The magically amplified voice of the Shadow rippled through Aza’s serene, Don-imposed slumber. With a incoherent but thoroughly annoyed mumble, she curled into a smaller ball and dragged the silk sheets up over her head, eyes still scrunched shut as she snuggled firmly into the overstuffed pillow. Wow, did she hate Dean.<br/><br/>Even beneath the blanket, the scent of incense was cloying, enough to make her sniffle and then shake her head and sneeze, which was an absolutely adorable little sound that no one was around to appreciate. Frowning, she opened one bluish eye and then the other, staring at the sheet draped over her. It was a bright fuchsia color, and its thread count was way too high. The cushions beneath her were too soft, and her dress felt way too tight...<br/><br/>She sat up and surveyed what the cramped cabin had become. Everything was hung in red and purple silk. The floor was piled rugs. Pillar candles burned everywhere, scented smoke wafting from a golden brazier shaped like a pissed-off looking dragon. And when she moved, it was to the sound of a hundred tiny chimes, because the scraps of gossamer currently clinging to her curvy body were sewn with a cascade of little glittering metal discs. It was the sort of outfit typical to the dancing pleasure slaves shipped in from the south, found at any number of brothels throughout the sordid city. Pretty pricey brothels, at least, Aza reflected. This place was not decorated for cheap dates.<br/><br/>The most natural assumption to make was that she was dreaming, not that the ship around her had been transformed into some lurid whorehouse as she slept. But Aza's deal was illusions, so she was fairly certain none of it was<em> real</em>real. This was way, way beyond her own abilities, but still. Can't fake a faker.<br/><br/>She slipped towards the edge of the bunk, which was now a canopied affair that could sleep half a dozen, not that its occupants were likely meant to sleep. Its posts were carved with scenes of little figures engaging in all sorts of vices, many of which Aza couldn't even be paid to do, like the one involving a camel and a wine carafe. She imagined it might comprise a fairly tame weekend for Dean, though. Assuming he could find a camel that liked him.<br/><br/>Dean. Ugh. This had that asshole's signature all over it. The shadows cast by the flickering candles seemed to slink, and the drapes moved in an unfelt draft, making a soft and somehow unsettling whisper like faroff voices. The bed also had rings set into the head and foot, the sort that were usually meant for silk ropes or... yep, sure enough, a silver cuff wrought like a dragon's head circled one of her slender ankles, a matching chain snaking to one of the bed's rings. She gave the links a half-hearted tug, figuring that for all they weren't real, they would still hold. They did.<br/><br/>The foxgirl settled back into the pillows with a yawn that ended with another cute sneeze. She should probably be nervous, but fuck it, she was still<em>tired,</em>and it was hardly the first time she'd woken up leashed to something. And maybe it was Donovan that would come back for her, anyway. She could deal with Don. She wondered what became of Methuseld, but not for very long. The blonde could handle herself. Best of luck to her.<br/><br/>Aza burrowed into a nice puffy cushion and shut her eyes.