Will pushed his way through the garbage chute, Allan at his boot heels. He felt John's arms on his shoulders, and a great pull. There was a flash of something honey-colored and shiny as his world rocked while he pulled himself to his feet.

There was Djaq, a flower in her choppy hair and swathed in a beautiful shimmery honeycomb dress, conveniently low in the front. Will, against his better judgment and not entirely on purpose, gave her a once-over. He did his very best to meet her eyes. Eyes.

"What?" Djaq asked with defiance, far too loud for the sneaky circumstances.

Will wanted to tell her she was beautiful. That she was more than beautiful. That the dress was perfect and she was perfect and that she looked beautiful in this and in her outlaw rags both because she was beautiful. But he'd said she was beautiful an awful lot and he was still looking at exactly the most lewd angle and time was passing and she looked so gorgeous, the dress washed in moonlight, her dark skin and her dark eyes and her dark hair and the dress that lit up like the sun, only softer. She was fiery and sharp and quick and the dress hugged all the parts of her that were soft and smooth and gentle; a beautiful personality as a bonus. But time was passing and he had no words on his tongue. So he said,

"Nothing."

And moved away quickly, using every nerve he had to keep his head from swiveling roundas he heard Allan emerge from the chute. And Allan mumbled something, and Will's fists clenched. He was itching for his axes.

She looked beautiful.