*looking bored by the disapproving stares of the kettle of cold fish, several of whom she would never entertain even if they were otherwise, and wondering what the harem girls were saying to Eclypsia.  Sukkana couldn't even begin to guess, it might be anything.  Noting the scowls and angry looks, it seemed like the slightest sign of bare skin was enough to set many here into a cold rage.  How different things were here from her years spent amongst the Sihr, how similar things felt to one of the old fanatical fundamentalist religious sects of her homeland.  Why are these people as they are?  How did things here get this way?  Is it possible to change this stifling, oppressive, fog they live in?  Do they even want to change?  And why does....*<br/><br/>*Sukkana's concentration suddenly broken as she noticed a glaring little man, some scholar or another, feverishly trying to avert his 'outraged' gaze from her ample bosom, his piggish little eyes always seeming to return to her chest*<br/><br/>*speaking under her breath, in the faintest of whispers*<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 8pt;">"Fehhh....I shouldn't worry about it.  With any luck I'll be sent back to Shantarra before the week is through and leave this onerous funeral party to their own gloomy devices, and good riddance.  I wonder who would be a suitable replacement?  Sharooq al-Hadzi....yes, perhaps Sharooq.  I never liked him."</span>