"He's not a threat," Bella says with lazy disinterest as she threads her legs through a thong, "Until I say he is."

The muscles in Bella's back are tenser than the cables running through the ceiling above her. If not for the rippling across her bare skin every time she stretches forward for something it would be easy to assume she'd been carved out of a very large gemstone. The subtle traces of barely visible white lines slash haphazardly across her back where various Masters and Instructors couldn't be bothered to fully wipe away the signs of their lessons. Here and there they seem sharper and stand out more clearly, and when her shoulder blades roll back together those fresher lines knit together to form a pattern. The rose looks meant for her flesh; no other back could bear its beauty.

She draws a sharp breath through her nose. Her tail curls tightly at the tip before it lashes aggressively around her knees. She plucks a skirt off of a hanging wire, and then all at once her body unclenches. She sniffs again. No fear smell, here. She sighs, and pulls the lacy fabric up around her hips to the narrow band of her waist.

Black and white, her colors. So black and white her clothing today, as well. As always, since her mission began. Satiny layers of curling black fabric flutter unevenly against her legs, short enough to expose the better part of her left thigh while long enough to brush the ground at her right on the outermost layer. Each line of fabric is trimmed with an intricate white lace frill that naturally draws a wandering eye down the length of her leg and back up the bare fur to marvel at the wide black belt with the golden laurel buckle she fastens before she's even selected a shirt. 

Her ears bend to the back of her head with every beak click and soft crunch that signifies the Captain has squeezed or opened her fists again, seeking for the sounds of the squish of boot on carpet or (more likely) the whistle that signals [i]'precision'[/i] to her removal from Lorventi's precious hierarchy, but nothing comes. They wiggle delicately atop her head as she slips a soft and warm looking black shirt up over her outstretched arms and then all the way down to tuck in around her belt. The bare sleeves dip open around her shoulders to show off more of her prized white fur, and the flares around her wrist are trimmed with still more prim and proper white lace. 

She reaches up and gingerly lifts her braid and its ribbons up from underneath her shirt collar and tosses the shimmering masterpiece of her art carelessly down across her back. Her golden eyes gleam in her reflection in the closet mirror. This is a good look. The princess will like this look. She'll remember, when she sees it. This time, she'll remember who her real friend is. Although...

She reaches one final time and pulls out a stiff white corset with pearl fastenings. With a deeply practiced care that no one ever notices, much less praised her for, she squeezes it around her waist and delicately clasps each opalescent catch into place until, with a tiny suck of air, she finishes with the one just underneath her breasts. She smirks at her own reflection, and the prominent treasures she's put securely on display. Yes. This time for sure.

"But you're absolutely right about the Princess' little band of misfits. I couldn't agree more, Captain. Nuisances, the lot of them. Troublesome? Absolutely! Why, I'd say they're a bigger obstacle to our mission than anything we've run across so far, and that includes the leviathan."

Bella steps into her boots with a jingle and saunters across the room to the table where her jewelry lies waiting for her. She slides her talons lovingly into place on her fingers. When she turns to face the Captain, her face twists into a sneer.

"Them, I've got no use for. 'Removing' them is my will exactly. And I know just which one to start with..."