The gods have long made themselves clear. Others pray. Others make grand ceremony and offerings, and even ask the gods for favors aloud. But this is not for Bella: her ceremonies are flawed, her offerings are unworthy. Her voice is not to speak the names of the divine, only her body is pleasing to them. If she wishes for the favor of Apollo, she must lead. For Artemis, she must hunt. For Aphrodite, she must... Bella squeezes her eyes closed and takes the deepest of breaths to center herself. Her nostrils fill with the wafting aroma of gently sautéed steak in sage butter and mushrooms. The warmth seeps through the plate into her palms as her new high heeled boots clack across the marble floor of the Pantheon. Only here does the [i]Anemoi[/i] permit sound. She sniffs again, and her mouth waters in spite of how far short it falls of the memory of Ambrosia that still follows her every waking moment. She solemnly walks past the many altars and kneels before the statue of Hera. She sets the plate down as carefully as if handling a priceless treasure, and slides several steps backward on her knees. It's been so long since she's cooked for anyone. "It isn't right," she says with a soft voice tinged heavily with regret, "This ship doesn't believe in spices. I wanted to recreate... if I were back on Tellus, I would have made it better. But still. For you." A moment passes in the gentlest sort of silence, the kind that seems at odds with the oppressive quiet that permeates the rest of the ship. Bella lifts a hand to the soft, loose braid on the side of her head that marks where the Queen of the Gods' fingers touched her and runs her own across the plaits. Her ears twitch excitedly atop her head. Her tail flicks with merriment behind her. Her red eye glints as it catches the telltale threads of the presence of the divine, and her face breaks into a wide smile. "The reorganization of the ship is going well, by the way. Lorventi's gonna be pissed if she ever drags her ass off that infirmary bed, but that doesn't matter anymore. The lanterns are free and productivity's up across the board. I've got this place running smoother than the Kaeri could even hope to... ahem." She quickly casts her eyes toward the ground, but the posture of her tail betrays her sense of pleasure anyway. Through the scent of her own inept cooking, she picks up full bouquets of flower scents that fill her with a calm more powerful than the stars themselves. Rose and crocus and jasmine, lily and lavender and orange blossoms, and still more exotic fare that nobody had seen fit to teach her the names to, though the Auspex could now, if it cared to. This is a scent that demands humming and lullabies, that makes her fingers bend with desire to reach out and braid hair, the absolute safety of the garden where even the things that wished her harm would at least wait for her to leave. "For as much as she was a moron, that pirate woman had her ass parked on an incredible wardrobe. Surprised any of it fits. Do I have you to thank? Never worn pants before. It's... I like it. This whole time I've been running around chasing old memories that weren't worth three floggings. But now, thanks to you, I understand what I'm supposed to be. Watch over me, Protector. I'll make you proud of me, I promise." Bella bows so low her forehead touches the ground, then rises in a single motion that sees her pivot on her knees. Her ears perk and bend toward the sound of shuffling among the shadows and a clicking that reminds her of her camera. She scowls and sniffs the air again, and then all at once relaxes and rolls her eyes. "Whatever it is you're up to, Mynx, keep it to yourself."