The ball is heavy in her hand. Her muscles strain with the effort of holding it, though only seconds ago it felt lighter than the air she'd been breathing. But now that air is stale, thick, and dry. Her tongue feels like dense sand inside her mouth, so strained that she can't even swallow. Across the length of the table, the target hoops shimmer and wave within her vision, as though trapped in some great basin of heat. 

To her left, Lord Hades stands and watches. He has nothing to say; he is helpless to let these games play out, because they are sacred to him. But whether he minds seeing his treasures taken through the mechanisms meant to defend him is impossible to tell. All he seems to say or care about, in the end, is that the seriousness of the act be understood. At least, that's how it seems to Bella. The real test is not succeeding at the rituals, or even deciphering their true meaning. The real test is looking at a god, and telling him you intend to take what is his and carry it away from his domain. 

To her right, Redana is beaming, her hands held up against her chest and clenched into fists with the excitement of it all. In her, there's no sign at all of the sudden change that has come over the temple. The air she breathes is cool, is clean, is fresh. She does not sweat or sway. Her eyes sparkle with delight to see her... girlfriend? Her girlfriend. Her [i]girlfriend[/i] create a miracle. Her eyes between them have seen so many miracles there's not a trace of fear or doubt to be found inside of them. Her smile is as light and easy as her laugh. What is this place, really, but a gift? Redana Claudius has no reason to fear the Olympics. 

One ball left. After all the cards and dice, after watching the innumerable games of chance pass by and the tickets pile up, it came down to this single ball. If she scored at all, from what she'd seen, they would have enough tickets. She can see the arc of her lob traced across the air even without focusing on it. Put the ball in Hades' ring, and end it. Slow, steady, cautious. No risks. Take only what you're given, Bella, that's the law of Servitors.

"...You think [i]that[/i] was a good shot? Ha! Watch this!"

She watches Hades as she releases the ball. Her lips are pressed thin in defiance and determination. One gold eye and one crimson affix Him with their stare. Meanwhile her throw seems to float through the air as if suspended in some sort of Azura gravity well. It carries with agonizing slowness marked only by an imperceptible whistling as the atmosphere gives way before it. There is no apparent speed to it at all, not that she can afford to take her eyes off of Lord Hades to watch it herself. Bella's ears twitch to tell her the story, instead.

Slowly. Inevitably. Her toss hurtles its way toward the tiny and impossibly shifty loop marked for Gaia. It catches the lip with a bang far too loud for how fast it was travelling, and rattles around the outside once, twice, three times... four. There it teeters, a single shocked gasp away from falling in. Or out. From victory, or defeat.

Bella's fingers curl tight until the tips of her claws press against her skin. She releases them as soon as she feels the jab, only to curl them again without thinking about it. Her tail cracks behind her with whiplike intensity, her old signal of an incoming attack. A single bead of sweat rolls down her neck to tumble carelessly down the valley between her breasts. The ball rolls, choosing its fate (and Bella's) at last. Even still, she does not turn to watch.

No looking back. That's the law, if you want to steal from the Underworld.