Freyja tilts her face subtly, still listening to Lina, though the gleam lingers in her eye and her posture remains engaged and she leans closer to Lina.  "So you can take care of yourself then?"  she asks, the slightest of smiles lingering still on her youthful, bow lips.  "I wasn't aware that Kurrad had made you a pupil."  She stands, slowly, the proximity making the gesture almost like an approach to Lina, as if she'd just made some advance at an embrace, but with her usual grace, she sidles around in a smooth semi-circle to the empty mid-room between the bed where Machado is starting to recline and the sagging, straw-stuffed mattress where the prostitutes are coupling.<br/><br/>Freyja kneels at the floor beside their bed and removes her boots, casual and seeming not to notice the two-- at this point, the young man's on his knees, the woman's legs wrapped around his waist as he steadily drives into her.  Her placement makes it impossible to look at her without noticing the writhing flesh just beyond her... the young female entertainer seems to be responding more than a typical professional might be expected to, and Freyja watches them for a moment as she removes her second boot.  The mercenary's eyes are half-closed, long black lashes like a demure curtain over her gaze as she appreciates the both of them, before turning back to watch Lina.  She looks over the young woman, appreciating not only her youthful beauty, but now considering her effectiveness as a weapon-- so much is impossible to gauge without seeing one in action.  "We may have to fight for our lives.  And I fully intend to strike back, soon, at those who seek to destroy us."<br/><br/>When Machado removes his nightshirt, Freyja's attention leaves Lina for a moment.  She watches him... she's seen him hardly clothed while training, quietly enjoyed the sight of his disciplined, honed form exerting powerful motions with martial precision.  They've holed up together before, and she knew the sight of his body by moonlight, and she remembered, as now, the musky male scent of his skin in close rooms-- somehow, he always seemed natural, and the raw power of him had always been incredibly inviting.  But somehow, they'd almost always kept their professionalism up like a wall, both of them on either side of some invisible barrier and aware of each other, but not able to reach out and satisfy that curiosity.  Only barely had Freyja-- a woman who could take a life effortlessly, who could assume new faces and demeanor like a chameleon until she was so close that her prey never recognized their killer-- even managed to cross that barrier to Machado, to touch him... much less release the desire he had, and was, stirring in her.<br/><br/>Lina's presence somehow tempers that desire for her... provides a bridge.  Surely, this was some side effect of her convoluted past, some lingering psychological trigger that was branded into her mind when she formed her identity.  Her childhood had not been easy, and was marked with so many separate traumatizing events that it was a wonder she'd survived with any kind of sanity.  As a result, she'd learned, she possessed internal 'triggers'-- and her physical and emotional responses at times such as these were amplified momentously.<br/><br/>Her feet now bare, Freyja stood again, slowly, her back to where Machado had lain himself on the bed and where Lina rested.  The wide-open neck of her armor-padding shirt having gapped so broad with her subtle motions that she glides right out with a subtle shrug, slipping the garment overhead from her fine-muscled back.  She tosses it aside, apparently without any regard, now, for her bared upper body.<br/><br/>The coupling slaves, though, do notice-- perhaps expecting their employers to engage in the act with them somehow, the young female only removes her gaze from Machado, Lina, and Freyja from time to time to look at the face of the young man rutting her or to watch his body flexing and his shaft burying itself in her.  Perhaps, after so many partners, she finds the sight of the strangers more appealing than what's actually happening to her.<br/><br/>Freyja doesn't seem to notice the change of the prostitutes' attention, and perhaps because of Lina's being a woman she shows no self-consciousness at being naked to the waist.  Her breasts are fine, high-- those of a young woman in excellent condition, upturning to small pink aureoles that rise up like soft pink domes around her small nipples.  Her cropped black hair hangs about her face for a moment as she looks down at herself, casually smoothing away a droplet of sweat from the crevice below her breasts that runs between her smooth abominals to a shallow hollow of a navel.  "Are you opposed, Lina?"  She looks from the lovely young woman over to where Machado lays, smiling very faintly as she studies the contours of him-- the smooth muscles and fine trails of soft hair.  "Or you, Machado?  Our enemies won't rest, nor will they forget, until we are no longer."<br/><br/>She loosens the last of her garments, the low-waisted leggings that pad her armor, then slides them down her pale thighs to her feet.  Stepping out, her feet cross with an incredibly feminine grace as she leans forward onto the bed where Machado's reclined.  Her egg-shaped hips cock coyly to the side, pale and taut like the rest of her, and the position makes the shadows of the oil lamp fall across her front, presenting the affectation of modesty despite her shameless nudity.