Naiobe has finished setting out the table by the time the dryad returns to her. She watches the dryad idly out of the corner of her eyes, taking note of the way the bush bends for her, and the care with which the dryad harvests the roses. She seats herself as the dryad approaches, and reaches to take the roses from the dryad's mouth, mindful of her fingers, and the rose's thorns. She inspects the blooms, pausing for a moment or two as if she sees an imperfection, then she sets five of them into the vase she's placed in the middle of the table.<br/><br/>Laying the sixth beside the vase, Naiobe guides the dryad closer, cupping a palm around the dryad's chin and running her tongue along the dryad's lips. She pauses and presses her lips to the corner of the dryad's mouth, her tongue darting between the dryad's lips to drink in a few droplets of sap before she pulls away. "This one," she murmurs, picking up the rose she set aside. Turning it over, she shows how one of the petals is showing the signs of bruising. Perhaps it was bruised before, or perhaps the dryad didn't notice that she bruised it. Either way, the dryad brought her an imperfect flower.<br/><br/>"You did mostly well." She smiles at the dryad. "For this, though, you get a single smack... I'll let you choose where, since you were so careful." She reaches to set the last bloom in the vase, now that she's shown it to the dryad.