[i]Bingo.[/i]

It's a special feeling, you know? To have someone in your arms, to feel safe enough in them to let go. 

Of course, she's only too happy to feed her friend--to present morsels at his mouth, to hold them out and let him eat out of her hand.

Food's a dangerous tool, you know? 

It's like food has a magic all its own, right? You can tease, play, let it dance in front of their mouth before they finally get to nibble that dainty bite. And of course, if those muscles tense, if those shoulders tighten up… 

Well, she's waiting with another little cream-filled bite at your lips.

"I keep thinking," she says, and feeds another cream-cheese-and-cucumber-laden cracker into Dolce's lips. "Omn mentioned a group of Ceronians that sold themselves into slavery."

And doesn't that image just float, unbidden, to the front of her mind. Muscles, barely covered in gold and silks, the clinking of small golden links, and wouldn't she look nice like tha[i]aamoving on[/i]

Revisit that thought later, It's a nice one.

"It's just like--. Um. Thoughts, words, shit."

She taps the butt of her hand against her temple, as if the motion will make the jumbled thoughts slot into place.

"They have the urge to expand, right? It's their nature, their programming, it's who they are. But they're not brutes. They can be subtle, slow, work towards a goal, even if it means moving away from that immediate goal right at this very moment. We can present them with that opportunity, if we can find something they'd pursue now for greater power later."

Pause. Select a cracker, load it with hummus, hover it just in reach.

"And I keep thinking of a comet, trailing stars, riding a seabeast against a capital ship."

The sentence hangs in the air.

"You've something special, you know that? I'm a master of the rail in my own right, and I've never seen it used like that. 

"I guarantee the Ceronians haven't either."

Again, silence, broken by cracker crunching.

"And of course, if they wanted to learn that style--to have that power for themselves, to use down the line--they'd need to play for her favor. They'd need to make her happy, and whoever wins the contest gets her favor and her teaching."

She takes a bracing bite of cracker, and continues.

"What I am in fact proposing is that we encourage packs of wolves--ideally, split up if we can--to direct their passion and fury into a game of competitive husband pampering."