Wine is brought in abundance. Faster than blinking, the trays come filled with samples for her perusal and approval. Which ones do you like best, Praetor? We shall have the vintage sent to your ship. By party's end, the [i]Anemoi[/i] will be a vessel worthy of hosting even Empress Nero's festivals. You shall never go wanting again, Praetor.

Here, this one is strongly acidic with grassy notes: it was made to aid in the digestion of complex meals. This one was developed for the rites of Bacchanalia; the sweetness of peaches compensates for the extreme tannin content and high proof, making it easy to consume large enough amounts to enter a trance state. And here, our meditations on the nature of wine. This was produced from fruit flash frozen and harvested within a single hour, this one was fermented while being bombarded with sonic waves to emulate the cosmos. We harvested star metals from the sea of space and placed them in the barrels for this one. And this one is...

Bella's eye goes wide as the liquid passes her lips.

"Flowers? This is made with... flowers?"

And indeed it is. A contemplation on the nature of gardens and growing things. The Auspex identifies lilac, lily, lavender, yeast, and sugars. It's sweet. Far sweeter than she knew wine could be. The chilled liquid slides down her throat with absolutely no protest, and sits in her stomach as quietly as water. In fact, it calms the other wines inside her. Her fur smooths out across her arms, her ears stand attentively atop her head. She licks her lips, and snaps her fingers.

"This. This one especially. Fill the ship with it. I don't care what you have to remove to make it fit, just do it. Although..."

Bella's gaze slides back to Vasilia. Her Auspex glares powerfully in the lights shining down from the ceiling as it absorbs everything there is to know about the other cat. Height, weight, muscle structure, bone density, augmentations, how long it's been since she's eaten. This time when she smiles, there's life to it. Her teeth are sharp and pristine as her tongue darts across them. She takes the tiny sampling glass and swirls it.

"We will not have it said."

"That the Empire lacks for hospitality."

"Drink."
"Drink."

Bella's talons are cold and crude on Vasilia's face. Her grip is strong as it is insistent. She takes the other woman's jaw and forces her face up, and presses the glass to her lips.

"Open."

"We don't want to ruin your, ah, party dress."

"Wealth of worlds, must be."

"This is a gift."

And she pours. The wine is sweeter than honey, and even the sharp taste of alcohol underneath it is barely noticeable under the sensations of tranquility and flower petals wafting on some sort of incredibly careful breeze. Both Bella's leer as they watch, waiting for the motion of the throat that means submission.

"You've got the wrong idea about all of this," she smirks, "You're not a brave, resisting hero holding out to see whatever miracle's supposed to save you."

"You're... oops, there goes another one! Your crew's looking rather, mmm, [i]thin[/i], don't you think?"

"You're a prisoner, you little dumbass. It won't kill you to act like it."

"Might kill you not to!"

"But now..."

Bella's strength is miraculous. She lifts Vasilia off the ground with such ease that it seems like she's lifting a child. When she twirls, the speed of it is almost dizzying. There is strength, and strength, and strength enough to crush anything, but if anything is scary about the display at all, it's how that power is being used to be so delicate. She places Vasilia deftly down onto her feet, still in chains, sets one hand on her shoulder and the other on her hip. 

When she looks up to take in her rival's eyes, there's only a hint of irritation there. There's a flicker, and it's gone.

"Now, we dance."

"This [i]is[/i] a party, you know."

Bella dips Vasilia down low, leaning deeper and deeper until their heads are nearly touching the ground. Pressed as close as it is, it's easy to feel every curve and contour of her body. For all her power, she's not a thing of muscle and steel the way a certain Princess is. Bella is [i]soft.[/i] From her fur to her curves, every part of her gives off the impression that she was tailor-made to be touched. Her sharply predatory grin feels wrong against that softness.

The music swells, and Bella turns her power toward dancing. Step, two three and, [i]twirl[/i] two three, and lean two three, isn't this fun? Her tail lifts and curls with amusement behind her as she leads Vasilia off the dais and around the room. Together, they are a whirlwind of refinement. Slow and sensual, Bella parades her prey in front of everyone assembled. Here she pauses to show her trophy prisoner off to a group of Hermetics. There she spins just so, so that Vasilia's gaze can't help but linger on Epistia's captured state unless she turns her head and closes her eyes like a shy maiden. 

"Still waiting for that dramatic turn?" she chirps and hands her cargo over to her opposite self.

"Still think this is gonna come crashing down on us?"

"If it does~"

"We'll make sure it gets you first."

"That's a promise."