Lucien and Kamiko linger at the threshold of her room, the introductory meeting officially concluded.
The smoky haze has returned, curtains drawn back just enough to let a slice of moonlight cut across the floor, and her twin tails have clearly not received word that negotiations are over as they twirl lazily around his leg, one looping higher than strictly necessary, like she's not quite ready to let the deal end here.
"I've never heard of half of what you just described," she says, tilting her head, studying him with the particular fondness of a woman who suspects she's just been thoroughly, expertly played and doesn't mind nearly as much as she should. "And honestly, I don't believe half of that could ever actually happen. Roads through three separate territories. A standing garrison funded by trade tax. A postal system, for gods' sake."
