Crimson had taken the royal entourage to the one place Julien had never expected to see again from the inside: her home. It was his bodyguard who was to thank for this, actually; without her insistence, he, along with Maurice and Mort, wouldn't even be here, since Crimson didn't want them around – least of all him, for obvious reasons. Ultimately, though, she hadn't had much of a choice, as Clover had outright refused to come in unless they did, too – so a compromise had had to be reached: the men could stay, but only if they behaved themselves, and did not touch anything for as long as they were there.

Together with their hostess, the three were currently loitering around the living room, resting on the large sectional couch while Crimson vigilantly stood by, half-listening to them as they updated her on recent events. Clover had left for the upstairs bathroom to ready herself for a little treat her sister had spent the better part of the last twenty minutes making.

"Ugh, how could this happen? What are we gonna do?" Julien was just asking the remaining lemurs. "Pam showing up has thrown a huge wrench into our plans!" Sighing, he lifted his hands to his jaded face. "I mean, say what you will about her, but man... no guy with his head on straight can deny that she's a real hottie."

"Bah! Clover is still the prettier woman in my eyes," Maurice said, "Not to mention far more talented than Pam could ever be! She will win the pageant, Your Majesty!"

"Of course she will; I don't doubt that! ...But Pam being there at all is gonna put a hell of a lot more pressure on Clo-Clo, and Frank knows what could happen if you pit them both against each other in a closed space – not to mention Pam's affinity for cheating and weaseling her way into everything... What if she seduces the committee members to get them in her pocket and gain extra score or some other unfair advantage? How are we gonna prevent that?"

"I could keep an eye on her; follow her everywhere she goes! She'll never know what hit her, he he!" Mort exclaimed, grinning uncannily and rubbing his hands. The king rolled his eyes at him.

"Well, he is onto something there. We'll just have to make sure she's not left unsupervised," Maurice proposed.

Crimson sniggered at him. "Yeah, good luck with that. I'm no expert, but from what I've heard, the grand CX is always packed to high hell even on its slowest nights; now imagine how it'll be on Saturday, with so many performers, guests, staff members, news teams – plus the inevitable influx of visitors the contest will bring – all running around! It'll be a minor miracle if you can even keep track of yourselves."

"Well, what do you suggest?" Julien asked her. "I'm open for suggestions here!"

"Me?" She shrugged flippantly. "Not much; I'm 'bout as blank as you! I don't know Pam like you fellas do and I've never been inside the club, so what d'you want me to tell ya? Theoretically... as someone with... a certain grasp of men's ins and outs, as our newcomer put it so eloquently before, the best I could do is look inside the judges' headspaces in case she's indeed thinking of trying something with them." Chin on hand, she began to meander about the room while she delivered her conjectural analysis, "Let's see – Ted is married, so if he truly loves his wife, he'll reject Pam's advances; that puts him low on the priority list. Willie might not come back at all after that number he pulled, and the ol' geezer with the lemony eyes and chronic smoker voice... Uh, what was his name again?"

"Hector?" replied Mort.

Crimson nodded. "Yes. Safest bet is that you don't need to worry 'bout him; ya could be the hottest chick 'cross all Africa, rub yourself all over him with the lewdest of intentions, and he'd still tell ya to piss off without a thought. Besides, Pam would have to be downright shameless to go after a bloke his age. That leaves us Pancho and Horst; those two are the ones ya should seriously watch out for. Both are single, not particularly bright – and in Horst's case, not too bad-looking – which would make 'em prime targets... and we've all seen how untrustworthy Pancho can be when he's given the right incentive. I've no doubt he'd receive her with open arms, that grimy sod."

Julien and Mort glanced at each other with fretful expressions, as if entertaining whether any of this could actually happen. Only Maurice disagreed. "Guys...? Come on, is this for real?" He looked at both of them like they'd gone crazy. "Am I the only one who's thinking we're getting a little too ahead of ourselves with all these what-ifs? Those dudes are good acquaintances of ours; they wouldn't sell themselves and their jobs out just to scurry off into the broom closet with a girl they've only just met!" he reasoned.

Then Crimson walked up from behind him and, bending over, laid her elbows on the couch's backrest with a smirk to sultrily purr to him, "Oh, you'd be shocked what most men are willing to do at the mere prospect of getting some. It's like something up here goes 'poof', and they devolve into little more than fossa during mating season – simple brainless machines driven by their worst instincts."

The aye-aye quietly cleared his throat, flustered by the temptress' candor. "Yeah... no need to give us the details."

"And, as you and my sis have observed, Pam already did steal one of your so-called 'upstanding' mates away – and she did it without makeup or a tight-fitting dress," she continued as she ambled away, "Who's to say she won't do it again once she's all decked up and looking sexier than ever?"

"There's this thing that people have called 'integrity' – maybe you should add that word to your dictionary."

Hearing this, Crimson turned to glare down at him, then shouted, "Look, buster, I'm trying to be of help here! If you don't want it, feel free to leave this house; you're definitely not going to be missed!"

"Guys, guys!" Julien interjected with raised arms, "Nobody's going anywhere till we've sorted this out – and please, do keep your voices down!" He pointed at the stairwell rising behind him. "May I remind you that right up those stairs over there, we've got a very dear friend and sister who's just been through hell and is looking for a bit of well-deserved downtime? Let's be more considerate, okay; we're not at Club Xanadu anymore!"

Crimson's judgmental gaze fell on him for the longest time, but then she uttered a small sigh and let her body collapse on the opposite end of the couch. "...Riddle me something, Ju-Ju..." she said quietly, changing the subject, "If you and my sis know this Pam character and have fought her several times before, then how come nobody else in this madhouse of a village seems to have the first clue who she is? I just can't wrap my head 'round that."

"Well... it's kind of a long story," the royal answered as honestly and concisely as he could, "I guess she's just that good at covering her tracks. First time we met her, there was no one around to see a thing, since everybody but us was away on vacation... and then every other time she's returned, she's either made up a new identity, used a disguise, or ensured she'd leave nothing that could be traced back to her. Nobody knows where she came from, where she goes to, or what she does when she's not scheming; she's like... a total mystery! All we can say for sure is that she loves gold and jewelry, stealing said gold and jewelry, and that she's an abnormally fast runner – even more so than Clover. Almost... bordering on supernatural..." Here, he suddenly became quiet, and his gaze wandered off to the floor; his mind appeared to be somewhere else entirely.

"Wow..." The look Crimson was giving him now was one of contemptuous mockery. "So what you're telling me is that she's been such a big menace for so long... and ya never considered doing anything, or warning anyone? How smart of ya, schmoopie-bear. How bloody smart."

This brought him back around. "Hey, we did punish her whenever we could – that we did! And the not-telling-people thing was a conscious decision done between all of us to safeguard Clover's public image! We can't afford people losing faith in the only person capable of ensuring they can soundly go to sleep every night; our kingdom is saddled with enough problems as it is. Maybe we were mistaken about keeping this a secret, but we've always managed to shoot down all of Pam's plans just fine – and mark my words, we will do it again this time!"

His clean look of determination was met with the most cynical of grins. "Heh, by 'we', I assume you mean 'me and Clo-Clo', right? None of ya freeloaders are going to lift a finger and you know it," Crimson hissed.

Julien exchanged glances with Maurice and Mort. Then they looked at her again, and either sighed, or shook their heads at her. "...Girl... I think I speak for everyone when I say that if you're gonna have nothing useful to add, you'd be better off just keeping your mouth shut."

"Why, ya don't like hearing the truth?"

"No, what I don't like is your damn attitude!"

"Well, boo-hoo-hoo! Why don't you tell it to my lil' friend here, dearest – maybe he'll actually give a rat's arse 'bout what you think!" she fired back condescendingly, showing the king the middle finger in all its vulgarity – clearly, Pam's remarks in regards to their relationship must've revived certain bitter feelings within her, leaving the red twin prone to jump at her ex-fiancé's slightest offense. This ended triggering another well-trodden, full-voiced argument between the two lemurs; fingers were pointed, insults were thrown, and even a cushion or two were hurled in the air. Mort, who had huddled into a tiny furball in a corner of the couch, vainly tried to warn them that Clover was going to hear them, but they weren't listening.

...Little did any of them know, that it had already happened.

A fifth face was hiding in the dimness of the second floor stairsteps, sitting perfectly still on the landing as it eavesdropped on the group. Clover had been there for a good while now; she'd only just begun to wash herself in the bathroom with the door left ajar, when mentions of her and Pam had started filtering in from downstairs, so she hadn't been able to resist the temptation. Now she wished she had, however, given the things that were coming from her king and sister's mouths: she was once again accusing him of being a cold-hearted swine and a selfish backstabber who would use his closest friends for personal gain, which he vehemently refuted before in turn calling out her hypocrisy. Things would've escalated even further, had it not been for Maurice – it wasn't until he ardently shouted at them to stop acting like children and remember why they were here, that both settled down.

Clover could catch a small peek of the scene if she leaned out; Julien could be seen apologizing to his advisor for disregarding his own advice, as Crimson stormed off into another room. She was at least thoughtful enough to not slam the door too hard on her way out.

Stillness reigned afterwards. The three boys were talking to each other, yet they were being so quiet the bodyguard could no longer hear anything. She shook her head to herself, got up, and then hobbled back to the bathroom at the end of the hallway, gently closing the door behind her.

Immediately, it was as though she'd been whisked into another world where the cold harsh tribulations of reality couldn't reach her anymore. Her very own personal sanctuary. The lights were off; rather, illumination was being supplied by dozens of scented candles placed everywhere: sharing space with just as many bathroom products on the shelves, up on the windowsill and around the sink and shower stall, down in all four corners... each one left there strategically by Crimson to create the greatest achievable aura of relaxation. The whole room, not small by any means, smelled of vanilla and lavender.

She cast a long, contemplative look at herself when she stepped up to the mirror. Even with Julien's improvements, she couldn't recall a recent time where she had looked worse than this.

Careful not to dampen the tissue in her nose, she turned the valve back on, and stoically resumed washing her face and hands as before. It took a great deal of minutes just to get all the dirt and leftover blood off, and even longer to rinse her fingers free of that which wasn't hers; the younger contestant's blood was so dried up that she had to rub and scrub till she'd consumed virtually the entire soap bar. As she stared at the revolting mixture of frothy water, black mud, and dark red streaks spiral down the drain, her thoughts were set on only one thing: how this travesty would not go unpunished. She would get her due revenge on Pam, come rain or shine – not by doing what had landed her in this mess to begin with, though, but by playing it smart; by playing by the rules. She was going to prove to everybody on that nearing Saturday night that she was the superior woman, in both brawn and beauty.

However, now was not the time to dwell on such matters. Clover brushed her teeth, then left the sink and laid eyes on the centerpiece of her stay here: a big wooden bathtub that Crimson had prepared for her. It sat underneath the only window, which was closed, its blind rolled all the way down for added coziness and a better sense of seclusion. Her sister had also enhanced the warm, unbroken water with some bath salts, and a bath bomb to tinge it a hot bubblegum pink; the end result was so exquisitely pretty that the notion of having to get in and disturb such perfection saddened her. The last addition to this magnificent setup was, without question, its best: a caddy wedged across the tub's width, fitted with yet another candle, some flowers, a glass of wine, a small plate containing a handful of strawberries, two bottles of shampoo, a sea sponge, and a magazine – each item tidily arranged at Clover's disposal.

Whoa... Crimson must do this kinda stuff pretty regularly for it to be this well-made, she thought in wonderment.

Leaning down to sniff in more of those soul-soothing aromas, she skimmed her hand across the water's surface, not even realizing she'd begun to smile a little. "Well..." she muttered, the faintest hint of excitement in her voice, "...Here goes."

She swung her left leg over the rim, then the right one, and then slowly – oh so slowly – lowered herself into the tub, exhaling contently as she lay down and stretched her body out. Then she tipped her head back, shut her eyes, and dangled her arms out of either side, indulging in the swift effect of the liquid surrounding her.

"Ahhh, that's better..."

She stayed like so for a long, long while, simply concentrating on the steady rhythm of her breathing and thinking of nothing – later, when thirst began scratching at her throat, she picked up the wine glass, ready to treat herself to a fine meal... yet just before the sweet drink could flow over the rim and onto her lips, something stopped her. She held the glass out in front of her, weighing it in her hand, smiling no more. Her eyes glided around the room, and all of a sudden she felt as though she had lost her appetite; she put the glass back on the caddy and slowly sat up. Her shoulder screamed in protest as she did. She hardly even flinched.

None of this had meaning, she had realized. All this beauty and luxury was nothing but a façade behind which Crimson's true motivations lay. Clover was convinced her sister had only done this to keep her in check lest she do something stupid again – that in fact, she wouldn't even have bothered to come to her rescue earlier if their fates weren't intertwined, and all the plastic smiles and all this pampering she was being subjected to came from a place of self-interest, rather than love. This alone hurt more than any wound Pam could've given her put together. It sickened her, made her weep on the inside. For a moment, her grief became so profound that she wanted to leave the tub, climb down the tree outside the window, and discreetly retreat back to her own house, but she didn't; her body needed the rest. In her current condition, she probably wouldn't make it halfway through before she fainted from exhaustion anyway.

Her sigh of depression resounded through the emptiness. Well... if I'm gonna stay, I might as well try to enjoy it...

In an effort to keep her mind occupied, she decided to give the magazine a try. Its cover depicted various lemur women in flashy makeup and glamorous sequin dresses, posing for the camera with alluring grins. Clover scoffed, unimpressed, before reading the title aloud, "'Lemurian High Life, Issue #58: Our Top Ten Indispensable Fashion Tips That Every Aspiring Model Should Know'." Right then, the room was filled with the soft, mirthless notes of her laughter. "Nice try, sis..." she muttered as she opened it, leisurely flipping through the pages littered with overblown headlines and kitschy pictures, "As if I'd ever subject myself to reading this trash. What am I, a pin-up girl?" Then she folded the magazine, and looking to get rid of it, tossed it onto the downed lid of the nearby toilet, where it belonged.

With not much left to do other than sit there, she grabbed the sponge and shampoo, poured some on the former, and passed the time lathering herself in silence. She winced a little when the fibrous material slid over her right shoulder and arm; even though it did hurt less than before, the pain hadn't fully disappeared yet. She dropped the sponge to inspect the region against which Pam had smashed the stanchion post; by parting the fur she discovered that the rosy skin underneath had turned an ugly shade of purplish red. It was tender to the touch, too. It wasn't large enough to be visible at first sight, but Clover, well-accustomed to wounds of all shapes and sizes, knew how much it could grow over time. This worried her; in a contest where physical attributes ruled supreme, even the smallest blemish would put her at a huge disadvantage. Perhaps Crimson could do something about it.

At least, however, not all seemed so bleak – the bath salts had effectively taken away some of the pain in her submerged flank and lower spine, and the state of calm she was in had begun to ease her headache as well. Soon it would completely pass. Clover retrieved the floating sponge, and finished washing the rest of her body until not a speck of dirt remained. Then, she lay down again with a sudden yawn; her eyelids were getting heavier by the second. Giving in to the drowsiness, she closed her eyes, and wandered off to a restless slumber.

Clover awoke to the sound of the door being rapped on. She glanced at the clock on the wall – approximately a quarter of an hour had elapsed. She rubbed her eyes, then called out, "Who is it?"

"It's me, Clo-Clo," Crimson's voice answered from the other side, "Listen, uh... can ya let me in?"

Clover frowned; she absolutely did not want her to come in and disrupt whatever peace she'd built up, but as her guest, she had no right to refuse her entry inside her own home. Maybe she just needed to use the toilet for a minute, and then she'd go away. "...The door's unlocked," she said, trying not to sound too disdainful.

The door swung open, and Crimson slipped in before shutting it with her heel. "Gods, I don't know how ya can stand being 'round that royal douchebag all day every day, sis! Whatever he's paying ya, it clearly ain't enough!" she snarled as she strode over to the sink, hardly paying her sibling any mind. She began rummaging through the cabinets beneath it until she took out a small tube of breath freshener and a flask of perfume. "Sometimes I feel like kicking myself in the teeth for ever wanting to share my life with him! Gah!"

Opening her mouth wide, she applied the freshener, sprayed herself all over, then put both items away and checked herself in the mirror for imperfections in her eyeshadow and fur, and the whiteness of her teeth. "You're awfully quiet, ain't ya? Is the bath that much to your liking?" she asked, obtaining no answer. She turned her head, and her eyebrows rose with intrigue: Clover had withdrawn so far underwater that the only part of her that was sticking out of it was her head, as though she were embarrassed for one reason or another. Crimson chuckled at this. "C'mon, sis, the hell you doing that for? Ya ain't got nothing to hide from me; we used to bathe together all the time when we were kids, 'member?"

"...Yeah, I 'member," the bodyguard muttered, timidly easing back up.

"How's your side? Still hurting?"

"Yeah, but not as much anymore." Clover examined the spot in question. "No bruise has popped up yet, which means there's no internal bleeding... so there goes our main worry. Probably gonna be sore for a few hours, though. Actually, it's my shoulder that's bothering me the most, but that'll go away too."

"Good to hear. Wouldn't want ya giving up on me now," she said, grinning as she approached the bathtub. The magazine on the toilet was the first thing she noticed. "Hm, I see you didn't read the mag I left for ya."

"Well, duh! I'm not touching the ink on those pages with a ten-foot pole!"

The other sister shrugged. "Eh, it was worth a try. I do think you should at least take a gander at it; it's got lots of stuff that could come in handy."

"Yeah, keep dreaming – and what are ya doing up here anyway? I thought the purpose of me taking this bath was to relax."

"Ouch!" Whilst Crimson was well aware of how unwelcome her presence was, the smirk on her face did not waver. "Well... there's two reasons for that," she replied, holding up the same number of fingers. "One is none of your business, and the other is that, uh... Well... I guess I kinda needed to vent by talking to someone. Not sure if you've heard, but Julien really pushed my buttons a while ago, and sadly, I've come to the conclusion that moping in my room all by my lonesome just ain't gonna cut it." With this most peculiar declaration, she knelt on the soft wool mat by the tub, arms folded over the rim, with her chin resting on top. "...So... if ya wanted to tell me something, now's as good a time as any."

Clover, at first, only stared at her in silence. Suddenly, she turned away. "...If you actually cared 'bout anything I have to say, you wouldn't need to come crawling to me now," she stated bluntly.

"Hey, don't be like that!" Crimson made a face and pushed her. "This is literally the third one-on-one conversation I've had with anyone tonight and you're the only person here I can even come close to confiding in!"

Clover still didn't so much as make a sound. Crimson sighed; she could feel the rancor emanating from her sister's every pore like swelter. Nothing she could say was going to arouse her pity. She had to do something that would enable her to get through to Clover if she wanted this to work out, something to break the ice... and she had the ideal way of doing it.

Unfolding her arms, she instructed her, "Sit up straight with your back to me. Huddle your knees to your chest."

"Why?" she was asked.

"Just do it, trust me!"

Clover finally looked at her – suspiciously so – but then she shifted around to do as told.

"Okay, now what d'you want-

Her entire body stiffened with unprecedented shock when she felt a pair of hands firmly come down on both of her shoulders. Holding her breath, she dared not blink as Crimson began to perform a series of rhythmic strokes with her thumbs and fingers across her shoulder blades and deltoid muscles.

"Wha – wha – what are you doing?" she babbled out, startled; her long-standing aversion to being touched by certain people in certain ways never did quite shine as much as it did now.

Behind her, Crimson was smiling again. "Speeding up your recovery! Why, you've never gotten a massage before? I don't believe that."

"'Course I have, but – but-

"Ah ah ah! I don't wanna hear no 'buts', sis; you're my special guest for the night and this is the house specialty!" Leaning her head in to lock eyes with Clover, the red twin produced a mischievous laugh. "Heh, I bet ya wouldn't be complaining if I were one of those handsome beefcakes with the bulging pecs and chiseled abs that you looove to fantasize about, hm?"

With widened eyes, Clover cuffed her sister behind the ear. "Er – shut up!"

This only made her laugh harder. The second twin grunted, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Whatever, just be quiet if ya can and keep doing that. It's actually starting to feel... kinda good."

"I did tell you you were in good hands!"

And in good hands she was indeed – Crimson was delivering her massage with the prowess of a full-time masseuse, switching from mellow effleurage strokes around the spine to harder petrissage ones on the shoulders, before following up with a slow, methodical kneading of the knotted muscle fibers on the neck with hardly a thought required. These were techniques she'd self-learned and refined many moons ago to please her numerous lovers during times of intimacy or (more rarely) stress; most people would view it as a silly skillset to have, yet now, there was no argument to be made against its usefulness.

For a short while, time passed by silently. Then all of a sudden, Crimson muttered, "Clo-Clo... I've been meaning to ask you something... It's – it's about that other girl, Pam."

Clover's face darkened at the utterance of that name. "...Shoot."

"Well... What exactly happened that day, the first time you fought her? I recall seeing you limp around with a sling and a cane, but when I went to ask ya 'bout it, you never answered, so I just assumed it'd been the fossa's doing... and now I learn from Xixi, of all people, that Pam did it! I mean, I kinda get why you'd wanna keep the truth hidden from the commonfolk, but from me? Why?"

The bodyguard briefly lifted her face to look at her, only to look down again seconds later. "Why should I have told ya? You wouldn't have batted an eye if it had been my neck on the wringer instead of my arm. It was simpler to just save my breath," she asserted quite candidly. Crimson said nothing, allowing her to continue – she raised her right arm from the water to show it to her. "Here." Her other hand pointed to a section on the wet fur near the middle point of the forearm, across which she made an incision-like gesture. "Both bones snapped clean in half, like twigs underfoot; got my arm pulled so fast it nearly dislocated my shoulder too. I think I even passed out from pain... Must've been my lucky day Pam didn't just finish me off right there and then."

Crimson's motions slowed down as she reflected upon these words. Though Clover couldn't see it, an odd look of despondency was besetting her eyes now. "Oh my..."

"Yeah... Those months I spent longing for payback were among the worst of my life – if not the worst. I went from proud warrior to useless cripple!"

"But – but you never lose a fight to anyone! Even if ya do get punched once or twice, you always come out on top!"

Clover lowered her arm with a soft splash of water. "Not this time. First encounter, I underestimated her; I just had no idea what I was up against. Tonight..." Her lips pulled back in a vengeful grimace; realizing her rage was starting to get the better of her again, she shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and then tried to stay focused on the massage. "Tonight was even worse, believe it or not. At least when I got my sorry arse handed to me on that beach, the only people that were there to see it were my friends. Still embarrassing, but nothing I couldn't get over. Now it was them, you, Xixi, Butterfish, plus who knows how many strangers from the club! I'm honestly shocked no one from the committee was called up to investigate too – then I would've so been done for."

Crimson pushed her head down a little to gain clearer access to her nape. "Well, can't you report Pam to them? Or hell, what 'bout Butterfish? How is that guy gonna let it slip after the smackdown she's given ya? He should've barred her from the club for life!"

Clover sighed. "It's not that easy. The committee cannot hear a word of our fight 'cause we were both in on it, and more importantly, I'm the one who started it. Either of us reporting it would only end with me getting kicked from the pageant right along with her; if anything, the judges would nail me first for assaulting another contestant! Same goes for Butterfish – he's already done more than I could ask of him by not banning me, but I guess that by doing that, he also had to absolve Pam from any wrongdoing. Club bouncing ain't a job for double standards."

She groaned as Crimson undid another tension knot. Before long, a dreamy grin of ecstasy had materialized on her once-joyless face. "Ah, right there... That's the spot... You're really great at this, y'know?"

Her sibling shrugged at the compliment. "I've had practice. Now why don't ya get a taste of the wine; I'd hate to see booze from my own collection go to waste." She picked up the long forgotten-about glass for her, then held it before her face, waiting for her to grab it. "Either you drink it, or I do. Your choice."

Clover half-heartedly took it from her; even though she still wasn't much in the mood for foods or drinks, she remembered she hadn't had anything proper to nourish her belly with in hours. Doing so would be good for her.

Ah, to hell with it. Why not? In a single swoop, she guzzled down over half of the glass, prompting Crimson to commend her with a few pats on the arm.

"Attagirl! Now that's what I'm talking 'bout!" While her sister feasted away, she moved her hands on to the shoulders; the right one was, understandably, in most need of nursing, and was quite tough to alleviate. Yet Crimson took it as a challenge – pressing quite strongly into the shoulder blade, she amused herself with the myriad of little grunts and mewls of discomfort that soon filled her ears. "Aw, don't be such a baby! I'm not even being that rough!" she exclaimed teasingly.

Clover glared back at her, a strawberry in her mouth. "You're doing that on purpose, aren't ya?"

"Nope!" The devious smile on her face suggested otherwise. "This knot here is one tough mother, though. It's pretty amazing you can even move your arm!"

"I know. Can ya fix it?"

"Ain't nothing these puppies can't do, sister-girl. Just gimme a minute." Crimson had devoted all her attention to rubbing down every inch of the scapula; though she wouldn't have minded to keep listening to her sister's whining for a bit longer, she did relieve the pressure somewhat. Her efforts were rewarded with more compliments and pleasured expressions, and in no time at all, Clover was able to freely bend and flex the limb again with not a complaint.

She could hardly contain her awe. "...Tha – thanks," she heard herself say. She couldn't even recall the last time she'd said that to Crimson and actually meant it.

"You're welcome," she replied, "Just try not to get into any more fights; next time you may not be so lucky to walk off with just a sore arm."

All of a sudden, Clover froze, as if thunderstruck. Crimson's eyes widened in confusion – it was as though her inoffensive comment had set off alarms inside her head, like something deep on the back of her mind was greatly bothering her now. Her breathing had become more labored and slightly louder – loud enough for it to be heard plainly in the otherwise-silent room. Crimson was so taken aback by this that she even thought Clover was in pain; when she leaned in to look into her eyes, she found them downcast and brimming with distress.

"Hey! What's wrong?"

"Crimson..." The bodyguard appeared almost fearful – fearful, of all things. "I want you to promise you'll stay clear from Pam at all times."

"What?"

Clover hastily left her food on the caddy, then twisted her torso around to search for Crimson's left hand, upon which she laid hers. Her tone of voice couldn't have been more serious. "Please, just listen to me for once in your life! Pam is out there somewhere; I know for a fact she's planning something, and now that you're directly involved in this pageant stuff, it means you're her enemy too! Gosh, and you just had to go and paint a giant target on your back by provoking her...!"

The red twin huffed, frowning defiantly. She removed her hand from under her sister's to clench it into a fist. "Oh, is that what this is all about? Well, so what?! Somebody had to teach her a lesson! I know what you're thinking: that she'll try to 'get revenge on me' or some other bunk 'cause I broke her precious goggles... Well, don't do that; I can take care of myself! I won't let some second-rate broad like her scare me!"

"No, Crimson! You saw what she did to me – twice – now imagine what she could do to you! Pam is dangerous, and she won't hesitate for a second to hurt you to reach her goals!" Persistently, she shrouded both of her hands over her twin's fist again – an action the latter didn't seem to like very much. "Y'know I almost never ask ya to promise me anything, but I have to now! Please, promise me you'll stay away from her no matter what! I don't care if I'm in trouble – don't come to my aid! If she talks to ya, just ignore her and walk away; if she even so much as looks at ya weird, get the hell outta dodge! Don't be afraid of calling me at the first sign of peril, got it?"

Crimson rolled hard her eyes. Though her sister's concerns were well-intentioned and even better-placed, to her, it was just an overreaction. "Ah, sis, you worry too much! But... alright. If it'll make ya sleep easy, then I promise I'll do all that stuff you just said."

"D'you?" Still skeptical, Clover lifted a brow at her. She wasn't going to let go of her until she got a better answer than that.

Straightening up, Crimson uncurled her right pinky, then drew an invisible X above the left side of her chest. "Cross my heart."

This seemed to appease the bodyguard well enough. "...Good." Then she finally returned to her previous position with her back on full display, as though subtly telling Crimson to keep massaging her just a little longer. "I'm gonna make that wench pay..." she hissed hatefully through grinding teeth, her eyes ablaze, "Who the hell does she think she is, threatening and insulting my family? I swear, when she started saying those disgusting things 'bout ya in front of everyone, I could've just – I could've..."

"Shhh, let it go, sis; it's no biggie," Crimson whispered soothingly, "Who cares what she thinks? I've heard it all before."

Those last five words gave Clover pause. "...That doesn't give her the right to shame you like that," she muttered then.

"Psch, as if she were any better! I may do a lot of... questionable things, but at least I don't steal from people or beat 'em senseless on a whim. That chick she knocked out or whatever? Even I wouldn't go that low."

"Yeah... but don't worry... I won't let that happen to any of ya. Y'all have my word." Clover glared down at her fists which rested on her immersed lap – after contemplating them for a moment, she clenched them with enough strength for her knuckles to turn white.

"Pam wants war? By the gods I'll give her war."