Freyja still sits at the bed, her knees drawn to her body, her breasts rising and falling with the even rhythm of her recovering breath, and her body is misted with a light sheen of sweat.  Her eyes still dusky, she watches Machado fell the well-dressed spy with the dispassionate repose of one sated, but dedicated to some unreached end.  She sighs softly, assuming-- for the moment-- that the spy is not a significant threat, though she'll investigate, one way or another, soon enough.<br/><br/>As Lina secures the man's hands with her belt, Freyja smiles faintly and breathes a soft laugh to herself... the girl was certainly more than some meek servant.  In fact, she reflected more than just the tutelage could have imparted in her; although combat training and discipline can impart confidence, they can't manifest creativity or passion.  And Lina possessed those things... moments before having been shaken, almost violently, out of the bubble of her self-denial, she'd shown a fire like one denied for years.  That intensity... Freyja couldn't deny that it called to her, drew her like a pheromone to the willowy girl whose fair skin still flushed with the exertion, whose healthy young sex surely still throbbed from that penetration-- a sensation that Freyja could scarcely remember, for it had been wrapped in... other pains.<br/><br/>And as the broad-shouldered form of Atal-- Machado-- whatever his name, it was unimportant by comparison, for she knew him, even if not his past.  She knew him more in the moment that she had first watched him sleep, or in the first time he'd taken comfort in what she could offer with her body, for some things cannot be lied.  She would keep him close, for he wouldn't betray her... not yet.  And as she watched his ropes of muscle as he constricted the feeble resistance of the spy, she could only smile faintly in appreciation of the utter lack of obfuscation about him.  If she'd never met him, never seen what he could do-- the mystical change that could overcome his form-- she liked to think that she could have sensed it about him, for it was in everything about his body and movement.  He was a wolf, even as a man.<br/><br/>Standing, Freyja makes no move for modesty as she sways her way over to the secret door.  She checks it for motion, then locks it down with a carefully wedged chair-- the angle set, she tamps it into place with a solidly planted foot that digs the feet of the chair into the softer floorboards.  "You should get some sleep..." she says softly, lifting a worn, threadbare blanket from her pack and, with a wide sweep of her arm, she wraps it around Lina's shoulders, allowing the frayed edges to tickle briefly at her lower belly before she encircles the girl.  Holding her a moment longer, she kisses her... though Freyja is only a little taller, she seems to engulf Lina for that moment, and her kiss is full, consuming, and reassuring, though not entirely innocent, as she hesitates for one moment, her hand crossing the girl's flank to trail down the smoothly concave belly, where she passes her fingers, tenderly, between the girl's legs-- she touches the wetness of Atal's love spendings that mingle with the faintest trace of Lina's blood. "You're safe."  She releases the girl and turns away, touching her fingers to her lips before closing her eyes to offer a silent prayer that one would never hear spoken aloud at the temple.<br/><br/>In a moment's time, she has thrown her shirt over her shoulders-- though it gaps wide at the neck and is not yet cinched to her body, it flutters just at the flare of her hips, barely concealing any semblance of modesty at the junction of white-stone legs.  "Speak fast, don't lie."  She doesn't lift a weapon.  She merely opens the door and gestures to the two performers, who have taken the hint, so to speak, and already donned their gaudy, sparse garments.<br/><br/>When they're gone, she closes and latches the door.<br/><br/>