The air in the room seemed to chill as the dryad continued on towards the stage,  making sure that every eye in the place was firmly settled on the conflict between her and Sixpence. And the more she said,  the more it looked like the conflict would get physical... The Madame had picked up the slender glass "prop"  she had been using in her dance, and seemed just about ready to hurl it at the dryad's head as she sputtered in a rabid sort of rage. She seemed to be trying to come up with a truly cutting remark...<br/><br/>But whatever it was, the elf would have to wait to hear it. One moment,  she was preparing for a coup de gras against the dancer's ego... The next, she felt an immense, cold weight on her shoulder.<br/><br/>"'Scuse, Miss." A thick Russian accent seemed to reverberate through the metal hand grasping the dryad's arm, and she turned to find herself face to face with an immense Orc woman. The weight of her grasp, it turned out, came from the massive Peacemaker modifications to her Clockwork; it looked like the armor plating had come from a Panzer during the war,  and there was a visible Flakshot barrel mounted beneath it. The whole kit must have weighed almost a hundred pounds!  "You wanted meeting, yes? My boss will see you now..."<br/><br/>Like the elf, the orc gave no hint of malice or anger with her tone...  But it was clearly a command, not an invitation.