The visions that swirl around her are intimately familiar, every one of them. There are no surprises, none, save that the hated old healer is there. If the god-demon wishes to entice her with things such as this, he's not as good at reading his mark and she had thought.<br/><br/>And then she gets to relive the day she gained the upper hand on that man, and it's all better. She remembers that day keenly, and treasures it in her heart.<br/><br/>Naiobe turns back toward Malikai and tilts her head. She may not necessarily be grooming under her father's hands for power, but that doesn't exempt her from politics in the court of the Baron, and she knows well enough that taking a deal simply because it doesn't seem to demand anything of her is a fool's path. After all, it's a trick the elder Percivan has used many, many times. "I have a distinct thirst for the pains of others already, my Lord Malikai, and I am not the Percivan heir. I find myself wondering what use you could possibly have for me, and likewise what use I have for you. Pardon my bluntness, but<em>what</em>do you<em>want</em>?"<br/><br/>She drifts closer to the figure, her eyes following the muscular lines of his arms until her gaze reaches his hands. Silk whispers against the springy grass with each light step. She already senses that her desires, heated though they may be, are unlikely to match the hunger of this god-thing. It pulls at her, drawing her like an invisible whirlpool made of nothing but avarice. Her lips barely move as she comes to a stop within a hair's breadth of his chest. "Will you show me?"