"I'm sorry," Ember says, pulling steaming tins out of her basket. The scent is buttery and rich. "I know you are probably [i]sick[/i] of rations, but it's what we've got." What else? The same thing they've been eating this whole time: crab upon crab upon crab. Crabs boiled, crabs jellied, crabs made into cakes, crabs made into candy, red crabs and blue crabs and green crabs and yellow crabs. A black one, a white one, a pink or purple one. What else would Poseidon provide for provender?[1]

She's wearing lace and doesn't quite know how to wear it. Her thick hair peeks through, the sleek beach-blonde hair designed to repel water and to retain heat in the void, the hair that she so often shows off under her warrior's silks. At least she knows how to wield a brush and a pen like knives, doesn't she, Mosaicbella?[2] All that training as a scout and operative means that she's able to bury her discomfort underneath alluring smiles, sharp wing'd eyeliner, and an offer of crab legs to break together and dip into the crab sauce[3].

She leans back, one hand on the checkered Cloth of Love spread out upon the grass[4] and watches that crab with the intensity of a knight ready to fight. But she's already fought, hasn't she? Not just in shooing the Horse away from the basket enough times, but on Portugal. If she were to close her eyes, she would still see herself leaving herself open, touched by the madness of Dionysus that screamed: the only way out is through. And it was, and victory is hers, and here she is in white lace and pearls at her throat, and Goldie's done her hair in wavy curls framing her cute royal face.

This makes sense, doesn't it? The reveal. The gods descending from on high to declare that a mysterious warrior with no past is in fact their descendant, destined for a crown, capable of defeating heroes and monsters alike[5]. That she [i]deserves[/i] to be equal with Mossabella.

"...do you prefer Mosaic or Bella?" Ember asks, softly, her thumb working firm circles on her finger. Her ears are low, and she is awash with Sincerity, her eyes moist with the instinctual seduction of the forward scout working on a target. There are many ways to get the measure of someone, and a kiss is as good as a fight, and if she's a demigod too, maybe she'd give as good as she gets. But a fight's as good as a kiss, too, if it comes to that.
[hr]
[1] And it was difficult enough keeping this away from the Horse.
[2] Bellasaic? Mosabells?
[3] Made from real crabs!
[4] Red and white, a board for making careful moves towards victory, and each plate of isn't-she-sick-of-this-now crab is one of her tokens.
[5] But it's unusual for [i]you[/i] to be the god, too.
[6] Why is she thinking like this?