[b]Silsila Om[/b]

Silsila marveled at how one nominally competent--hell, she [b]knew[/b] Birsi was competent, she had fought her herself--woman could wind up compromised, badly, three times in a mere half day. It was like she was cursed to run afoul of hot, malignant ladies who wanted to change her whole style and wrap her around their fingers.

Was it strictly necessary to have Birsi on her lap to apply makeup? Not quite. Did she need to personally bend her over the sink to add those bright red dyes to herr hair? No. Did she [b]have[/b] to whisper into her ear, "Stop wriggling or I'll wrap you in so much silk I'll have to carry you to the 78 Heavens myself, with everyone staring and trying to decide if I'm carrying a girl or a carpet. Your fat ass will give it away, obviously, but it will take them a minute." Absolutely not. But something about Birsi just seemed to invite it--not even to mention how pleasant it was to put one over the guard. It felt like a comfortable reset of their relationship.

[hr]

Silsila strode through the streets like a queen on promenade. The Fire Wheels' nightly rampages were barely challenged, least of all Om--if enterprising citizens were fed up with the drunken looting and flagrant harassment, the infamous attack dog of the brutes did not a desirable target make. Hurled insults were silenced with Silsila looking in the noise's direction with a stormy expression of dismissive ire--any citizen brave enough to say something else when the infamous host's burning eyes was on them were practically Fire Wheel material anyway.

...But now they were on the edge of the 78 Heavens, uncharted territory, the roughest part of town when the Fire Wheels weren't messing up the equation, and Silsila found herself slowing down. That thrill of nervousness ran up her spine, fingers dancing worryingly at the hilt of her sword. If someone picked a real fight with her, was she going to be ready? She had been completely off balance since her clash with Birsi earlier today, and wasn't sure she trusted her sword arm.

"If we stomp up through Cart Street, everyone and their mothers will see us coming." She said after a few moment's hesitation. "And the gatekeepers will need to make a show of being tough on us. Can't just let in Fire Wheels without at least pretending to put up a fight. I know a side path--its just a little hole in the circus wall. There will be one or two watchmen, tops, and hardly any crowd. Let's try that and squeeze inside."

[hr][hr]

[b]Birsi[/b]

Well then, that whisper certainly got her to stop struggling during the makeover process, a not so faint red crossing her face as she tried to pass it off as just being insulted. It didn’t work on anyone, but Birsi continued to fool herself anyways. She was silent as one of the Alsamt, the slave girls who prided themselves on being so heavily gagged and padded that they didn’t make a sound. However, Birsi told herself that things would be different on the mission, she would be in control once more.

[hr]

Okay so she was not in control in the slightest, and she was 90% sure she was barely acting like a Fire Wheel. Every fiber of her body was fighting her urge to be respectful, proper, and most importantly… Properly dressed. She felt exposed in her outfit, having to every now and then run a hand across her bare arms to simulate the feeling of having something covering them. Her eyes kept darting over to Silsila for subconscious tips on how to improve her ‘performance’ as a Fire Wheel, and her best attempt at being one got her insulted so heavily that she just awkwardly stayed close to Om until they arrived at the 78 Heavens, the guardswoman swallowing nervously as she listened to the Host. “I see- I mean, Just Great…” She forcibly hardened her tone in a rough manner, sounding less like a steel edged tone and more along the lines of jagged rock. “So let’s go through that place, come on then.” Goodness this was so difficult to maintain…