<div class="floatleft">(https://scontent-dfw5-2.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/fr/cp0/e15/q65/35361796_5254466324615447_133453335490461696_o.jpg?_nc_cat=107&amp;efg=eyJpIjoidCJ9&amp;_nc_ht=scontent-dfw5-2.xx&amp;oh=ed0b71f4ee12f2d595fe17967b4800e6&amp;oe=5CF6CDFB)<div align="center"><strong>Brigitte Noone Cuccioli </strong></div></div><br/>With her number over, Brigitte was again the picture of modesty, once more in her street clothes. How she managed to get back into the garment unaided in under an hour was a mystery, but then she had opted to leave her vest and blouse unbuttoned. This made the neckline of the ensemble less of a “neck”line and more of a “navel”line as the tip of the exposed v of flesh was just below her bellybutton. She took her bow slowly, already discovering this first taste of fame to be intoxicating.<br/><br/>Alizeh also seemed much relieved from her earlier jitters and as she hugged Brigitte, she offered the elf a chaste but friendly kiss on the cheek. It was the sort of pleasantry one might expect from a doting matriarch. The polite gesture was counter balanced as she reached forward with a feather light touch. Well manicured nails tickled up her inner thigh, boldly continuing upwards past the elven girl’s groin. So gentle was the stroke of her fingers, it might well have been an innocent accident. But there were rarely accidents when the warlock was involved.<br/><br/>As they retreated to the dressing room, Brigitte found the brandy punch with the unerring accuracy of a compass. Clearly booze was to some extent her magnetic north. More interested in the letters and the brandy than praise, the only indication she had heard the Alizeh’s comment was her eyebrow ticking upwards ever so slightly.<br/><br/>She was starting to fear that maybe Alizeh was the weird one at parties who smelled of old books and jism, which seemed a tragedy! Her own elvish philosophers insisted that the Gods did not make excellent things without purpose and so Brigitte shuddered to imagine that lewd elven body only knowing the caress of ancient tomes! Saving all of her passion for the written word, she’d probably end up with parchment cuts on her button...<br/><br/>Broken away from the letters and musings on the state of Alizeh’s clitoris by Mara, she laughed merrily at the praise, “Thank you! Our benefactor obviously has a keen eye for talent! I was amazed by everyone’s performance, but yours in particular was quite intimidating! It must serve you well off stage as well...”<br/><br/>This was as much praise as a mental note for her own edification. Brigitte’s path to vengeance was almost certainly going to require some heavy lifting to supplement her own skill at subterfuge. She gestured to the servant confirming her interest in Lord Hlath’s tour and the event. She seemed less interested in the charity event, but rather than insisting on a “hard pass”, she waited to see where the others fell on the matter.<br/><br/>She stole a few furtive glances at Erica over the side of the letter. As a master illusionist, she knew the difference between swift hands and mirage. Again, she was ever keen to make friends of varied talents, but in the case of Erica there was something else. Perhaps it was something in her eyes, the way she smiled, the timbre of her voice or the scent of her oils. Perhaps it was as if some unseen force knowing Brigitte’s capricious nature had tossed a four sided die and rolled a two. And so following the call of Lady Luck, the unseen force had pointed her obsessive heart and loins towards the poor rogue.<br/><br/>Returning to the topic of illusions, under the effect of detect magic, she radiated that brand of spellcraft, gossamer threads of the arcane layered thinly on top of her features. It had obviously been some years since the sun had shown on Brigitte’s real face.<br/>