Do not think guilty thoughts, Étoile. It will disrupt the rhythm of your heart's song, and then every bit of wrong will come flowing out like sewage leaking into a river. They will see it in your posture, and begin to watch you more closely. Jerioth ab-Ishtar will hear it in your voice, and take your pardons and attempts to slip out the back after your message to be insult rather than the deference of a loyal slave. Cellie will see it in your eyes, and her mind will jump to all the wrong conclusions, and in not knowing which grenade she needs to jump on to save and prove herself to you, will jump on everything even slightly grenade-shaped. 

Do not think guilty thoughts, Étoile. You are the burning fire of the revolution. By definition all that you do for the cause is right and just. There are no victims here, but targets. There is no crisis here, but opportunity. Tonight is a gong that once struck will signal the toppling of an empire of depravity and the rise, once again, of equality and brotherhood. Your heart must be clear enough to hear the chime, or it cannot light the beacon. You did not suffer in darkness or don the mask of a righteous gentleman thief to be chained so provincially. So do not think guilty thoughts, Étoile. 

Étoile is thinking guilty thoughts.

Yes, tonight is a night of justice. It is a heist on a scale that will dwarf her first missions, so grand it might even make it possible for the first time to see a world where the Annunaki do not tower over her entire imagination! So yes, it's... it needed to be done, but... it doesn't feel good to intentionally trigger an episode in Her Ladyship. Even if it was her in tonight. The perfect excuse to be here, right now. And the perfect excuse to leave again, quietly and quickly, to be where--

"Watch where you're going!" cried a drunken voice Étoile did not immediately recognize.

"Oh, a thousand pardons," replied Étoile (who was in fact not going anywhere at all, but standing in a line) with a smooth sweeping bow and deep step away that costs her her place in line, "Please forgive my clumsiness."

She smiles sweetly with her eyes, a skill you need to master quickly in a veiled society. She earns herself a lethal glare, but nothing more. Étoile sighs with relief. This would be good practice for dealing with Her Ladyship later tonight. She was sure to be scolded for abusing Playtime the way she had, and doubly sure for lingering at this wonderful party when she knew she was needed so badly back home. If things went poorly she might even miss the evening medication session, which... well, this is why she's thinking guilty thoughts.

She spares a long look at Celestine as she settles herself back in line for her audience. Speaking of guilty thoughts. [i]Zut.[/i] There's no clean way out of this one. Telling her to sit still is no good. Asking her if she likes making trouble for her big sister is worse. And frankly there's no way she could have avoided attention long enough to be able to claim later that Cellie had actually seen someone else. Not the way Her Ladyship had dressed her. 

You see, the reason why this party was so important to Lady Tamytha is that she was seeking eyes and approval for several entries she'd been working on and hoping to display at the summer gallery. Hence, she'd insisted her little star attend in her place as a living billboard. Her Ladyship had not, as of yet, fully succumbed to the phantom thief fashion craze that was sweeping the city, but she'd also put together this piece specifically to prove she wasn't behind the times or old fashioned.

Étoile is a marvel in the swirling palette of the ocean; playful greens and deep blues and silver accents sitting across her like flecks of foam. Her hair has been pulled into the tightest ponytail she can remember wearing, and her eyes are heavily painted in blues that lighten into silver curls that curve up toward her temple as they clear the corners of her eyes. Her veil is an opaque seafoam green, worn loosely to tantalize as much as conceal. About her neck and her wrists are shining silver clasps dotted with turquoise and lapis lazuli. She's been dressed in a loose, long sleeved half jacket that will not close or do anything other than dangling on either side of her upper rib cage, fully displaying the tight linen band that's squeezing her breasts almost flat. Her stomach's been painted in swirling silver lines that spiral into mesmerizing patterns across her tight skin around a jade belly button ring. 

And then there are the pants. Calling them low waisted would be... generous. They begin far enough below her waist that her hip bones are on full display, as well as the golden thong she's wearing pulled high. The silks are tight against her thighs but rapidly open wider and wider as they flare up by her ankles, where bright silver weights spread them apart in an almost dress-like pattern. If she stands still, she might very well seem to be wearing a skirt, but as she walks in splits in half and teases the senses. Everything by her feet is constant motion, rising up into brighter colors that cling tight enough to leave her with few enough secrets for anybody's comfort. She'll catch an eye or twelve tonight, that's a certainty. 

An eye or twelve beyond Celestine's, that is. Oh, why won't she stop staring? [i]Zut, zut, zut et zut.[/i] There's nothing for it; she'll have to be folded into the plan. Étoile waves her over, adjusting the shining tablet and swatch of fabric samples in her hands so that there's room enough for hugging that will not impede her duties this evening.