[b]Canada![/b] Nah. This is keeping up appearances. A display of majesty and power, soaking in the worship. But when that helmet shifts towards you, you see the way their limbs flex, as if they’re already beating you down. It’s a lot like setting out a cake and then waiting for the perfect moment to eat it so it’ll be special. They want the cake. It’s why they came down here. But the smoke is just smoke; there’s no satisfied, rattling sigh coming out of that helmet, no low, rumbling purr. It’s all a show. “Excuse me, Exalted One.” There is looming. An Annunaki has appeared on your right side, accompanied by a Lynx who is now on your left. “This humble servant of your sister-wife, She Who Turns The Wheel Of Torment, mighty star-cracking Ereshkigal, who discerns truth through her implements of agony and delight, must have a moment of your guest’s time to discuss the security of the city.” Shamash raises one hand. Everything stops. Prayers cease. Golden silverware (goldenware?) freezes on its way beneath veils. There is the crackle of burning meat and the sound of a lot of people holding their breath. [b]”I want her back,”[/b] the god says. [b]”[i]Unbroken.[/i] Not yet.”[/b] “But of course, most radiant master of the horizons,” the Inquisitor says smoothly. Fearlessly? With [i]conviction.[/i] Her hand on your shoulder is steady and chill by their standards (which means it feels like someone who was just outside in the sunlight). “I would converse with her. Little more.” [b]”Do not make me seek her out.”[/b] The hand is lowered. After a tense moment, one of the attendant priestesses makes an impatient gesture at the musicians and the feast resumes. You are pulled up to your feet and frog-marched towards a side door by an Inquisitor of Ereshkigal and her hunts-cat. On a scale of one to ten, how much are you making them fight for it? *** [b]Marianne![/b] The pathways of her secret heart are easy to slink down. Your flanks brush against black velvet curtains, and behind them is the sound of an audience, and the snap of camera-bulbs. An actress-in-waiting, then. The Annunaki took this from her, like they take everything and shape it to themselves. They do not ask their slaves what role they should like to play! They simply use them as tools to fill a need, yes. Mop the floors, little starlet! Now your shoulders graze the cramped ceilings of a high school. Ah, she is young. To have already learned how to hate! So exciting. Faces float by, rivals, boon companions, an intricate web that she remembers more fondly than it deserves. Anyone would, after being torn away from both its joys and cruelties, and— A flash of gold. She knew your Ètoile’s sister. An underclassman, an acquaintance. A fleeting connection. But one that might stir a softer heart inside you. This girl should be grousing about her job serving coffee, should be coming home to a beloved she-cat sleeping in the sun (who she has not seen in years now), not mopping the passageways of an Annunaki arena. Ah. Here. Squeeze yourself down into the residential cell. How it rattles and shakes and roars with the sound of chariots coming and going! Daisy holds her hands carefully around the flower growing from her chest, stained off-white. Her hands throb with smoke and fire. Anger chokes the roots, anger that curls into smoke and fills your lungs. Anger at the ridiculous dress codes. Anger at being taken away from home and pet and dreams. Anger at being disciplined at the whim of her spacey, careless owners. How dare they? What gives them the right to do this? *** [b]Set![/b] Read between the lines. Sit in a safe place (where, exactly, is safe enough for perusal of stolen messages?) and let the symbols carve themselves into the slab over and over again. [i]Our tempestuous sibling is to be rendered the respect they are indebted. Their word shall be your reward.[/i] If you screw this visit up, your ass is grass. If they come back and complain, your ass is grass. If they gush about their treatment, maybe you’ll get stockholder bonuses. We don’t actually respect Shamash, or at the very least, I don’t. [i]The high links are constant and certain in their movements. It is the low that are warm and likable.[/i] If Shamash is erratic and acts like a rock star, indulge them. Your job is to act like a slave. Pass the shit downwards if you have to. [i]Thus is the proclamation of Marduk.[/i] As interpreted by a secretary who took it to a Djinn so that it could be written down by another secretary. Wouldn’t it be interesting if that process was interrupted somehow? Regardless. This might be the perfect time to blackmail the Seneschal. Have Marianne show up in his office, threaten to disrupt Shamash’s stay unless certain things are done, and you could play him like a violin. He’d be [i]incandescent[/i] afterwards, but this is literally a once in a lifetime opportunity...