Iris takes Jasmine’s hand with her free one, ensuring the princess is there and not subject to the continued clammy grasp of this girl in the process. The more she stands near Gimi, the less she thinks she can fully keep herself this composed around this girl. The unwashed smell that wafts off of her, the clamminess of her hand. It was clear this girl had either little access or time to care for her hygiene to the extent that the sultan did, and her scrawny form made her wonder how well-fed this girl was. The stumbling, excitable noises she made [i]were[/i] certainly charming in their own way, and Iris could find something cute about them if she could see past Gími’s faults. In fact, if she washed her up and gave her a meal or two, she’d be charming in her own way, buuuut maybe part of her rugged appeal was [i]because[/i] of her sm-

[i]What?[/i] No no [i]no no [b]NO,[/b][/i] Iris nipped the thought before it could blossom, she would NOT entertain the idea of any sort of feelings for this poor, unfortunate… scrawny… sweaty… flustered…

“This seems like a rather sizable task, hm. Thank you so much for getting us here, Gími, but I’m afraid we’ll have to ask for your help further. If you can help me up this pillar, perhaps I could help pull up my friend, Jasmine, from above once you help her to the top? Neither of us are quite cut out for the guard or fire-wheels, but I probably fare a better chance helping her than vice-versa. Just… give me a second in private to limber up, if you would be so patient.”

Nahla walks around the opposite side of the pillar, stretching out her legs, tugging on her arms, the sound of fabric rustling as she drops into a deep squatting position, holds it, and stands up. A staggered pair of footsteps, and she walks back from around the pillar, hands pressed together at her midsection and face cherry red.

“Alright, if you would help me up first, Miss Gími?” As the urchin approaches her, she leans forward and takes her hand, nonchalantly placing something in her hand and leading it down to Gími’s pocket. Something silky, some bunched up fabric, and it’s warm…
“Some collateral, until I can fully repay your kindness,” she whispers. A quick lift of her mask, a peck on the cheek of Gími’s oily face, and another lipstick mark is left, this one bisected with half on her skin and half marking the edge of her veil.

“…and please try not to look up too much.”