Of course it is. It's both: the highest confidence and the thrill of possibly losing. It's [i]the statement. The implication. The refusal to admit that defeat, that being touched without permission, is even an option at all. The growl in the throat at the thought of waddling up to the Red Band in a body that is built for defense, that admits fear and recognition of their capabilities, and[/i] the thought of dancing through missiles and cannon fire in weightless space, of being the stealthy huntress that the goddess deserves, of showing the Red Band what it feels like to be ambushed unfairly, of having to rely on Jade completely for victory, and the knowledge that if either of them failed they'd end up in the hands of a jilted pirate, and the very threat gets her pulse racing, and [i]because, now, backing down would mean weakness in the face of an ally, would mean acknowledging the trickster's cunning, would mean losing.[/i]

"That is the kind of body we desire," Dolly manages to say without melting into the cushion. "One where there is no room for failure. We know the stakes, um, ma'am, and... we want to prove that she, that we, can still win. That we can pick when and where to fight, now that we're not in a tournament. I believe in her."

[i]"And I, in you."[/i]

"Also," Dolly blurts out, leaning forward as much as she can, "ferns. Embossed? I just think ferns would be a lovely motif."