Once it became painfully clear that Fabiana was not going to accept Clara's couture refusal, she eventually nodded gratefully.
Fabiana left Clara alone with her intoxicating amber spirits and returned to her spacious living quarters to sort through her clothes.
Her Drug Lord husband, known throughout the vast underworld as the Crimson King was asleep amongst the lush silken and satin bedding on top of their marital bed.
Fabiana's pussy always gave a wet ache at the sight of her husband, whether he was sleeping, talking, or passing through her line of sight.
She closed the door quietly before admiring her husband, her eyes slowly tracing the line of his cheekbones and jawbone of a god.
Fabiana eventually stopped ogling her sleeping gentle lover and murderous thug and moved her beautiful eyes away from him in order to begin pawing through her drawers and teak vanities full of satin gowns with flowing trains, silk column dresses as thin as butterfly wings and heels that lifted the wearer to the veritable stratosphere.
As Fabiana searched for the remnants of joy amongst her couture goldmine, across the vast insulated and well defended compound, Talia looked over a Russian communication about Doctor Pavel that had been intercepted and decrypted.
She frowned down at the black typed letters, the font too small for her level of fatigue. She folded the paper and slipped it into her jacket pocket before locking up the drawers of her borrowed desk and crossing the hall to the room she was calling her temporary home.
Talia's sleeping quarters rivaled any five-star, penthouse suite.
As the occupants of the compound continued to exist, no one encroaching upon each other's breathing space, hours, and hours away, the men began to journey home from the market.
Bane had relegated all of the other men to the second vehicle, loading the last of the food for the banquet Fabiana was throwing in Clara's honor before settling in the passenger side as Barsad drove back towards the military-grade, jungle installation.
Talia had called him while he'd been milling about the market with a summary of the intercepted communications about Doctor Pavel and an escalation to his nuclear program.
The sturdy vehicle hit a deep rut, causing both men to be jostled in their seats, Bane caught a flash of fuchsia began to slip free of Barsad's thigh pocket, before he could narrow his eyes at the pocket, Barsad snapped the pocket closure and got the shuddering steering wheel back under control.
Bane made a note of that moment as he continued with a potential acceleration of Talia's plans and a need to relocate soon. Barsad's hands tightened on the steering wheel when Bane told him that Talia would need him to possibly travel to Gotham City in the next few weeks.
"Who else is traveling to Gotham?"
Barsad nodded as Bane listed off a list of familiar militant names.
"You're staying here?" Barsad asked.
"Yes brother, I'll be remaining with Talia and a handful of other men and the Crimson King's militia."
"And, and the girl?"
"The girl?"
Barsad nodded, "she's staying here?"
"Yes, she has no place in the chaos that Gotham will become."
"Where will she be when you arrive in Gotham with Talia?"
"She'll remain in Fabiana's care."
Barsad opened his mouth to speak, wanting to know what would happen to Clara if Bane and Talia were killed in her potentially suicidal mission.
Bane answered before Barsad could ask the question.
"If Talia is unable to return after avenging her father, Miss Leroux becomes property of Fabiana and the Crimson King to do with as they please."
In the current moment in time and place, Fabiana was quite pleased with having the political socialite on the compound, a delicate bauble.
The Crimson King was known by many, his name whispered for fear he would hear, his name was a scary story to tell disobedient guerilla warriors and men that made demons cry.
Fabiana Fyre was seen as just beautiful, a tall queen dominating the chess board but hollow.
The masses believed that all of Fabiana was plastered to the outside and formed into a gorgeous façade.
The masses were wrong, as they wagged their tongue at Fabiana and oozed lurid compliments with their flapping, vestigial gums for a glimpse at her panties, Fabiana was not a hollow queen.
The masses were right of where Fabiana stood on the chess board of humanity and existence though.
Fabiana was the resolute queen who remained standing after everyone else fell
Bane watched Barsad's profile as he processed the factual admission.
He watched the muscles flex under the corner of Barsad's jaw as he clenched his teeth but remained wordless.
"Do you disagree with Talia's directive?"
"I might be more useful staying here," Barsad murmured before slowing the bulky vehicle to cross a rickety bridge.
"I wasn't questioning your agreeance with that directive brother but in regard to Talia leaving Miss Leroux here."
Barsad spared Bane a quick glance, trying to keep his eyes devoid of his thoughts.
Failing.
"She's valuable is all, probably find better uses," Barsad angled for, trying to act the part of a heartless thug.
Again, failing.
An unintentional, unfunny pratfall.
"How would you see her used brother?"
Barsad tightened his fingers around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned a stark white, the skin stretched tight over the bone.
"The Crimson King and his wife will just sell her to someone, she'll end up diseased or dead," Barsad muttered as he shook his head before adding. "Her secrets could be worth money or trade with virtually any country."
It was Bane's turn to lapse into silence as he considered Barsad's words, turning to stare out over the hood of the vast vehicle, the metal pitted with multiple dents and scratches.
The compound's vehicle's engines were maintained but the metal bodies were beat to shit.
The sunlight was captured and refracted on the various dents and irregular rippling on the wide hood. Bane knew that if Clara was left within Fabiana's clutches that Barsad's prediction of an early death were likely accurate. Even Bane had no idea the secrets that Clara had locked in the frontal lobe of her beautiful brain.
The rest of the journey back to the compound was in silence.
Bane and Barsad were each landlocked in their own visions for the future. As the miles passed under the wide military-grade, no-flat tires, back at the armed compound that was the vehicle's, final destination, Fabiana loaded up Maya's strong and scarred arms with a plethora of couture gowns, gauzy robes, and delicate under clothes.
Fabiana instructed Maya to take the gowns to Clara. She had heard that the men were on their way back from the market.
In addition to the usual supplies, sacks of flour, rice, and bottles of alcohol, the men were also charged with picking up exotic spices, lush vegetables, and sweet delicacies.
The cooking staff was busy preparing the kitchen for the incoming bougie supplies that were suitable for a white tower event or cocktail party at Mount Olympus.
Fabiana wanted Clara to look like a ripe piece of fruit at the banquet in her honor.
"Come, let's dress up that little doll," Fabiana said to Maya and led the way to Clara's living quarters.
Fabiana returned to find Clara still drinking, having kicked off her shoes, laying on the chaise lounge.
Her eyes tried to absorb all of the colorful fabrics at once, all the glittering ornaments and high thigh slits.
"Come darling, we need to find you something to wear tonight," Fabiana stated in a sing-song tone but with an unspoken zero tolerance for refusal, discussion, or even compromise.
Clara drained the last two scorching swallows in her glass before she was forced to allow Fabiana and Maya to strip her down to a pair of panties.
Clara turned a becoming shade of pink as she had to accept Fabiana helping her into silk stockings and corset with actual bones to reinforce a rigid shape.
Fabiana's touch lingered, her long, graceful fingers moved over Clara's almost naked body, gauging worth, assigning value in case the clock struck midnight and Clara turned into a commodity.
"You're stunning," Fabiana breathed, meaning it with every fiber of her being.
The silken sheath dress was a peacock blue and molded to Clara's body, leaving the smooth decolletage bare, her breasts on display in the deep neckline.
Clara didn't want to wear it, moving her eyes to the pile of clothing and pointing to a far more conservative organza silk gown in a warm burgundy shade.
"May I wear that?"
Fabiana's smile grew tight, just hovering above collapse as she walked over to Clara and stood behind her, meeting her eyes in the reflection. "You look beautiful, and this is what you'll be wearing for dinner tonight," she purred as she settled her hands on the rounded cap of Clara's shoulders, squeezing with just a bit of assertion.
Clara finally nodded, her breath shuddering on a shaky exhale.
"Excellent, Maya will bring you some shoes when she comes to collect you for dinner," Fabiana said brightly, her lips pulling into a wide smile before kissing Clara's temple, never breaking contact between their reflected eyes.
Fabiana and Maya left Clara to remain in the gorgeous gown.
As soon as the two women left, Clara peeled off the gown and refilled her glass, she ended up leaving the glass untouched as her belly had tied itself into a nervous series of knots at being presented in the designer gown.
After the impromptu fashion show and Fabiana and Maya parted ways, across the estate in her posh quarters, Talia scrutinized further documents that had been intercepted.
She frowned at the typed communications encrypted with coded words about Dr. Pavel and his nuclear advancement and groundbreaking research.
Talia was alone, sitting cross legged in the center of her vast bed, whispering the translation aloud that one of her dangerous, well-armed, text savvy militants had decoded.
"To the General High Command…Doctor Pavel has completed Phase One…..Phase Two is proceeding twenty-seven days earlier than anticipated…Earlier outcomes show a longer stabilization period before eventual core decay…..flight plans have been changed from earlier transmission…..new graphite rods are needed….please advise."
Talia crushed the paper into a ball and threw it across the room, where it bounced soundlessly and landed on the plush fibers of the carpet. She had her tech wizards scouring every transmission from the believed area where Pavel was believed to be doing his research.
So far they'd come up with nothing in regard to a change in the discovered flight plans. Talia was in a vat of roiling stainless-steel, looking for the single, half-melted knitting needle.
"Where are they taking you Doctor Pavel?" Talia hissed as she stomped over to the thrown piece of paper and tried to smooth out the wrinkles.