[b]November:[/b]

[b]Green:[/b]

A frictionless flounce is not what happens. 

Remoil carries her own scars from being an Everest Daughter, and unlike you she had no other parents before her. Spare a thought for Cinderella’s stepsisters, who only ever had the wicked stepmother. Cry for Judas. 

Remoil is a woman who has had the importance of [i]hierarchy[/i] drilled into her bones deeper than marrow. The pearl-clutching fascist motto is thus; One may gnash their teeth at the truth of it, but one can never escape it, never destroy it. One can only ever know their place, and pray. 

Look at that flicker of quiet, desperate mania in her eye. That loathing, that disgust, her hatred and her fear. The fire is doused, like the jet of a welding torch disappearing beneath a bucket of ice water. 

“Even now, I cannot escape Mothers’ old things.” She sighs, coolly. “Just when I was starting to relax. Yes, I could do with a drink. A Cygnus would be kind, heavy on the mint.” She stares at you a second longer. “And when you come back, stay close. I don’t like the idea of you being out of my sight.” 

She makes her way to the ship’s lounge, alone, with neither friends nor associates nor security detail. The shuttle to Thrones is about as safe as modern air travel, and Thrones itself is a gated community with one [i]hell[/i] of a moat. But look closer.

That cowl, sculpted to her slender neck, studded with gems? Not just a fashion statement. You bet it could hold up to a swing from a crowbar. No wonder she couldn’t turn her head to notice you. Her shimmering dress is tastefully discrete scale mail, clicking like cockleshells where it sweeps the floor, and her overwear corset is a shining cuirass which probably only [i]looks[/i] like white gold. No weapons, couldn’t smuggle that through security, but this ensemble must have required a [i]lot[/i] of advanced notice for her to have made it on the ship.

The ensemble of a paranoiac who needs a security detail, but is incapable of the trust needed to maintain one. 

Her makeup is impeccable.

[b]Blue and Yellow:[/b]

“A walk through the park sounds perfect, and you’re clearly dressed for it” Crystal says. “I’m sated for now, but a walk always builds a healthy appetite.” 

“More incorrigible than insatiable. The limits exist, she simply ignores them” Fiona remarks. “[i]I’m[/i] the one who’s [i]sore, [/i]besides.” On reflex, Crystal wipes the corner of a lip with the back of a finger.

“Attenborough Park has a light trek, I believe. Some out-of-the way waterfall with some flat boulders to sit on. Cute lizards as the only company. Unlikely to be overheard. Perfect, if you’re up for the walk?” 

Fiona starts tapping on her phone. “Let me just call in a favour.” Her phone dings. “You can get the trail closed off, if you need some privacy. Mostly for teenagers or very eccentric adults. Just don’t advertise it, and make sure you drop some credit at the ranger’s station on the way out.”