"Harkin...yes..." Hissed the slender form in acknowledgement, not really paying attention to anything he or the Master of the mutants had to say, far too busy watching the death of [i]her[/i] creature at the hands of the super-human warrior from behind her multitude of veils; she had known for quite some time that Raoul was serving only his own interests, that he was mixed up with both the owner of this establishment as well as herself, but to see him broken and flung away like so much weightless garbage was both alarming and titillating.

Beneath her flesh she could feel a warming sensation as she watched, feeling a familiar hardening of excitiment within her underwear - what their was of it anyway - as her eyes attempted to follow the shape of the moving and stationary Astartes, a shiver of lust that was not merely sexual running up her spinal column and her mouth becoming drier than a Tallarn summer.

"Harkin," she repeated a moment later, turning her full gaze on the misshapen creature before her, "I would like you to remain close by me, and keep your eyes open, for now; there will be much use for you later. Mark my words." A moment passed, a moment of thought, and she was moving, dismissing the rest of the mutants back to wherever it was that they sprung from, "let us go and speak with these enchanting fellows."

An Astartes, a scholar and a drug addict by the look of it - all potential servants of Slaanesh, and all capable of being twisted to his will.

Meanwhile, gazing intently from his balcony, Trant gave a slow and appreciative nod of his head - his tentacle tightening on the metal and a thin sigh escaping from between his sharpened teeth - "so be it," he spoke to no-one but himself, "let the pieces fall where they may...for now."

[@The Whacko][@Lord Coake][@BCTheEntity][@Keepvogel]