That was him.  His garb had changed somehow since she had glimpsed him in the crowd, but the eyes were the same.  And now she understood what she had seen in those eyes.  House Mandrake.  Genevieve watched him present himself to the crowd and she trembled.  Unlike the rest, her eyes did not rest on his body, as artfully displayed as it was.  Her eyes watched only his, and she felt like she was the only one there who knew what was among them.  Not only because she knew he was meant for her, but because only she, only an adept of Valerian, could truly understand what he was.<br/><br/>Her patron felt him tremble, his hand on her arm.  He urged her forward, and she expertly complied, needing only the slightest nudge to begin moving.  That was her art, to know how to bend to the will of her patron.  That of the man he guided her towards, his was the opposite.<br/><br/>Genevieve stopped her trembling as she moved, as eyes turned away from the one sight to a new one.  She cast her chin up, her mask framing the pout of her lips as she was moved to the center of the room.  The wings of her costume fluttered behind her, the delicate wisps of her costume meant to highlight the vulnerability of her frame.  The crowd parted again, as if they would break her, and she knew that it was this they had been brought here for, the two of them, to demonstrate the exquisite combination of something seeming so fragile with something so hard.<br/><br/>Genevieve met his eyes as she neared, looking at nothing else, before she was turned by her patron to face the crowd.  Her patron was eager to display her, to have her marked as his before he released her arm, the thrill of the hunt still in him.  Genevieve had not yet seen the flogger that Gravon carried, did not yet have any idea what their work would entail.  But she stood, perfectly poised as Namaah would will it, looking out at the crowd and letting them enjoy the beauty of the tableau.