Having politely declined service of food or drink, sister Alyx's delicate features remain placid as she takes in Espn's reports with an air of repose.  Her vestments shroud her body with affectations of modesty-- an innocuous piety, at once elderly and frigid, hinting at a lifestyle undesirable for anyone who enjoys their flesh and who cares about anything more than some droll, peaceful afterlife.<br/><br/>All this obfuscation falls away with one look in her eyes, for there's a hunger in them, the overly-large pupils always shining in reflection of those they look upon, unable to sustain any pretence of inner peace, of controlled appetites, of simple tastes or cooled desires.  Her serene smile meets Shihouin's, and it's clear that she's tuned out the conversation, her mind focused on what she can see with her eyes and her mind-- a jester with its arse on fire could be tumbling behind her chair and she'd be hard-pressed to notice.<br/><br/>The slow spread of her faint, coy smile at Shihouin's attention provide the faintest of inclinations of familiarity, as one might after a secret tryst.  It's almost as if she knows some dark secret, or-- imaginatively-- that she has observed the Shihouin daughter in the most private and sensual of moments, and that at this very instant the nun is recalling the memory with a tinge of smug condemnation vastly overwhelmed by arousal.<br/><br/>She turns, and the disintigration of that moment's stare seems oddly to have come at the most unfortunate of times for the 'Sister,' for her lips had just barely parted for an unconscious intake of breath characteristic of one about to moan in ecstacy.  She locks her smoldering gaze onto Ansalia's exotic form, no revulsion or disquiet at the forked tongue, or wings, or anything else-- but rather a piqued curiosity, and it's as if suddenly this serpentine woman's anatomy would be the most fascinating thing in the world to explore, tittilate, or dissect (though it's not immediately clear which order she'd prefer).  "My sisters are most eager to share the grace of divinities," she murmurs, the braided-satin voice audible with the faintest effort, "for the purpose of improving the gods' works on earth.  But these are troubled times," she intones, the pitch and timbre of her voice flowing subtly and delicately in a harp-like run, "and we all benefit from the<i>services</i>of others."  The subtle inflection is no accident, and one of her fingers rubs against its neighbor almost imperceptibly.<br/><br/>The oily pools of her eyes turn upon Rygel's-- the link between their eyes is almost challenging in its audacity, and she tilts her black-coifed head subtly aside, as if she's just noticed something extraordinary in him, "Your martial obsessions are certainly warranted in these troubled times.  The north is a grave concern, and should be addressed immediately.  They abbey's cloister, however, are not a soldierly lot, and while we will gladly pass along the benefits of such a relationship with the monks, we would mutually benefit from any successes in the occupied lands.  I ask only an escort of protection for my sisters to the monastery, be it through your<i>personal</i>accompaniment-- which I'm sure would<i>greatly</i>comfort them-- or through the dispatch of some of your trustworthy servitors.  Regardless," she blinks and tilts her face prettily, girlishly smiling at the angelic descendant, "a show of solidarity is essential, as strengthening our foundations will benefit us all."<br/><br/>"I have the utmost confidence," the transition melts sweetly and smoothly, like palm oil, as she turns her gaze to Maestri, "that your authority and experience in dispatching the giants would be<i>glorious</i>to witness."  Her eyes widen subtly at the phrase, emphasizing that it would be more than a goodly revelation and perhaps a more private stimulation.  "There is no doubt that spreading our resources too thin would be dangerous, but perhaps our alliance could usher in a naissance for this vile land, uniting it under noble leadership and true divinity of character."  Beneath the modest black habit, she shifts her form and recrosses her legs.  Even beneath the wool folds, hints of her body beneath speak of exquisite proportion and control, and a sensual coordination of feminine gifts.  "Perhaps the knight-champion could speak to this point?"  She turns to Balrog with a casual smile.  "I trust you have been enjoying the guidance of our sisters' dedication."