acceptance of the jinn's doctrine didn't come as a surprise. Nevertheless, what stood out as intriguing was that terminal question. The bovine arched her perfectly groomed brow. Those plump lips bent into a devilish smirk. Indeed, what should be done about this nation of ingrates? What punishment could absolve them of their sin? Samara had thought much on this point, weighing a slew of potentialities and their outcomes. The conclusion she reached, while unsettling, was the only kind and moral route available. "Your endorsement was never pertinent. Regardless, it's pleasant that even one of your stock can witness the truth of our predicament. A quagmire I alone must navigate us through." There was a long delay—a pause accompanied by the pulsating of that lunar markings light. Its brilliance engulfed the room, its warm and exalted ray swallowing the fox. Roha might discover herself blinded, albeit for a second. And once her vision had returned, Samara stood confidently with her back, greeting the pup. "The defiled are not my true enemy. They're an impediment, a nuisance postponing the certainty of my triumph. Be it a year or ten thousand, my ascension is inescapable. I harbor the forbearance of a mountain and the willpower of stars. Still, leaving the door open for those carrions to delay my ascension is imprudent. Regardless of what you may say or wish, I and those under my employment and banner will be migrating. Those deemed wicked will remain in the doomed world they've created." She purred before shifting her head to the side and staring at Roha through the corner of her golden eyes. "The defiled will gobble them up. Their carcasses will become a horde that will besiege the living. There is no way to alter this outcome. A cruel mistress would abandon them to such a fate. I, however, am exceedingly compassionate and humble. I've set aside my wrath and will do what is best for those who still have a future." The jezebel once more grinned as those eyelids narrowed. A subtle shift in her profile indicated something fascinated her. "In death, they will be of use to the world. The scores of their dead will nourish me and my empire, their failure a beacon of hope that will maintain the faithful on the right path. Do you find this fate as repugnant? Why? Such compassion will not serve you well. If it's of any consolation, A life without regret is well-lived. I doubt they will think of their transgressions as they're purged from this world. The desert and its inhabitants were insignificant motes of filth until I graced them with my presence. Brood not; you'll be spared such a fate; all you need to do is kneel before the lioness of the sands." Samara pivoted, now facing Roha as she extended her hand for the pup to kiss as she knelt. If Roha refused, the jinn would honor her right to choose poorly. After all, such was the cost of free will.

Some regarded the desert as dead. However, from its carcass, something arose—an order unlike any other, helmed by an enigmatic sphinx. The final embers of a once great nation wafted within the void—a space between worlds that tethered all realities. There, within the ornate throne room, the creator lulled. A long bridge extended from a grand doorway. The edges were hugged by a line of guards donned in intricate armor as they held their magically imbued polearms. The spherical chamber resembled a snow globe. The glass canopy is the only thing separating them from a projection of the cosmos. The umbra of the twilight was only kept at bay by the light of the one who commanded this vessel.  The will of its mistress powered the artifact. A jinn who had reaped the power of a magical volcano to metamorphose into something new. The egg-shaped device propelled itself through the expanse. Its rings rotating as what seemed like engraved eyes peered athwart the darkness. On the outside, its golden body seemed small. But the inside was far more extensive as it held a world all its own. A disturbance has been sensed. A discharge of the arcane that, while far away, wouldn't take long to crash against her icon of power. Samara was calm, assured that her energy alone could shield them from its destructive energy. Its chaotic stream induced minor disturbances and fluctuations within the floating fortress. Those engineers employed under the lioness rushed to their station. Pandamonium gripped their hearts as they inspected their instruments and struggled to pinpoint the source of the phenomena. The whirling mechanisms supplied data, although the results of such readings paralyzed them with astonishment. The defiled were the source, a universal threat to the globe—a revelation made only worse by the magnitude of energy revealed by their investigation. The mechanics were busy running about, surveying the structure as they inspected it for damages. Meanwhile, Samara Del'Fluent remained perched on her throne. Her royal guard emitted a sense of uneasiness. Their mistress, however, was unruffled by the unexpected occurrence. The claret jezebels' deportment emanated tranquility even amidst the perceived hysteria. The lunar marking affixed to her forehead radiated its light as the jinn waited for the inevitable.  The doors to her throne room were flung wide open. A group of the eternal house's greatest minds stormed in, evidently flustered as they carried the documents of their discovery. Samara rose from her seated position before turning her back to them. She sashayed toward the edge of the chamber as her eyes peered into the cosmic backdrop. A moment of silence blanketed the room—a mode to communicate her unquestionable supremacy as she forced these experts to operate under her timetable. Those academics visibly stirred while the tension rose ever so gradually. "You're shaken and reek of fear. Tell me, is your conviction so weak?" The men froze at her words, their eyes glancing at one another before returning to the jinn. "Sharmoot, the data shows it's of defiled origin. The rupture is immense in scale. We theorize it moved across the entire world. Out there, it likely was just a flash of light. However, within the space between the pages, it created a tremor. Diagnostics showed that the structure is fine. The vibrations likely caromed off the surface. We're fortunate it didn't seriously damage the shell or internal components." The lead investigator added, his speech erratic and quick, divulging his accelerated heartbeat. Samara kept hushed for a few seconds. Her hands settled above her round rear as the fingers interlocked, the palm facing them. "The magnitude only seems considerable due to your ignorance and inconsequentiality on a cosmic scale. The reasoning for your fears is doubt. You conceive of limits to my power and, by extension, this station. However, there are none. My lamp was never in danger. You'd do well to remember this. The next time that I smell disbelief originating from you. I'll cleanse it away using my purifying steam." The men were confused, unable to understand why their mistress seemed unperturbed by everything. Unbeknownst to them, Samara studied their shifting from the reflection of the glass. "It's nothing short of astounding. I've invested much into your education and sector. It seems you've uncovered nothing that I already wasn't aware of. Perhaps we need a change in management? Or, you can return to your stations and pray I don't comb through applicants. Next time, do better. My mercy isn't without its limits. You'd do well to remember this and improve lest you face early retirement." The men rose, and just as they rushed out of the room, a courier ran past them. The messenger was out of breath, his exhaustion rating him no pity nor attention. "Sharmoot, Lady Myan says the light took her husband. It has been days, and Zelena just returned. She says the defiled are behind it and that the diva and others are caught within their world." The man's rasping speech was grating. But not as annoying as the advisor who stepped forward. His round belly exhibited his wealth and his gluttonous inclinations. "Sharmoot, I thought you said we had more time before they arrived?" His challenge was met with silence and stillness. The jezebel didn't flinch as she continued to inspect the heavens from those windows. "Riveting. The eruption of energy was sudden and lacked focus. This wasn't the defiled doing. Well, not intentionally. It must have been the artifact I sent Myan to oversee. How fortuitous that the diva and her husband were yanked from the material plane. I need all three of them for my vision to become a reality. And I can think of no better way to secure their support than to liberate them from their prison." Samara turned and faced her men. Her bosom swelled with pride while her eyes peered down at them. Those stellar orbs made all caught in its sight feel small. "Dispatch the order. Have everyone prepare for maneuvers and their battle stations. I'll chart us a course and follow the source." The jinn commanded before returning to her seat. The throne room was now vacant, minus her guards, as the others sent word and prepared for what was to come. Samara crossed her legs as she reclined and assumed control over the fortress. Meanwhile, those caught within the manor had grown agitated. Their minds were left to consider things that exceeded their understanding. The day's events likely sowed more questions than the answers they received. Florentina wouldn't admit it, but she felt powerless. If things were to devolve, she couldn't guarantee Lyra's safety. The diva swore to amend this, to discover a way to become stronger. Powerful enough to prevent this from ever happening again. She had to; what good was a war chief that couldn't safeguard her house? Lyra's concern wasn't well concealed. The observation of which caused the blond warrior's chest to deflate. While not the mare's intention, it caused her to feel unattractive. Florentina assumed a significant part of the equine's deification toward her was due to her strength and the security it rendered. Something that the two men had stolen. Those malachite eyes shot back and forth between the elf and the fox. Her fist balled as those muscles flexed. A heated air of defiance was ousted from her lungs as she wanted nothing more than to pulverize these men. Unfortunately, given their predicament, that didn't seem attainable. So Floreninta retreated into thought, desperately trying to conceive a way to break free from these shackles. "If only I were a better protector. Maybe then Lyra wouldn't feel so vulnerable." She thought to herself. That rumination wouldn't last as her focus returned to the present. Watari and Casimir had voiced themselves. The two seemed resolved to fight, even if pointless. She wouldn't admit it, but spectating such confidence in the face of inevitable failure stoked her pride.  Flora had fought many battles and underwent numerous evolutions. It would be unbecoming to die here or to balk from doubt while others ambled forward. Especially given she bore the history and future legacy of the Jorgenskull. The blonde regained her composure and confidence—a subtle wane that exemplified itself in the quietude, but one few might notice. She had to say something, and so the monk stepped forward.  "I couldn't care less about your secrecy and this echo. I care for my people, friends, and my wife. Anything else best stay out of their way lest I grind it to dust. Maybe you're all-powerful, and fighting you could be a waste of time. However, I'll be sure to make you feel unfathomable degrees of pain. So, prepare yourself for true agony or get out of our way. I have stuff to do and a broodmare to please." She proclaimed. Devante remained visibly concerned. His hand rested over the handle of his sheathed blade. The crackling of the fireplace and the light it cast across the gothic manor were the only stimuli that defied the atmosphere. Herbahn swerved his focus over to the princess. His eyelids narrowed as if the knife ear were sizing her up. Florentina remained steadfast in her resolve, meeting his gaze with equal fervor. The distraction, while small, was enough to present an opening. Where Herbahn's focus formerly resided, a ball of smoke materialized. The formless smog oscillated wildly as finger-like extensions flogged every which way from its core. A powerful gust ripped through the room, putting out the fire and knocking the utensils off the table. From that swarthy cloud, bricks fired every which way. The stone rectangles glued to the floor and wall as a great darkness swallowed everything it touched. The miasma pulsated a golden glow. The dreary architecture vanished as something new melded with the plane. A marble floor in a checkered pattern greeted them. Where the lines throughout pulsed a bright light from one end of the new chamber to the other. The walls were silver and gold, with cubes of obsidian protruding out. The ceiling gave way to a clear sky, where a lonesome sun shone down the opening. The floor reflected its brilliance as the spiraling haze exploded and dissolved into nothingness.  There, behind where it once orbited, a claret figure emerged. Her supple build was shrouded in a reflective leather-like material of gold. The fabric hugged her faultlessly as her matching heels collided with the floor. A spaded tail swayed while the lunar marking on her forehead twinkled like a star. The confident woman stood proudly in the center of the room. Her fiery eyes studied all in silence as her hand grabbed those broad hips as they flared ever so imperceptibly. "Pathetic. You wish to hold onto a monopoly of fear. I prefer it’s democratization." She hissed. Herbahn and Devante inspected the strange woman. They had located the source, but they were left uncertain what to make of the form it donned. "I'm the lord of this manor. You'll respect that. Now, tell me, who are you?" His drivel was expected and thus regarded as uninteresting to the ruby jezebel. "If one needs to proclaim their authority, they have none." The heifer chastised the boy as topaz crystals infused with her energy orbited her curvaceous body. "I have gone by many names, worn many masks. In one iteration of reality, I was a cobbler. In another, a general, a savant, a cook. I have existed within the deepest pools of the destitute to the most opulent halls. I've embraced a slew of names. Valeria, Yakora, Almalexia, James, Pint'ku. However, I fancy one above all others. Samara, Samara Del'fluent.  But the who I am is a precursor to the what." Herbahn was visibly frustrated as he sighed and rubbed his forehead. The elf raised his hand at her and shot forth an intense beam of light at the smug woman from the palm. The bolt hummed as it raced to its mark. Samara said nothing, did nothing, and showed no expression. And just as the attack should have landed, it stopped and remained suspended. "Impossible!" Devante whispered as Herbahn was left flabbergasted. The bovine didn't smile, grin or frown. Her profile marked only by her signature resting bitch face. "You mistake me for your weak flesh...." She paused before stepping forward and to the side before halting next to the projectile.  "You impose your own limitations onto me. You presume me to be your equal when, in truth, the divide is incomprehensible. Strike me as you may, but I do not end. My life has spanned not millennia but entire cycles of creation. Legions have sought to test me. The scores of dead nurtured me, their failure a beacon of hope that navigated me to my rightful ascension." Samara uttered before releasing the attack so it collided with the wall, refracting harmlessly. Herbahn and Devante both charged forward, the Kitsune sending a slash of violent fire at the jezebel as the elf gathered a cloud of dust and fired it her way. Samara did nothing; she watched as the explosive cloud and the flame connected, creating a blast and tornado of fire. The pair slid back as the fox smirked. Herbahn looked his way and nodded before looking back at the others. Without any pizzazz, the jinn stepped through the flame and smoke. Her outfit and body were undamaged as she stood in front of the pyre. "What pettiness fueled by self-righteousness. You are both masters, masters of nothing—blind insects scampering along my floor. Don't you see, there is no death, only fear, and I've become its mistress." The two prepared new spells as they assumed a defensive stance. "How?" Devante demanded answers. Samara glanced his way with utter indifference. "I'm immortal, not invulnerable. But don’t fret Devante, you're special to me, so I'll kill you last. That is unless you bow. I am nothing if not merciful. I'll even pardon the inconvenience you caused my allies. However, if you have harmed Casimir, I can't promise Myan will be so indulgent or forgiving. To defy my supremacy and learn that life without terror is as vacuous as an existence devoid of love." Samara ignored them for now and looked over at Florentina and the others. "Are you all fine? Step onto my floor and let us go. Whatever they choose, it’ll be quick. And time is a resource I would rather not squander so liberally..." She purred.

The precursor of both bewilderment and alarm were all but obfuscated. Roha, notwithstanding all their skill sets, was caught ill-prepared for the deluge of epiphanies that came crashing their way. The radiance of those stellar eyes was hard to miss. The child was being examined. Everything she said was subject to a lens of scrutiny. However, it wasn't just her actions being assessed, but also what Roha elected not to do. Both elements would facilitate the jezebel's want to size up the investment before her. Whether or not the pup was aware of it, the interview commenced the moment she strutted into the lioness den. Samara took her guest's prolonged silence as an indication that the nokhoi carefully weighed everything. A diplomatic measure, albeit one that may supply little solace. The jiin was a fair mistress. Regardless, her forbearance was infinite, and she had become proficient at spotting subpar investments. For now, the acquisition process wouldn't be deferred by Roha's ruminations. Time, while valuable, was a resource she could fritter. The bovine huffed, her throat missing that libation of choice. And while immune to its inebriating effects, she figured it to be poor form to keep partaking. The jinn wiggled her nose as those eyes of liquid gold pulsated. How unfortunate that Tahira had woefully neglected such crucial details. Her delinquency placed Roha in quite an uncomfortable predicament. Providentially for the apprentice, good help was hard to find, let alone employ. So she'd stomach Tahira's failure, making a mental note to chastise the elf once the two were alone. "So it seems. How riveting." She soughed before that spaded tail spanked the marble floor. The sun behind her divine image dimmed, alleviating strain from the fox's inadequate senses. The heifer sashayed around Roha as her overbearing presence stifled the room. The din of those footfalls was the only sound to break the silence as the lioness encircled the prey. Samara desisted the little performance after a full circle as she stood before the asset. Her bosom puffed with dignity while her hands settled above her round posterior. Those digits interlocked while the tail coiled around her broad hips. Everything was deliberate by controlling the extent of silence, and when it broke, it communicated the gap of control between the two. Subtle but effective. "You admit ignorance and yet parrot what little you know. It's common to fear change. But fear isn't inherently good, nor is it detrimental. Chaos, while beautiful, can't persist forever. To live life without fear is the same as to endure it without love. That was the most significant fault of your ancestors. They sought complicated answers yet ignored the simple solutions." Samara raised her chin as those solar eyes endeavored to meet Roha's own. "Fear ruled their hearts. The avarice of power guided their aspirations. And it invariably led them to ruination. Proof that illusions can indeed kill. Yet, I endured. And if you seek to do the same, you must glimpse beyond your narrow breadth of perception." A clicking sound echoed as the terrace way that had captivated Roha was sealed shut by a wall. "Their folly was the belief that the world and its foundations would remain. But, everything changes, this reality most of all. Even now, you cling to the notion of honor. Yet the nokhoi are slow to realize the inconvenient truth. There is no honor or glory in dying for a lost cause or advancing down a dead end. Your people followed your old ways beyond reason, infected by the cancer that is mindless patriotism. They paid the price in blood, stagnation, and embitterment. I once regarded the world through a similar lens, it served me poorly." Samara kept a still expression, her body language unchanging while she let a moment of silence slip for the pup to digest the gravity of her harsh criticisms. "But you already knew this or entertained it. If so, you're not like the other Nokhoi. You transgressed against your oaths; impressive. I'll speak candidly; the desert, as you know it, is of no concern to me. They're contaminated and virulent, but worse of all, lack discipline. As such, they have no place in my world."

Updated

The rank of peasantry still emanated from the flea-ridden mongrel. Roha may have been regarded as a patrician. However, nothing could scour away the begrime of destitution caked onto her body. The commoners would assume the two were of equal enough standing. What inanity. The divide wedge between the two was more significant than the space between heaven and hell. A truth that the vulpine shared, given the apprehension the fox aired. Roha's attempt at courtesy was appreciated, albeit bungled. The jezebel wouldn't seethe in ire. She'd chalk it up to the vixen's inexperience. Such forbearance truly stood as a testament to Samara's penchant for clemency. Those stellar orbs radiated a dim glow as she stomached Roha's ability to state the obvious. She was the second nokhoi the Jinn met who had an amplitude for such a riveting skillset. Hopefully this one would turn out to be a better investment than Sai. "How marvelous. Your ability to highlight the apparent would shame the most astute sleuth. Tell me, which part betrayed my heritage?" She spoke with heavy sarcasm. That spaded tail twitched as the temptress took in a much-needed sampling of her wine. "However, appearances can be deceiving. There is no longer a need to hide behind the mask. It feels liberating to be forthcoming about my being. I'm no bovinite; I'm so much more. To be more precise, I'm a Jinn—the first of my kind and the greatest. The creations you know as the bovinites are made after my image, one that I might add is above reproach." The wishgranter admitted with a grin. The lunar symbol attached to her forehead gleamed as she spun her wine glass using its stem. The jezebel sashayed closer. Her gait was as ominous as it was bewitching. Providentially for Roha, the mistress of sin saw little reason to vaporize her. The distance between the two waned as her imposing height was quite visible. Those golden eyes looked into the fox's own as she exhaled a puff of heated air. "Whatever idol you've constructed in your mind isn't enough to portray my glory. Chafe not, few can comprehend infinity." She voiced matter of factly before running her golden painted claws through her ashen mane. The crimson menace flung it back as it cascaded behind her bareback. "Ah, the game of questions. So be it, I'll humor you. Regrettably, however, I doubt the explanations will assuage your appetite for answers, not due to my responses but your comprehension level. Nevertheless, I'll strive despite the arduous endeavor." She paused before snapping her hand as the glass of wine faded into nothing. "You're standing within the catalyst of creation. My lamp, piloted and fueled by my will alone—the pinnacle of the eternal house's engineering and theorem wings. You could refer to it as an ark. I birthed a realm of existence to save those redeemable from the desert's current deficiency and dreary trajectory. Regarding your mentor, she and the others are now safe and talking with me. I know this will be hard to imagine, but I'm occupying multiple spaces and winks of time. These constants are equally under my dominion. It's probably best you don't dwell on it for too long. I'm glad to see Tahira has kept my secret. That, or you're quite the actress." The jezebel purred as her long tongue slithered from her lips. The piercing on it was visible as she wiggled it playfully at Roha. "Tell me, what lies have you been fed concerning my kind?" She finished with a question.

The vixen felt his release. Myan indicated no concern as she was confident the charms she had been gifted would eliminate the hazard of pregnancy. Gradually, she rose from his lap. Those fingers adjusted her dress and secured her top. The enchantress sighed while those nails diligently combed back her pink hair. Casimir's little quip was met with a shrug as she bent over and lifted the lighting fixture from the floor. It's glow had weakened due to the distraction. "Next week? I'll pencil you in for tomorrow. There is much we need to discuss." Myan was unintentionally vague. She presumed the rogue knew of her people's customs. The particulars regarding their union could wait. If the feline attempted to flee, her agents would track him down. He bore her mark, and she'd never share him with another harpy or permit him to escape. She learned from her past and desired for this relationship to work out. "Stand up, darling. I believe you came here to meet Lady Zelena. The distraction postponed that meeting long enough. I feel bad. I value punctuality. I suspect you aren't too resentful of the delay. One last thing, you gloat about this, and I will make everyone aware disappears. I have an image to maintain." She forewarned without an ounce of lightness. Myan would navigate to the adjacent room, where she stretched out her hand through a doorway. The dark passage was illuminated as the spiraling steps descended into the belly of the earth. Those amethyst eyes studied the man's face as she sketched her plump lips with that devious tongue. "Alright, loverboy. Head down there. You'll find the mistress of this tower in the room affixed to this staircase. She fancies her privacy and seems to prefer the darkness. It's a bit damp and muggy down there. Your feet might get wet. If so, feel free to join me upstairs afterward. I don't mind taking care of you." She added with a wink and a slap of his rear. "I would hand you the lighting crystals. However, Zelena would be most angry. When you meet her, refer to her as Lady Zelena and bow. And don't stare. She isn't fond of it—no clue why but you could add it to her extensive list of idiosyncrasies." The patrician stated with a chuckle. There she'd remain until he braved the darkness. Once he was out of sight, the sparse lighting would fade, and Casimir would discover himself alone.

Outwardly Myan may have appeared confident. However, internally she suffered from nervousness. What if there was a blemish on her body that nauseated the rogue? The enchantress feared abandonment and rejection. These were two adversaries that plagued her life since before her conception. Beris and Watari were two such examples. Nevertheless, the vulpine surrendered herself to this feline. Casimir was gentle. The way he explored her body was nothing short of deification. It seemed his quips were merely a mask to disguise his needs. Myan had always dreamed of this day when she would find herself a prince charming. Without fear, she surrendered herself to him. Their lips locked as their tongues intertwined and wrestled with one another. The fact that they were behaving so raunchy in Zelena's house may have heightened her lust—something the fox would never admit. Myan's athletic legs executed a split as she rested on the felid's lap. The warmth of her southern lips kissed his tip, announcing that she felt the same. The nokhoi dug her claws into his clavicle for support as she grunted in pain. That virgin veil tore as Casimir could feel her feminine canal gripping his shaft. The nectar of her maternal garden easing his entry as his girth stretched the seductress. A concoction of her blood and juices lubricated the scoundrel as any suspicion regarding her purity was removed. The siren wiggled, her exorbitant rear jiggled as her bosom bounced free from that top. Myan's perky mounds were fully displayed as her rose petals were erected from the thrill. The vixen twerked, sliding up his member before slamming to his swollen moons. A wet clap echoed. Myan maintained that airtight seal of a kiss lest she make too much racket. The shivering of her body exposed just how skittish she was now. One thing was irrefutable that the desert jewel intended to claim this man for herself.

That dashing rogue's eyes twinkled from adulation. Myan could feel his attraction beaming. Its radiation was most inviting and lolled the vixen. The patrician was coaxed into relaxation as the bedlam of emotions finally went hush. She had dreamt of this day, the wink of time when she'd experience her own story. And while not precisely like the novels she immersed herself in. There was enough commonality to induce a fluttering of her heart. There was little doubt that Casimir was a punk. The sort of rabble that would weasel himself to appropriate what he needed from others. The thought of being just another victim had entered her mind. Nevertheless, she'd through caution into the heated winds of their passion. If the worst case manifested, the scoundrel would discover himself angering a powerful woman—one who shared the same degree of villainy. The only real distinction was the scale and subtly of their relocation of assets to alternate accounts. The feline's hand crept further along her powerful legs. Those tantalizing curves beseeching the peasant to go just a bit further. Myan could spot his smugness. The churlish ruffian regarded himself as being in control. She'd suffer this illusion. After all, Myan preferred to rule from the shadows and manipulate others from a visibly lower station. It was only befitting that her love life wouldn't break away from this mold. Affectionately she studied Casimir's eyes while her thumb continued to caress his pinchable cheeks. Myan found him to a bew a gem, albeit a cloudy one. Who knows, maybe she could return that potential shine with enough polishing. An irresistible thought stemming from the books she often vicariously participated in romance from. Little did the vulpine know that reality can often be stranger than fiction. Those private ruminations wouldn't persist. The perdition gale of ardor whisked them away. Myan surrendered herself to its accursed charm. The nokhoi would sin again and again if it meant feeling treasured by a man. She had tried the nice girl route. It always resulted in unmitigated disaster. Her amethyst eyes looked for a solution, a road not yet spanned. And, out of all places, it materialized within this room. The pressure was no building at the base of their spines. An irresistible calling that tethered the two souls and guided them down to the precipice. The two stood at the edge of that bluff. Holding hands as they would soon take a leap of faith that would permanently alter the trajectory of their lives. Casimir was the first to jump, his readiness manifesting via the grabbing and squeezing of her absurd bottom. Those brown cheeks were silky, malleable, and jiggled due to the playful clenching. Myan reciprocated his gutsy tack. She'd lean into his, those painted nails scratching down his now exposed chest before undoing what buttons remained. The enchantress leaned forward, her tongue flicking the cat's right earlobe. Her perfect tail swayed from excitement as she purred and ousted heated air from her lungs. Myan's breath hit that wet flesh, inducing a most intimate sensation as she slides her fingers behind the brim of his trousers. Gently, she'd tug on them, gradually lowering their hold. Those juicy lips blessed the man with a series of kisses. She started from his cheek and down from his neck before returning to that ear. "Will you give your throat to the fox of the desert roses?" She questioned before walking on her knee and hovering over his crotch. That skirt dangling and shielding his manhood should anyone happen to sour this perfect scene. "Will you give your souls to her? As she will to you?" A final question before those arms moved up his body and rested behind his nape. Casimir was pulled inward, their forehead touching as she began to twerk her round posterior up and down the length of his member. Myan's cheeks squeezed it as if she was trying to stroke the degenerate off. There the two would remain, the loving maiden satisfying her mate until he answered. Any and all explorations were welcomed and would be met with zero opposition.

Myan often told herself she was the most pristine jewel across the provinces. Such self-praise was a mode by which she coped with the trauma of being abandoned by her father and brother. Secretly the enchantress blamed herself for their departures. Maybe they would have stayed if she had been prettier or a better woman. She had grown accustomed to being treated as an object by men. Her keen ears often caught the men of the village saying all manner of wild things. Casimir was different. The feline was obsessed, and who could blame the dolt? It wasn't often that one of his sordid line was graced with the unsullied virginal beauty of a regal woman. However, he hadn't a clue about her fortune or prominence. If he had, the thief would have second-guessed the path he trodded down. Curiously the fox veered her violet eyes over at the peasant as he followed her. That infatuation bred a smile as she appreciated the veneration. The unclean neko was in awe of her luster and appeared resolute to bask within her maiden glow. Myan welcomed his approach, watching inquisitively as the rapscallion's approach shifted. Whatever inspired this new stratagem was welcome. Flattery and acknowledgment concerning her magnificence would get the silver tongue devil everywhere—a fact she failed to conceal due to the broad simper. The placement of his pale hand onto her strong and mocha legs warranted a deviation of her focus. Why did it suddenly become so hot? Perhaps she should pocure a glass of water to slake that thirst. Regardless of his intention, the flowery vulpine suffered the effrontery. In most cases, such brass would have resulted in the removal of his hand. But unlike the other men, she was magnetized to this eccentric puerskar. That physical contact evoked a shiver as her nether region sprung to life, adding further mortification. The fox cleared her throat, only to have her eyes meet his longing gaze. An inferno billowed in those spheres—the eros of which Myan couldn't comprehend. Her breathing sharpened as he proclaimed his acceptance of her offer. She envisioned some waggish opposition. Could it be Casimir had fallen victim to her titillating hex? It was clear by his body language, words, and touch that the rogue was stuck within her orbit. Myan sheepishly averted her eyes as she rather kittenishly giggled before combing loose strands of her hair behind her ears. "N-now? But I'm underdressed." She replied as his purring reached her ears. Myan waved her hand to dismiss the motion as she buried her face in that freehand to hide away her ever-reddening cheeks. "Fine, I relent. I'm curious to experience what you define as fun anyways." The seated fox shifted, her skirt moving slightly to the side to expose more of her powerful legs to the ravenous tiger. Those amethyst gems peeked through the gap of her fingers as she studied the pale maverick handsome features. "You can stay by my side as long as you'd like. I don't mind the company..." Myan lowered the hand, smiling as she leaned forward and cupped Caismir's cheek. Her thumbs traced his lips as the air between them rose in temperature. The enchantress goads him along, unsure what to do next but to follow his lead.

The ravishing dame caught by the strong arms of a scoundrel. It was something out of her cheesy romance novels. The intimacy of this wink wasn't lost on Myan. Her shapely figure pressed against his tone figure brought a visible pause. The siren was utterly mortified. Her quick wit struggled to conjure together how she could return from such a blunder. Casimir's pale complexion and her darker tone contrasted, something her purple eyes quickly spotted. The two were opposites in virtually every aspect. Myan was a wealthy, educated, and mannered patrician. In contrast, Casimir was merely some reprobate of low intellect. No doubt the scoundrel felt rather smug given the hapless turn of events. The vulpine could only speculate what insulting thoughts echoed in his empty cranium. That misstep wasn't by design, but that wouldn't prevent the peasant from interweaving together some degrading narrative. Myan's luck with men was far from spotless. Both her father and her eldest brother had forsaken her. She pledged never to fall for a man that resembled them. Casimir, despite his myriad of imperfections, of which she could scribble them down for hours, was different. And as much as admitting it might make her wince, this distinction was most pleasing. Those thoughts wouldn't linger. A sense of uncomfortableness beset the seductress's heart. A question that once mulled over caused her heart to drum erratically. Why hadn't Casimir let go? Could it be he was waiting for her to make the first move? This entire business was exhausting and admittedly left the enchantress feeling tense. Instinctively her hands were placed ahead of her during that graceful descent. Myan's palms rested on his chest as that tail remained uncharacteristically motionless. She'd eventually lift her head to look up at his face. Was Casimir always this tall? A thought quickly plucked when she recognized the lout had referred to her as his "sweetheart." Oh, how she wanted to slap the man for such insolence. That impudence quickly swept away when she contemplated what followed. The nekomata said he would catch her, and true to his word, he did. Something so easily overlooked held great sway over her soul. He really was like one of those mavericks she often read about. Myan's amethyst jewels opened wide due to this epiphany. Those fluffy ears pulled back as she became visually nervous. What was she to do now? How was she to rationalize this discovery? The vulpine had him pinned as a churlish vagabond with a predisposition for criminality. But there was a genuine devotion and a mite of formality in how he held her. The glint of that internal wrangling was likely observable. A reaction that likely signaled the rogue to go for the killing blow. Casimir may have regarded himself as having the fox trapped where he wanted her. Myan would disagree. The way she saw it, she had found something worth marking as her own. Should anyone or anything dare to snatch him from her maws, they'd have to contend with her claws. It was then that she froze, leaning a bit back from shyness as the man inched forward. What was this idiot up to? Why the sudden shift in deportment and posture? The jezebel quickly pieced it together, which caused her to sweat from anxiety. He was going to kiss her! No! She hadn't taken a mint in an hour and doubted this commoner had the means for proper dental hygiene. Her reflexes kicked in as she reached between her bust, causing them to bounce as the hand rummaged. Instantly she pulled out a mint, slamming it forward and pressing it against his lips. Her finger wiggled their way inside as she enacted her plan. Myan then lifted her leg, sliding it behind Casimir so that it crossed behind his feet. She'd push, tripping him and falling with him. Once they had collided against the floor, the vulpine would huff and sit on his chest. Her tail smacked across his face repeatedly while her soft tush wiggled to get comfortable. "Y-You rascal! I don't kiss on the first date! What do you take me for a harlot?" Her face was red, unaware she had a slip of the tongue as she pouted. Myan's bushy tail rested on her lap as she combed it with her nails and looked away from the man. "The least you can do is take me out before trying to smooch me. I think I'm at least worth that much. I have been around enough men to know they see me as a trophy." A lie, one easily spotted given how she behaved herself while in his arms. A sharp eye could spot that notwithstanding her little performance, she was out of her element and inexperienced. Myan crawled on all fours away from the man, offering him a pleasant view as she moved toward the lantern she had dropped during the scuffle. She reached out before dragging it across the spongey floor. Once there, she sat with the fixture on her lap, her back still turned to the lecherous cat. "Thank you for catching me. I believe such chivalry merits compensation and praise. As your reward, I hereby bestow on you the opportunity to take me out on a date. If you wish, we can head to my ship at the dock and sail. And should you reject such a reward, I'd stress that it isn't wise or kind to toy with a lady's heart." She huffed as her hands shook from nervousness. She had never asked anyone out before. And the thought of rejection was a hard thing to swallow.

The stressing of her name caused those vulpine ears to swivel in his general direction. Good, it appeared the internship was working so far. Casimir had finally comprehended the importance of her moniker. Myan was cut from a different cloth. She stood well above the licentious and unclean "women" he often associated with. Therefore, it stood to reason a mite of respect was in order. Soon she'd have this ruffian eating from the palm of her hand. Secretly the patrician weighed over what element of her statement wasn't correct. Perish the thought that this kitten's guise duped her educated mind. Whatever mysteries Casimir portrayed, Myan presumed it to be a fabrication—a falsehood contrived for the sole intent of promoting intrigue to coerce the undergarments off his targets. After all, the maverick held no scruples concerning presenting his scoundrel nature. His proneness for underworld antics was hardly obfuscated. And lie as she may, there was no denying it had a certain pizzazz. The flurry of compliments did much to inflate her ego. Myan knew her worth, but seeing her lustrous rays reached into society's lowest crags was always lovely. Even within those culverts of utmost deprivation, her glory warmed the layman. Casimir's commentary about his unearthly origin was discounted, labeled as theatrics instead of the truth—likely another lyrical composition like the use of magnets to build up his mystique. Her erroneous deduction inspired the rolling of those amethyst jewels and a yawn. "Color me impressed. A peasant who knows a smidgen about the forces of our world? I can only reason that you gathered such knowledge by neglecting your duties. I can see now why you were fired." She spoke with a snicker while her inviting lips curled into a playful grin. "It must be of some creature comfort to know you could find work a silver tongue devil. I feel inclined to clutch my purse when you're around. And even if those compliments are meant to lower my guard. It doesn't alter the fact that they're self-evident." Myan lowered her head as those eyes met the delinquent's eyes. Her finger's trailed down before settling her palm on his chest. The lanterns in her other hand swayed as her bushy tail wagged from excitement. The noble froze as he insinuated spending more time together. The statement caused the nokhoi's heart to flutter. The contrast of that remark alongside his empathy regarding her plight was a rare flicker of kindness. Most men sought her fortune. They viewed her as a trophy to be flaunted as if her body were some promise land entreating to be conquered by some warlord. Myan didn't witness such intentions from this rogue. No, he appeared ignorant of the weight of her name. That, or Casimir forewent self-preservation to slake some unknown want. "Somehow, I doubt you would solely visit to check on my well-being. I get the feeling such visitations are far from one-sided. Still, there is something comical about the rabble hanging with their betters." She jested before tracing that claw against his pecs and licking her lips to wet them. "I suppose for peasant, you aren't too bad..." The closest Casimir had gotten to a compliment from the desirable vulpine. At that moment, she realized the purpose of the feline moving to her front. His suddenly commanding presence and bite may have excited the maiden. Myan was taken aback as he laid forth such an accusation. Her cheeks were reddening as her bosom inflated and deflated from astonishment. The swirling of emotions bouted from offense to arousal. The chaos quelled down as Casimir seized her chin and lifted her head. Those eyes opened wide as he was close, so close she thought he might have been as idiotic as to go for a kiss. Myan gulped as she strained to assemble some way to gainsay that unforeseen linguistical parry. "Me? Goading you? Your audacity exceed fathomability." She huffed before standing on her tippy toes to close the height difference. Those purple eyes narrowed as her tail shot straight up and froze in place. "I was merely trying to enlighten you on proper etiquette before you thrust yourself onto me! It's pretty clear your thirst wasn't just physical. I've been nothing but tolerant and accommodating. Such things may be labeled as a dame promoting herself in your circle. I bet you see me as a puritan incapable of enjoying herself. Am I right? Fine, let's spend some time experiencing your "fun," you will see I'm charming in all walks of life! That I'm graceful no matter wha--" Her words stopped. It seemed standing on her tippy toes in high heels was a mistake. During her passionate ranting, the fox may have leaned too forward and now lost her footing, falling forward. Time slowed in her head as she monologued a great deal, including a few choice words pitting blame on Casimir.

Outwardly the vixen appeared well-versed regarding this flirtatious tryst. However, Myan had never fully committed to the ruse. She preserved the illusion long enough to fetch what she desired, only to leave the men alone to sort out the deviant particulars. Casimir was a different case. He had no information worthy of extracting. No capital or alliance deserving of brokering. Nevertheless, he had one priceless commodity on offer. What she thirsted after was an invocation, a manifestation that might affirm her self-perception of worth. The vulpine held no compunctions with hyping up her voluptuous figure and titillating prowess. Her expensive threads to the faint application of that makeup and perfume. It all toiled as an avenue to propagate Myan's indisputable allure as a patrician. The same hex whittled away any resistance that Casimir might have offered. The enchantress required the finest of things. She loved all things rare and felt a penchant for claiming them from her own. Perhaps this predilection stoked her genuine intrigue in the proletarian pussycat. Those amethyst gems had been investigating the man while he was taken aback. Casimir appeared familiar yet exotic. His pasty complexion, those two colored eyes, and twin tails warranted her focus. Never before had she seen such estimable hallmarks. Indeed the ruffian was some genetic abnormality layered thrice. The more she scrutinized, the more she instinctively diminished her guard. And she held reservations about divulging her snooping sights. Myan's roving eyes would ultimately desist. The scoundrel's commentary brought on their cessation. It was an easily overlooked glimmer that he held some pull over the aristocratic fox. Naturally, if pressed, Myan would criticize such an accusation. After all, what sort of noble dame would even consider one so unvarnished regarding their indigent state in such a complimentary light? Her ears twitched as that bushy tail reacted to his words. It all culminated with those lavender eyes endeavoring to meet Casimir's gaze. A library? How could one of such a low-class feline have access to such a thing? Was he a helper? Or, maybe, a noble? Casimir did have a very fluent and eloquent ring to it. A fact that became clear as she repeated the name in her head. Whatever this man was, speculation alone wouldn't avail her. Myan could see that he wasn't the sort of fellow to blabber on about the details of his past. At least not intentionally. She averted her gaze, palm stroking the lamp she held as her nose wiggled. That temporary deviation of priority wouldn't endure. It ultimately waned as she shot the peasant a stare. "Attraction? By all means, elaborate." She pressed with a smile. "So, are you an academic of sorts? Because you're claims of being ignorant doesn't seem plausible. You ruined that chance of deception when you bowed in a semi accurate manner." She nonchalantly inquired. The nokhoi beaut positive her efforts to dig for more were destined to fail. Nevertheless, she saw little harm in trying. Casimir's little mention of his thirst was principally omitted. Myan wasn't his wife; she wouldn't fetch him any water. Providentially she wasn't without manners. The vulpine whistled as one of the servants dusting off the ledges turned and bowed before shuffling off. "Fret not, I'll ensure you're taken care of." That sultry tone made it challenging to differentiate between something coy and candid. Irregardless, that siren's call still was a welcome distraction. Myan puckered her lips as she narrowed her eyes. Casimir's innocuous comment about making time for oneself invoked a pause and visible shift in her deportment. When was the last time she did something for herself? Her efforts were often aimed at facilitating the reconstruction of her formerly great house. To resuscitate the Devante line, to thrust it into the limelight and the world stage. The fox soughed, her breast pushed against her tight crimson top. Thankfully, it held as the strain was reduced when that warm air escaped her lungs. "I haven't the luxury to invest in frivolous pursuits. My coffers won't grow themselves. And I have an obligation to my house and employees. If this is some attempt to wiggle your way into my good graces it won't work." She warned. Casimir wasn't dense enough to fall for such a superficial falsehood. The vulpine hadn't precisely repressed her longing for cajolery. Myan waited patiently as the uncouth lad stepped off to do as he was instructed. How refreshing to find someone who knows their place. Of course, she didn't expect the cat to succeed. She had watched his approach to the abode from her terrace. That gait had as much grace as a turzien's waddle. The dashing rogue stomped up the stairs as the servant brought the water. Myan motioned with her hand for them to place it on the table and to shoo away. When Casimir began to make his way down, he'd find the fox alone. She was a bit confounded. Why would he take the trek up when he could have moved to the vestibule? Unless he was some voyeur? A libertine that desired to glimpse down at her perfect yet perky bust? The racket of his footsteps inspired her large ears to flick as her amethyst jewels followed that uncoordinated descent. It wouldn't take long for Myan to notice he slicked back his unkempt mop. That observation invoked a lifting of one of her well-groomed brows. The patrician settled her free hand on her right breast as the man commended her. She fidgeted ever so slightly before presenting her pearly fangs with a simper. That smile lit up the room just as Casimir bowed. Myan assessed his posture during that gesticulation. Her mind scribbled mental notes on how to improve his botched form. She jolted as he circled her like prey, only for those twin tails to slither and coil around her waist. The vulpine was flabbergasted at that brass. Did he touch her? And what was this about "consequences?" Myan was as upset as she was intrigued. "Great, now I need a bath. Listen here, you rapscallion. I'm not some wench you can just lay hands on. You will ask permission and beg that I bestow such an honor on you. Furthermore, It's Lady Myan. I'm not your "sweetheart." And even if I were, if I wanted whatever you're alluding to now, then I would have it." She brattishly retorted before slapping her fluffy tail across his face a few times. Myan turned her back. She huffed before rolling those eyes and gliding her arm under her chest. "So be a man; let's see this alleged consequence. I bet you don't have the spine to go through with it. You're a poor little kitten that's all meow and no claws. You'd have to be delusional if you even entertained that one of my status would pollute herself with the touch of some low-cut feline." She'd turn to face him before closing her eye and wagging her finger. "How does that sound, Honey." She smugly kept her eyes closed and continued that motion for a bit.

Casimir's hypnotization by her magnificence was to be expected. The lingering of his gaze was exonerated. Myan took the flummox that transpired as a compliment—taffy that her value as an enchantress superseded the classes. The vulpine apprehended her worth. She was the desert jewel, the oasis lily, the enigma of the sands. She bore the ferocity of a nokhoi yet the gracefulness of a varenkun—an inalienable fact by her summation. The glint fluttering within that maverick's spheres was ephemeral. Nevertheless, the butterflies in his paunch materialized as the scoundrel spoke. The rapscallion may have been used to maintaining a disguise. However, Myan still glimpsed through the gaps to witness his more demure side. How effortlessly she could wheedle her way into this lowborn's soul. A part of the jezebel entreated her to play with him and see how quickly he squirmed to her capricious wants. A fire flared within those amethyst gemstones as she continued to apply the balm. That moment was oddly tender and genuine. An act of compassion that possessed the added benefit of showcasing her affluence. The vulpine got close to the pallid puerskar, amplifying that already ionized atmosphere. The ambiance was so palpable one could cut it with a knife. Nevertheless, such cordiality would ultimately abate. Myan's deceitful image likely conned the rapscallion. But it wouldn't be enough to slake her thirst to be worshipped. The nokhoi matron took a few steps back, delivering another mannerly bow as the poverty-stricken lad ventilated his gratitude. How bewitching. It seemed this troublemaker possessed an ounce of pleasantry. Myan had spent too much of her time reading romance novels. Her mind was already invoking illusions that he could be some errant prince feigning to be a peasant. She didn't honestly believe this fantasy, but it was entertaining. The fact her eloquently flamboyant top remained adhered to her bust might have been the most fantastical aspect of her charade. Conceivably it was enchanted, imbued with some mystifying element to rebut gravity. Whatever the case, the feline wouldn't be granted the time to dwell on such thoughts. After all, it would be tactless to remain silent after Casimir's botched endeavor at appearing proper. Those hummingbirds circled their mistress as she unhurriedly stood upright. Her eyes were shielded by the sealing of those lids, depriving the man of esteeming the enticement of their lavender tint. Casimir had stewed enough. Any further festering could only be described as callous. The diva opened her eyes as her pupils locked onto Casimir. The bottle of lotion once more was snuggly secured amidst the valley of those bountiful peaks. Myan's tongue sketched her lips, moisturizing them as she cleared her throat before retracting her hand and settling underneath her fleshly pillows for support. "Ah, yes. I suppose to some, this abode might hold a particular magnetism. I, however, favor less jumbled halls. The whimsical nature of this twisted hearth has long since vanished." She complained before huffing and waving her wrist. Those bright eyes rolled as she wasn't the biggest fan of this fungal edifice. "Casimir..." She whispered in that signature sultry tone while approaching. Those wide hips rocked suggestively. The sight of her legs slipping from her skirt and the din of her footfalls was an enthralling pageant. The feline would discover the fox within his orbit as she flicked his nose playfully. "It's Lady Myan. Or mistress." She kidded with a bratty snicker. The enchantress ran her painted nail down from his lip to his chest as she pushed Casimir back before walking on by the flustered peasant. The cat could see her bare back as that fluffy tail wagged with a sense of excitement. She would grab one of the crystal fixtures off the wall, using it as a light source, running her hand down its warm exterior. "Is it merely the humidity that has you sweating..." She not so subtly suggested before turning to face the man. "I'm here to overlook my investment. I represent the interest of both the Eternal House and the Red Sap. Nevertheless, I manage the house of the fox. You could say this joint venture hs taken up more of my precious time than I care to admit." She shrugged before letting out a defeated sigh. "Thankfully, concerning this debt you described. I can think of a way to brush it under the rug. I will take you to meet Lady Zelena. However, I can't risk you stomping in like a ysstmar and soiling my reputation. No, I am pretty fond of my image. When we head down, walk with your back straight, chin high, and shoulders relaxed. Your thumbs should gently rub against your leggings and opposite your walking leg. You will bow when entering, identify yourself, and say Lady Zelena. Now, let's...roleplay, shall we? Walk out and back in and pretend I am her. Don't worry, I'll suffer the slight to my looks." She jested with a giggle. The vulpine was curious to see if the man would play along or resist.

The peddling of her addictive spices lined her pockets with gold. The redistribution of capital facilitated Myan's plans. Samara was away cavorting within the court. It supplied the conniving vulpine time to meditate over contemporary happenings. The restlessness of her motherland was far from over. Nevertheless, the disruption quelled considerably and forecasted a stretch of equilibrium. Her bosom puffed from dignity as she rummaged through her ledger. There, secluded from the masses and within the security of her lavish accommodations, the glitter fox reviewed her books. Those bright eyes took in her recent "arrangements." And while not all investments turned out profitable, enough did to compensate regardless of her losses. Myan wouldn't be disheartened. She understood the risk associated with gambling. The return was substantial enough that she could skim a little off the top and fall within the mark set by her mentor. Some might label such a thing as embezzlement. Myan fancied the terminology of the relocation of funds to an alternate account. The enchantress soughed, closing the tome as she reclined back into her seat. Those painted nails combed her luscious locks before flinging her mane. Her beautiful hair cascaded down her back as it settled and drooped behind the furniture. The ambient rays from the binary sols slipped into the room through the windows. Those shafts of sunlight made the particles visible as they danced in the air. Myan would ensure her servants were berated for slacking on their duties. She was a hygienic lady and mandated a squeaky-clean living space. The legs of the chair scraped against the floor before she raised her apple posterior. Myan tugged on her crimson dress with gold embroidery. The fabric's material had a sheen to it and was risque. The habiliment exposed her cleavage; her body was moisturized with jasmine-infused lotion. The scent was enhanced by a light misting of lilac perfume that complemented the bouquet orbiting her buxom figure. The routine of beautification to enrich her already phenomenal assets was therapeutic. Myan abstained from going too heavy on the makeup, which was meticulously planned and pieced together. She applied enough to draw one's eyes to her best features while concealing blemishes. Thankfully, being the quintessential woman, the list of such shortcomings was few. Myan wagered she was the zenith of feminity--the apex of beauty across not just this virulent mire but the totality of the globe. Her renowned magnificence rated her the designation of the enchantress of the sands. A moniker that many might contest until beholding her luster for themselves. The diva sashayed across the study. Her heels resounded across the room as they contacted the floor. Those broad hips swayed faultlessly with that strutt as she approached a mirror. Attentively she reviewed herself for any apparent flaws and tidied up the most minute of imperfections. Myan's eyes eventually veered from her reflection. They gazed through the wooden lattices of the window while envisioning how the canyon faired during her absence. She reminisced over the bluster of that distant municipality. It inspired a smile as she was content with having a hand in its construction. The nokhoi were a prideful lot, and Myan was no exception. However, where she placed her interest differed significantly. She had seen a hole and plugged it, installing her rule as crucial for the success of the settlement. Watari may have had his muscles and philosophy, Matsumota her prominence and aptitudes with the blade. But what she brought to the family was vastly more subtle yet infinitely more critical--a penchant for the finer things of life and economic wisdom. This skill set enabled their reemergence and forged lasting alliances with their neighbors. Many of her kin regarded warriors as the most admirable vocation. A pity they didn't understand that the acquisition of worldly attainments was war itself. Their myopic insight had crippled their potential, but no longer. Myan was the remedy to their enfeeblement. She proved more than brawn alone was needed to build a strong foundation. The door flung open while she stewed in a pensive daze. A courier barged in, his lack of knocking earning the employee a glower. Dismissively she'd send him away with a wave of that wrist as the exhausted page placed the letter on the table. Once alone, Myan strode over and grabbed the parchment before opening it and reading its contents. The document was a report from the gypsies. They are a merry band of performers who peddled her products in exchange for a cut of the profits. They also had an accord to serve as her ears and eyes should anything disconcerting cross their journeys. Inside were rumors of figures moving in the dark and that of nomadic centaurs. Great for a tabloid, but not a wise investment of her time. She couldn't be bothered to investigate these boogeymen and regarded such a small yet distant tribe as inconsequential. The vulpine entertained if she was being bamboozled. If conceivably she had overestimated the gypsy's practicality as operatives? Myan shook her head before walking to the fire, tossing the letter inside to ensure it was erased. Once rendered to ashes, she'd step free from her study, pushing open the door that led to her terrace. There she'd water her plants and prune the leaves as she relished the fresh air. They were her babies, a substitute for the fact she hadn't found a deserving mate to start a family of her own. Myan wasn't ashamed to admit it. She fancied being alone more than settling for an incompetent partner. Never mind that this ritual brought much-needed solace. Once she had finished her work, she'd grab the banister and lean forward. Her bust dangled off the edge as she admired the fen's beauty. It all felt so small from up on her perch. The patrician remained visible to any passerby who dared to look up. It seemed she was lost in thought as her ears twitched to the sound of the fountain. She had so much, yet still hungered for more. And it would be here that Myan schemed, considering a slew of potential plots and outcomes. After all, a woman's work is never done. And she had no intention of settling for mediocrity due to complacency. Such a philosophical lens motivated her to accept her new appointment. The fox was to toil as a representative of the eternal house and the house of the fox. Her primary objective was to assist Zelena with distilling a new spice. To be more precise, she oversaw the finances of such research. Those lavender eyes watched as Casimir emerged into view and approached the fungal lab. The vantage point diminished the likelihood the rogue would notice the patrician. Providentially for Myan, the same couldn't be said for her. The proletarian was unquestionably a ruffian. The way the nekomata gaited divulged this tidbit. He had an ungainly gait due to his improper and undignified posture. How deplorable that something familiar would present itself in such an unacceptable state. Serdepitidously for Casimir, her present company was far from delightful to look at. Myan had spent her time surrounded by reptiles, amphibians, and those crustaceans. Who knows, maybe she could fix him with a bit of work. A challenge that brought with it a smile. Once the feline had entered the abode, the vulpine would depart from the balcony, securing the doors behind her. She'd once more move to that mirror, whispering as she performed one final inspection. She concluded with a final sprinkling of her signature perfume to keep away the mildewy odor of the swamp. The alien and antagonistic characteristics of this bog were undeniable. The dame was far from her element. The biodome was humid, which meant she'd invariably perspire. To most, sweating wouldn't be seen as such a big deal. But the preponderance of the populace were churlish and unclean—a throng of uncouth worms content to burrow in the mud. Despite the soggy soil, the regal humdinger prohibited the lowering of her high standards concerning fashion. She sported her high heels and acclimated to navigating through the marsh. Myan was far too obstinate to concede and too prideful and vain to subject herself to anything less than the highest benchmarks of footwear. She was convinced she'd flourish within this squalid pig pen. Or, at the very least, that's what she told herself while staring into the mirror. Now confident in her appearance, the pinnacle of sensuality stepped out of her room. Those thick and milky legs slipped into view due to the cut along the side of her long skirt. Their muscles flexed as she walked through the serpentine corridors to either snoop on or intrude on whatever was transpiring. The grand seductress navigated through its convoluted passageways. The fungal estate was far more jumbled in its construction than the residences of her ancestral home. It was almost as if the mushroom configuration was defiant, subject to the caprices of nature as opposed to architectural designs. Myan passed a few servants as she entered a spacious chamber. Her amethyst jewels admired the porous walls as she descended the steep staircase. The tight tunnel spiraled downward, resembling a twisted root. The steps varied in depth, which meant she had to be cognizant of her surroundings. Casimir would hear the din of those heels. They betrayed Myan's approach. It wouldn't be long before he beheld the enchantress materialize into the light and out of the tenebrosity of that passageway's. Her curves bounced with her stride, along with her volumetric hair. It was an easily overlooked detail that alluded to her pedigree and poshness. The vulpine's hand ran down the handrail, those painted and crimson nails refracting the sparse lighting. Whoever this sphinx was, it wouldn't be a stretch to infer she bypassed physical drudgery by how satiny her hands seemed. Myan continued her descent, those violet orbs peering down at what she assumed was a puerskar of pale complexion. A person with albinism? No, Casimir's eyes didn't bear that signature hue. She had never seen a feline quite like this one. How promising. The maverick's cries were heard, temporarily ignored so that she could make her totally not orchestrated entrance. Regardless, the silence would soon be shattered as her sultry voice graced the peasant's ears. "Ah, so Florentina sent you? How riveting. But before you get too excited, I must inform you that I'm not the lady of this...home?" Her right brow raised itself, almost as if questioning if such a descriptor was adequate for this alien lair. Myan rested at the foot of the staircase, her hands settling on her hips as she flared her elbows. Her moisturized canvas glistened under the pulsating of that artificial light. Meanwhile, her dominant hand combed back her hair as she stood proudly. Myan's hips arched due to the shifting of her weight. Her right leg slid free from the side of that skirt while she held no reservations about examining Casimir now that they were on level footing. The nokhoi stood five feet in height yet kept ten feet in distance in case he turned out to be some brigand. "My name is Myan Devante. Enchantress of the sands and the mistress of coin." She stated confidently before extending a salaam to the cat. Her bust dangled yet miraculously was held by that salacious top. She'd hold that position for a second or so before standing upright. That right hand fanned herself due to this cursed wetland's unbearable moisture and temperature. Suddenly a rainbow hummingbird soared into view, hovering by the siren's striking profile as she smiled—that countenance on exhibition as she delineated her plump oral rims with that tongue. It was at that moment she spotted Casimir's sunburn. Men, they were incapable of taking proper care of themselves. Myan sashayed, lessening the space between them as her movements were fluid as if choreographed. She desisted her walk as she stood within a foot of Casimir. "You poor thing. It seems I'm not the only one having difficulties acclimating to this swamp." She purred before reaching her hand between her cleavage. Those nimble fingers grabbed ahold of a small container before pulling it out. She'd then squeeze out the lotion, rubbing it between her hands before carefully reaching forward. "You got sunburnt. Stand still; this will help." Myan's melodious tone rang out as she gently applied the jasmine-enriched product across his sensitive skin. She may have omitted the detail that it held some glitter. Regardless, given his lack of alternatives, she doubted the man would care much upon discovery of that fact. The vulpine tenderly applied the liniment, her focus centered on his condition to the point that she wouldn't catch any odd fidgets or roaming stares he might surrender to. "Better. Now you even smell pleasant." She joshed.