"Oh yeah," Asuma gritted out. "Dress. Heels. Tiara. The whole works."

He grabbed onto that image, shoving it squarely to the front of his mind. Tsume's lean body clad in sheer crimson silk; one of those tight-fitting dresses with slits all the way up to her hips. Lethally spiked heels. Soft lights sliding over entirely unbruised skin, picking out gleaming highlights in dark hair. A smile on her lips, sparks in her eyes.

His own hands peeling her out of that dress...

Lines of raw flesh cracked open down the entire length of his back--and lower. Blood ran over chilled flesh, mixing with sweat. His arms trembled, sliced palms leaving scarlet streaks on metal.

He found the wall when his shoulder hit it, and collapsed on his belly.

"Might even wear a suit, 'f y'get lucky," he managed, eyes squeezing closed against a world that insisted on blurring. His head pounded, stomach rolled. "Getcher flowers... I thin' I might be concussed..."