Janaece's eyes swept in Mideala's face as the mask lifted, as if to memorize every detail. She softly kissed and licked the scar, as if by way of expressing sympathy for the wound, and for assuring her she was no less beautiful, and perhaps a touch more intriguing, for having it.<br/><br/>She rubbed the arms which encircled her neck, and kissed the elf's face and neck many times. "Mmm," her eyes followed Mideala's to the others, very briefly, before they locked onto her companion again. "So the men here are of some use. Just the swift resolution of duty I hoped, for I could love nothing more than...just as you say, the moment's better spent knowing one another better."<br/><br/>Her lips slid to the pointed elven ear, nipping and licking it lightly; in her experience, elven ears were rather sensitive, which could be a drawback of mishandled, but could be orgasmically useful if manipulated well. "I want to know you, too Mideala, so completely...it remains only to choose a place to show you."<br/><br/>She squeezed Mideala's hand, and her sandals moved rapidly; towards those second-floor hallways behind the balcony where she'd been noticing revelers come and go. Surely some secluded chamber could be found for such a divine purpose as their own.<br/><br/><br/><br/>~~<br/><br/>"Ahhh! Uhhh-..." Cicuta's breath came out in a gasp, and her bosom heaved upward in the low-cut gown, as the masked man burned her vines away with conjured flame, and straddled her with his own body. Her neck and breast seemed to rise and quiver under the falling touch of his hand. Her eyes danced between his masked face and his gun (quizzically upon the latter, as if she'd never seen such a creation before, but was rapidly gleaning contextual intuition as to its general purpose).<br/><br/>"My<em>Lord</em>," she reacted to the implication of words, and her excited-or-frightened breathing caused her bosom to press against his hand there. Her gown tugged easily at his touch. She seemed preciously touched in, threatening to pop free at the slightest tub, or for the thin silken material to tear first anyhow. "I scarcely no whether to thank you for saving me from that<em>awful</em>orange-haired barbarian woman, or fear that I've merely been captured by a soul more savage still. I don't suppose you mean you wish to shed my dress to steal or wear it yourself...perhaps you thought a change of outfit, or none at all, would help disguise me from the wild woman on my tail...or perhaps you mean to parade me naked but for a mask before all these other revelers, in such proclamation of your own prowess, my mysterious masked Lord?"<br/><br/>Her hair tossed about, as if wit ha mild of its own; it swished back and forth over her bare upper chest, brushing the back of the masked man's hand, caressing as fingers might. Her actual fingers were upon the legs of her straddler, in some vain attempt to push; she was either not nearly as strong as he, or simply making a play of resistance, or both.