[b]Chamber Of Harmoneous Arrangements[/b]

Piripiri's gaze rakes over the banquet hall as she primly slides the glove back on, smoothing out any wrinkles. Any hint of pity is matched with furious, arrogant scorn: how [i]dare[/i] you? The glare only softens for Azazuka: she'd rather her not have seen this, at all. All the while, her head's racing. The witch claims that the scribe's a divine vessel, who bound the General. The scribe countered with, well, the truth. You can use the truth to lie, she does this all the time. Three daughters of dragons, a demigod, a witch, a scribe who might be host to a celestial god, two demons, a merchant princess, everyone else wants something. Giriel isn't resisting and the slaves know their jobs. She's not needed here, and she'd like some distance.

She turns to Lotus and offers an arm. "You seem like you may need some air. Would you like me to accompany you to the upper decks?" A crook of her free fingers sends Three Bells along, collecting food from the kitchens that wouldn't collapse outside of the dining room and up to meet them above. And then not a rout, but certainly a retreat at speed, from the attention. Past the legionnaires, currently gently but firmly escorting Giriel out, out the door, and around a corner.

Take a second, and. Breathe. Shove everything down. Emotions do not get shown.

"My apologies about that. I do not like showing that I was hurt." Every word is enunciated slowly and deliberately. Another deep breath, and then more casually. "I also worried you were upset by the demons in the room. My brother is an Imaculate: he's told me that they do not take kindly to the gods or those who serve them. The top deck does have a lovely, if small, garden. If you'd care to join me?"

[b]Kalaya[/b]

The last of Kalaya's wounds are treated. The masked woman tucks away the much emptier salve box inside her medicine chest (no thumbscrews in sight), pulls out a bandage, and starts wrapping your chest, quick, businesslike movements. Maybe not a soldier? She seems to know what she's doing, even if she's rusty: her hands speed up as she goes, like she's remembering some long ago tutor's lesson. Like you might, if you had to go back and play the harp after leaving the tutors teaching you how to be a princess for the path of the sword. Regardless, those calluses are all wrong for a pike or anything with a crossguard.

She finishes your undergarments and opens the door, accepting a bundle of dark cloth from a guard. Turning to you, she shakes out a robe in Dominion colors. "Would you like me to dress you in this?" Her voice is a murmur, barely heard. "It's what we have. No strings." The masked woman glances at Agata for confirmation. Well if there was any doubt who was in charge, there isn't anymore.