This ball and chain

Since the trophy had arrived, wrapped messily with a torn bow, the harlot had found herself intrigued by such a being, often remaining near her to see when the pheonix would come to her own senses enough to speak. Perhaps she could pump valuable information from her, but slowly. If she was able to show the promise she could offer, perhaps she could be in for an invitation to Arcanum's true members. For now, however, amethysts merely observed as the ruddy present would slowly come to focus, her pupils constantly contracting and expanding, as focus swam into her gaze. The alabaster goddess' banner began to sway, quietly awaiting what the former queen was to react in or not.

The fresh wounds all over her body had begun to heal well, but they were a bit grosteque and covered in dirt. She desired to be a little helpful and help clean them for the woman, but the scent of warm milk and children had already nearly driven her to madness. This queen had progeny, and recently as well. Perhaps that was something unnoticed. She took note of the rapid flicking of ears from the phoenix, her alertness rising. Quietly, the alabaster harlot would give a small grunt to herself before rising, legs stretching for a moment and extending toward the russet woman. "Try to hold still." The wounds were caked with dried blood by now, but this woman needed a bit of cleaning up, and so she would try to begin, with a soft ushered voice of her lyrics. Still yet, the jades of the woman were strangely acting. Perhaps this woman suffered from a concussion, or worse. She was no healer, but at least she could figure out what was the matter, and leave a more experienced wolf to such matters, if Arcanum even cared for the safety of their trophies. "What happened in your fight?" It was, in dull fact, quite hard to try and stay in normal stance without nearly collapsing over the larger woman, yet she managed, keeping her voice and thoughts even. Manipulation and deceit was her finest quality.