Trish grinned at Seras' response.  No, she hadn't thought the red-haired Retriever would die<span style="font-style: italic">easily</span>... but it wouldn't have been the first time a skilled woman perished while one of the men used her for his pleasure.  Why, even with her memories fuddled, she could still remember an example or two that had occurred in the wilds... involving Spitter Plants and Doomlilies... she shivered.  Both times she'd been unable to do anything but watch... and that fact still excited her to this day.<br/><br/>"Kay, then, here we go, you two," Trish said, poking at one of the bumps formed by Seras' breasts as the Retriever turned to lean against the side of the pitcher plant.  She backed away.  "Bobbie?  girls?"<br/><br/>The muscled woman once again walked up to the plant and stabbed a spear-tip into the seam between the pitcher and its lid.  She pulled down against it, and slowly it began to open.  The other women jabbed their own spears into the widening gap, and by forcing they opened it more and more.  They were using more spears this time, and as soon as it was opened wide enough, two of the girls wedged in a flat rock on one side.<br/><br/>"We're better equipped this time," Trish said brightly.  "Girls?  Rope."  A rope was thrown into the gap, to hang between Seras and Marcus and into the pink ooze.  "Come on out, ya horny lovebirds."  She smirked.  Of course she couldn't know that over the centuries, the term "love" had lost its original meaning, becoming a physical term as opposed to a spiritual one.  "Come on, we haven't got all day.  Don't worry, we should be able ta keep it open long enough for both of ya to get out."