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Alone, Asena wandered through the corridors.
'Find a computer. Do your thing,' Moggie nagged.
A disembodied voice on the intercom directed Asena to a hall on the western corner of the ground floor.
She found herself in a ballroom, busy as a beehive. Spotlights and umbrellas on tripods, a drop cloth background, and equipment littered the chequered floor. Beauticians buzzed around stations with mirrors. Two fussed over Omera's bloodshot, swollen eyes. The wild dogs huddled, yipping while scrubbing their faces with wet wipes.
Duma, wearing only ripped jeans that hung low on his hips with the button undone, sauntered to her. "Where you disappear?" he asked, leading her to racks of clothes with her name on a placard in her size.
"What's going on?" she asked.
"Photographs for the cahier of Eros. Read the sheet of daily activities," said the matron who managed their quarters.
"What shall we do with you?" asked the slim male. His denims hugged him like leggings. He'd left the silk shirt open to show off his bony hairless frame. He also wore an obscene number of chains and rings. Even his ears and nose were pierced. The dusting of gold powder on his eyelids, lined with kohl, drove Asena to distraction.
He tossed aside the linen set of wide pants and loose sleeveless top she'd chosen. "This will not do." He went through the hangers before lifting a gauzy cream gown with bronze embroidery. "Perfect!" He held the garment against her.
Moggie made retching sounds at the sight of the transparent outfit.
Duma's attention-seeking behavior was over the top, but inoffensive. But this male's exaggerated gestures, shrill voice, and diva act grated on Asena's nerves.
She placed the risque gown back on the rack and simply said, "No." Without Vic to protect her from bullies, she had to do so herself.
"What?" The male attitude conveyed he'd taken offense to her standing up to him.
Bebi looked a vision in the bodycon minidress that clung to her. She posed with a confidence that Asena could only envy. But she wouldn't follow in the snooty princiness' footsteps. She couldn't.
"I've clothed servals before." He flicked her ear peeking out of her hair. "Do as daddy says—"
Asena grabbed his wrist. "Do not touch my ears," she hissed, baring her fangs. Her nails shrank to sharp claws and sank into his flesh.
He yanked his arm and threw them up. "There's always a difficult one. I expected it to be the Leonine princess." Once he spun on his heels and walked off, he declared, "I will not work with her! I'm done. Pack up."
Duma sidled up to the photographer. "Ray, Asena's scared. Why don't you show what you did for the other one? That'll convince her," he said with a simpering smile.
