Dolly’s hands are folded neatly in her lap, ankles just as neatly together. When she shifts, which she is doing her best not to do out of concern for the huntress that carries her, she keeps them together. Her eyes linger on Whispered Promise’s face, but her lips are shut. Her jumpsuit clings to her curves, and who is to say whether Jade has adjusted it for her, or whether she knows herself dressed in tatters barely clinging to her frame?

[i]”Well, Dolly? Are you?” Jade leers over Whispered Promise’s shoulder, looking insufferable. She has pivoted like a predator-goddess. If she cannot defeat her rival, she must act as if their alliance is obvious and effortless.[/i] It is almost enough to make Dolly roll her eyes. Almost. But Jade is supporting the back of her head, and her nails are running along the sensitive scalp, a reward for a good girl.

“Mmhm,” Dolly says, nodding. And then, because it’s just the two of them, and because she’s defeated, and because it was Mira who saved her from the Red Band: “‘h hhnnssn’d,” she continues, squirming a little in those warm arms, lips pursed, wrists unable to rise from her lap (not without tugging on a very particular rope). “‘h pmmss, Mrrr’h. mh [i]n[/i] h’gfffsss,” with a demure nod to Jade, whose grin‘s corners are close to literally meeting at the back of her head. Then she lifts her head — [i]Jade lifts her head[/i] — and shamelessly — [i]wonderfully shamed[/i] — she nuzzles right into that milky river running down Mirror’s front.

And then they step out into the revelry. Streamercrackers pop overhead, raining ribbons down on the crews for batting hands and snapping jaws. Members of the cult, with knowing smiles, crowd in to congratulate the blessed huntress who was given the gift of victory by the goddess (who must, naturally, be smiling upon the victor), and to play with the curls of their priestess. Further muffled squeaks and purrs are difficult to make out over the popping, the laughter, the music playing out of portable speakers. [i]Even when Jade hooks a little finger under that rope and gives a wicked little tug, gleeful in how Dolly’s eyes cross for a moment as she tries desperately not to embarrass herself in the middle of the revelry.

Of course, that’s only the start for Dolly. She doesn’t yet know that Nines has obediently set up a pole inside of the tent, or that Smokeless Jade Fires intends to seal her alliance with Mira Fishers by having her bride perform for both bands of huntresses. She has no idea that once the flaps are closed and they have some privacy, Jade will try using holoemitters to show the chosen elect the regalia of the high priestess, as well as the reason for her silence.

You will be shown this, Whispered Promise, as a sign of alliance and as a gift to you. You will be shown, Seven Quetzal, as a reward for your loyalty and as a punishment for losing. You will writhe around the pole, linked to it with chains of shadow, gagged in the colors of the goddess for the fortunate to see, showing off the flexibility and the obedience that you have displayed for the entire tournament. And you will meet eyes with Whispered Promise, who laps at melting ice cubes, and let out the kind of groan that will have Angela Victoria Miera Antonius looking away with her darkening cheeks in one hand.

Your dream will come true, Dolly. You will be as objectified tonight as if you were in the hands of the Red Band, but you will be safe in the hands of your goddess and your new mistress. And your performance will be remembered by everyone fortunate enough to attend.

You dreamed of this once, little gardener, beneath the sheets, tail swishing, fingers tapping on the keys. But you do not know it, not yet.

You will shine as your goddess sees you shine, dearest.[/i]

[The performance will be an [b]11[/b] to Entice. Those present who are appealed to may offer strings and reactions to the Bride of the Goddess.]