Soot yelped as she was ripped from her prone form and into the air. Shouting softly and thrashing, pallidly plapping her fists against the earthenware warrior. The bag of paint dragging over her shoulder and leaving a colourful trail peppered with shards of glass. When Om spoke, Soot’s face went blank; the panic and fear gave way to confusion. 

Quickly she returned to her normal passive confidence. Fighting this thing: foolish, impossible, deadly. But talking? Soot could talk. Soot was great at talking. 

“I’m Not! Obviously.” Soot said crossing her arms and twisting her head around to look to the Host

 
Om looked down at Soot, quirking an eyebrow. “You threw paint on me. And a net. As I was about to arrest the most wanted woman in Sajkal. That’s clearly insurgent behavior.”


“Since when does a spirit forcibly bound to steel not understand that people don’t enjoy the company of their oppressors. I can't be the first random civilian to throw something on you from a rooftop” Soot was not the kind of person to stoop so low as to stick out her tongue, but it certainly felt like she ought to be.


“Whether you like us or not doesn’t change the fact that acting against us in any way makes you an insurgent.” Om says, her brow furrowed, a sour grin on her lips. “That’s part of the perks of being on team big, oppressive, stupid empire, I guess. So when did you start throwing nets onto Fire Wheels then, huh?”
 
 
“Roughly 30 seconds ago.” Soot replied plainly.
 

“I’m getting sick of saying the word insurgent.” Om bemoans. One of the perks of having four arms is that you can reach up and rub your temples, hold a sword, and carry a cute girl under an arm, all at once. Multi-tasking! “You’re barely even a criminal. I don’t even care that you’re a criminal. Ugh. Being an attack dog is sooooo grating.” More whining from the Host. Her big ears twitch. The thief queen is quick approaching. “Alright, whatever. Scamper off, little miss snake. Don’t get underfoot when I bring my blade against Bowlyn.” Abruptly, Soot is released to drop onto the ground!

The drop is punctuated by a small ‘oof’ as Soot and her bag tumble slightly. From the ground looking up, she stared for a moment starry eyes towards the huge host, ‘free’ painted against the night sky and the ambient lights of the city.  Her jaw hung slack for a moment as her mind raced. 

“... You really are quite stunning” She blurted out like the gay little disaster she was  lost in artistic thoughts of composition and pallet choices. “You aught to let someone paint you like this.. It says a lot more than how you are around the palace..” The painter trailed off.
 

“Paint me?” Om quirks an eyebrow, looking down at Soot, her dark red cheeks blushing just slightly pink. “You mean like–”
 
…
 
“...Around the palace?”