When the magistrate leaned back in his chair and scrutinise her, Ciara looked back at him. Her dark eyes seemed warm, calm, full of promise. They gave away the true source of her allure, which was not her beauty or that splendid body, but whatever lived behind that open but unfathomable gaze. Impossible to tell what she might be like or thinking about, her gaze held no judgement, opened every possibility, seemed to say 'I might just have exactly what you want. And I might give it to you.' In her eyes others would see what they truly wanted, their heart's desire. With half a smile, she studied the contrast the magistrate's lashes and eyebrows made against his skin, the glowing eyes, the delicate built that held more strength than any human's. While he calculated, so did she.<br/><br/>The light fabric that covered her breasts where her gown no longer hugged them, moved with her quiet breathing. The close fitting dress barely concealed them, a deep breath or sigh might lift them enough to reveal her areolae through the undergarment, so luxuriously fine it belied the purpose it had served, to add modesty to so seductive a dress that, in their city, the law had demanded wearing a long-sleeved shift underneath. Ciara had followed the regulations to the letter, using them to serve her ends. Bare skin might have been less enticing than skin veiled by the fabric's intricate pattern of spiderwebs that swayed and swelled just like their natural paradigms would whenever Ciara took a breath or moved, or a breeze stirred them.<br/><br/>The cut of the dress, the glacé of deep red and gold seemed to suggest there ought to be a pair of hands to hold and caress her breasts just as the gown did. Her waist , too, surely must hunger to be encircled, every curve of her body was invitingly hidden and revealed. Like Ciara and her gaze, her attire seduced by promise, hinted at everything, lured, suggested, yet withheld even more. But what hunger she awoke, others would satiate, who would be so exactly after her customers' tastes they quite forgot it had been Ciara herself whom they had wanted throughout their negotiations. As the magistrate spoke, she turned to allow him to watch her companions as they answered, and to do the same.<br/><br/>Yuri could be as silent as a frozen well if she so wanted. Ciara new the use one put traits or habits to made them weaknesses or strengths, no matter what they might seem on the outside. Of such nature was loyalty. Some said it was for fools, yet it gave Yuri unwavering determination. Not for fear nor personal gain, the warrior had freely given Ciara this loyalty. It deserved respect, was rare, precious. She would not cheat Yuri out of her prize, which was not the considerable sum that regularly passed into her hands, but something resembling friendship enough to be mistaken for it. Mistaken it must be, as Ciara, surely, too completely lacked the ability to love.<br/><br/>Better than such feelings, she understood the bile that tainted Hannibal's words, secretly dripping resentment as his eyes held hers. A hardship, for him, to hide the true extent of his skill, his fame, the respect it might earn him, as much as being forced to work with others or being treated after the customs of the Drow, as an inferior human male. He was handsome on the outside, she mused, and made no attempt to evade or appease his gaze. She knew his dangerous pride, what it cost him to swallow it. Nor fear nor compassion, nor any hint of triumph or cruelty was in her eyes as he did what must feel to him like humbling himself before her.<br/><br/>What would he look like as a Drow? She felt a faint pang of regret, the looks she appreciated now would disappear, become too perfectly beautiful to appeal in quite the same way. Not that she had ever wanted to taste of his attractions. He was as dangerous an ally as he was an enemy, might well enjoy killing her much more than doing anything else with her body. And why not, why should he use his prick on her, however cruelly, which she might even like for all he knew, when stabbing her promised much more satisfaction, for, was there any true desire in him besides pride and blood-lust, his obsession to become the very best of assassins?<br/><br/>Even without knowing her Ciara could have told what went on in Kamilsa's head. Her words rang true, she was as reliable a factor in Ciara's calculations as Yuri, though in a different way. As long as her best advantage lay in working for Ciara, she would not be overly tempted to double-cross her or bite the hand that fed her. While they all were inspected in the Drow's condescending manner, some speaking up, others silent, Ciara watched and listened, comparing, deciphering the unspoken, and musing about her companions, all seemingly willing to uphold their alliance. Things appeared to go well, but who could tell... She returned her gaze to the magistrate, awaiting his response.