The first battle was of Hell. The second was of Dominion ambush. Han survived a third, down in the murky depths of the barge’s dressing rooms. 

She hides the scars from none of them.

The handmaidens bested her in the bath; her skin is on the right side of presentable, freed at last from mud and ichor, and soothed with the finest of soaps. They negotiated an uneasy truce in the mirror; not the royal, regal treatment of other honored guests, but an understated dusting of powders and colors, softening the features without excessive work. At their suggestion, a few glittering, red scales adorn the corners of her eyes. Her hair falls long down her back in smooth, silky waves, contrasted by the sharp collection of accessories they’ve woven through the front, where she demanded her eyes be freed. But the outfit. She had saved her strength for that last fight. A vermillion robe patterned with gold dragons hugs her body tightly - enough to keep up with her movements, without impeding them - broken up only by a sash made up of two formerly-attached sleeves. Her arms alone stand bared in the company. See the sickly, muddled bruises covering them. See the hasty bandages, and know the wounds were from demon blades. See, around her neck, an angry red line, forked and cruel. The best shot of the Dominion, and she stands unbowed.

Or maybe their best shot was yet to come.

It’s not fair. It’s not [i]fair.[/i] Give Melody her space, you rotting bastard. Filthy, smirking, Dominion [i]snake.[/i] She can smell the stinking wine in your cup. How dare you force her to sit so close. You never even asked her. You didn’t even pretend she had a choice. She’s been through so much and now you make her a hostage without blinking. Because that’s what this is, right? It’s a message. A dare. A [i]challenge.[/i] See where your little Melody sits. See what you can do about it. See you cause trouble now, with the deck so stacked against you.

Again. Run through the numbers again. At least twelve legionnaires she can see. There were how many, earlier? It was dark, raining, she wasn’t really looking. They have to be close, of course. Can’t be that big a ship. Time limit. A pile of time limits. How long to clear the table. How long to close the distance. Melody, there, but also Giriel, and between them-Nghh! Her lungs fill too deeply. Her side burns, threatening to come apart. Wilting wrack-dolls, curse them! She should’ve been able to endure a thousand of those thorned things. Should’ve just been a bruise. Stupid demons. Stupid Dominion. Come at her on even ground, see how smug you are then. 

Gods. How long was it since she’d seen a proper bed? Since she ate something she hadn’t just grabbed off a bush? Everything smells so good…

Hold on, Melody. Just, hang on. She sees you. You’re not alone here, and she’ll figure this. Uh. She’ll. She’s gonna. Figure.

Red Wolf takes another swig of wine. Melody winces from the smell, pursing her bright lips. Even from so far away, the flickering lantern light dances across them. In Hell, there’d been the green sun, and so much fighting, she hadn’t. Noticed. Thought to notice. Red. Not red. A…better red. Deep. Smooth. Glistening. Cupped gently by precious gold. It’s, painted, of course but, then, why does it look so. So…

(Inviting.)

Wait, no, hold on, what is she doing?! She can’t, bad look! Bad look! Eyes! Look at her eyes, you stupid idiot. She doesn’t need one more person ogling her unveiled face. Eyes are safe. Gold and red and glittering every time she flutters her long eyelashes and what was she doing again? Right, right. Give her a firm nod. She can’t reach her, not yet, but she’s here. She’ll find a way out of this, little bud.

Somehow.

“Yeah. Lucky us.” The cheer is forced through gritted teeth. “Only way we could’ve been luckier is if [i]none of you’d ever came.”[/i] She reaches for a pitcher; sobriety and sanity weren’t gonna be pals tonight. Forget dulling her wounds, she’d need it to survive the company-

A hand falls on her arm, careful to avoid the bruises and bandages. The slave girl, stopping her, looking insistently at her for some reason. What now? Is she not allowed to drink until the host is finished? Is that the wine for the third course? Is it actually butter meant for the sweet potatoes?!

Can’t she even get a stupid glass of wine today?