[b]Silsila! Birsi![/b]

The Vo siblings start out cheering for their Host and telling Bratty Birsi that she’s going to [i]get[/i] it. That they’re going to make those kisses [i]extra[/i] sloppy, just for her. Mele even starts applying the lipstick on herself, trying to distract the House Guard with exaggerated movements and smacks of her lip.

But it doesn’t phase her, and Om doesn’t immediately pound Birsi into the floor, and some of the energy bleeds out. “What are you [i]doing,[/i] Host,” Emissa complains, frowning and folding his arms. “Hit her already! Are you going to win or not?”

“Fire Wheels are on the line here, so if you don’t win, Ekh is going to make your life [i]hell,[/i]” Mele hisses. And she’s probably right! If Birsi wins, four people are likely to be punished; if Om defeats her, just the one.

But, oh, how well that one can fight!

[hr]

[b]Soot![/b]

That’s it. You’ve got it.

Part of it, at least.

Ruz is vain, for all that she is cunning and capable of hiding her emotions. She’s given you your choice of subjects and told herself that you’re going to make good work no matter what, but in her heart she selfishly wants you to reaffirm that she is the most worthy model in the room.

But from the way she almost smiles at the clumsy slave, how she drinks in the moment with a sip from her glass, how she very carefully considers her next move and whether or not the dancer deserves punishment… well, perhaps she might enjoy a [i]private[/i] commission. Something to hold onto, something for her to remind Grace-of-Heaven she’s immortalized this moment.

You are an interpreter of beauty, of moments, and of bodies. If you wish fine rewards and Ruz’s favors, interpret these things in a way that flatters her and cements her control over the young Sultan.

But what will she learn from you, when she glances at you, when she sees your sketches? [i]What are your feelings towards Grace-of-Heaven,[/i] Soot? Do not think you can hide them from the Vizier.

[hr]

[b]Nahla![/b]

“[i]Best???[/i]”

Grace-of-Heaven awkwardly covers herself with one hand and pushes you off of her with the other. Her acting is surprisingly good, or perhaps she underestimated how mortifying it would be to be exposed in front of her guardian. She grabs your long black hair, near the scalp, and pulls you up.

“How [i]dare[/i] you? In front of our [i]esteemed[/i] guest? You stupid girl, you, you…!!” She lets out a strangled scream and stamps one foot. (Was that a chuckle from the Vizier? Perhaps she’s glad to see the Sultan acting childishly.)

“Ma’am,” she says, hotly, “please excuse me. I need to discipline this, this [i]barbarian[/i]. [i]Myself.[/i] Best assets… what a horrible thing to—“

“Without giving her a chance to make amends?” Ruz lifts one hand, and Grace-of-Heaven sputters. If the Sultan’s forced to go too far off-script, she might flounder. “Dragon-daughter, what have you to say for yourself?”

But this is good. You can salvage this. She’s still thinking of you as Grace-of-Heaven’s girl, not an ordinary palace slave, and she still thinks of you as an exotic barbarian. If you are haughty, just the right sort of impudent, she’ll let Grace-of-Heaven drag you off and then likely ask to see you again at a later feast.