Methuseld was<em>trying</em>to relax. She was<em>trying</em>to enjoy the first couple of minutes of a freedom she hadn't known in years. She was<em>trying</em>not to listen to the conversation, as she wanted nothing to do with the demon or the Elf. But that was hard, especially because more than once, words drifted into her ear that did not make her feel the least bit comfortable. It'd been years since she'd had sex for pleasure and of her own volition; not coincidentally, it had been years since she'd been in love and had wanted to have sex with anyone.<br/><br/>The last time, it had been after a large battle with some lord of a neighboring city-state. How many men had she killed that battle? She could feel the eyes of her troops on every curve of her body, however sharp, hard, and metal. She could feel them flush with desire, tearing her armor off in their minds, picturing what their beautiful cold general looked like beneath her impenetrable outer shell. Not unlike Dean. Thinking with anything but their minds, it was a wonder they managed to all march back to the Spire without one of the men getting stabbed by an angry general incensed by an attempt at her. A credit to their devotion to the woman. But the Vizier... He felt it too, and he had something none of the others had. And it had taken five men to pry him off, a full half-day later...<br/><br/>The hard leather palm of a gauntlet wiped away some sweat from her face. With her seizing of a few moments earlier, she'd somehow managed to loosen the bonds on her feet as well - not inhuman strength, just a result of lots of pain and adrenaline. She slipped the ropes off her feet and spread her legs to stretch them, sounding a relieved groan. "Don't touch me..." Accent combined with cut tongue made the words difficult to make out, but not their tone. Not a demand, but a request. The "please" was silent but not gone. Shakily, like a buckling column, the woman sat up, suddenly aware of the weight of her armor. With tired legs she kicked herself back against a wall, slowly. And then began to remove her armor.<br/><br/>Strip after strip of hard leather strap was unbuckled, untied, undone. First gauntlets, slipped off with grunts of exertion. Then bracers, elbow guards, epaulets. A mix of mail shirt, pale blue quilted doublet and soft white undertunic could now be seen. A glance at the two by the door, a hint of a grin. The warrior spat out to her side - a large glob of her own blood, which was now dripping down her chin onto her armor. A pale hand, rough and calloused from years of hard work and killing, wiped the blood away leaving a pink smudge on an otherwise ivory-white chin. "This is not for your benefit - don't get ideas." Soft gray eyes turning their attention to the armor once more, she shifted uncomfortably and twisted one arm, then the other, to get at straps of her cuirass hidden from view to prevent accidental doffing of the most vital piece of protection. Two loud thuds with a slight metallic tint to them announced the removal of the front and back plates of armor as they fell away next to her, revealing even more of the padded blue doublet. Unfortunately for the two future lovers in front of her, although it was closer-fitting it still left much to the imagination. Finally came the heavy spiked sabatons and cuisses, the former with another loud grunt as they were pulled off. Finally, a relieved sigh. Surrounded by her molted shell, she sat in her padded blue doublet, heavy padded pants, and soft leather boots that, in function, were closer to socks than actual boots. Oh, and a mail shirt, which was quickly shucked off as well.<br/><br/>"Could you two... ehm... do that elsewhere? I've no intention of joining, and I'm clearly not going anywhere without my very good and very<em>expensive</em>armor... But if I see anyone about to tie me up, I shall endeavor to bite off<em>anything</em>I deem necessary..." That last line punctuated by a rather pointed look at Dean's crotch accompanied by a very loud clack of teeth, followed by an amused if predatory grin.<br/><br/>Methuseld had no idea what to do now. For the first time in years. She wasn't going back to the spire. And she was staying the hell away from djinns if she could help it. To go with the thieves? She wasn't worried about them killing her, not yet at least. If what the more pleasant man had said was true, so long as she cooperated they wouldn't try to hurt or rape her. But... It was a stretch from not being killed to making friends. She'd have to think, come up with a plan, decide what she would do. Where she could go. Sighing, she leaned her weary head back against the wall, loose strands of cherubic golden hair falling to her cheeks as if her hair was just as weary.  The fact that she was even asking herself these questions was a welcome change. Her mind was her own again - at least for now. Her body, too, by extension. She moved a hand, touched it to her cheek, felt its warmth, its tiredness. When was the last time she'd done that? When was the last time she'd just... reveled in how she felt? It was likely years too. Did she have gray hairs? She didn't remember any, but then again she didn't remember the last time she'd looked at a mirror. Every action, every moment, every day... dictated solely by the Vizier. By the last order he'd given. By the damned demand to obey unquestioningly. Boy, was that bastard in for a surprise....