Sato watched the god’s face very carefully while he spoke, as if memorizing every iota of the mouth’s flex around each letter of the oath. Words were tricky things; unattended they could turn wilier than dreams.
Sato smiled. The small curve transformed the lines of her face--and what they hid. It didn’t make her look lovely or kind or welcoming; instead it, uncharacteristically, made Sato look like…Sato. For a moment, the pale skin looked thin and deliberate as silk. The black mane of hair which looked so elegantly normal turned into a mass thick and dark as thorns in the kitchen’s ordinary light. Her brows were neat stitches; the curve of the neck hard as sculpture. There was no safe word for the eyes.
“That,” said the lips that suddenly looked stronger than teeth, and teeth that looked strong enough to bite a nightmare in two, “was a very good answer.”
She turned slightly to cover the bowl, and suddenly was only a pretty, slight woman again. “I keep a suite at the Ritz. Inexcusably cliché, I know, but they’ve got nice carpeting and convenient dining hours.” A bit of the wild spark resurfaced in her expression. “And I hear the kitchen’s good, too.”
The blanc manger would set and keep. Thus reassured Sato could turn her attention to the real purpose of the evening.
“Hotels were more obliging than villages when I was young.” Or something very much like young. “It was terribly frustrating, learning to eat during those first decades. If I took too much I’d be marooned back in Dream Country; sometimes weeks would pass before I found my body again. Indeed, there were times I never found it at all or discovered it to be in too ruined a state to bother mending. Such a bother, that.” Sato sighed and held up two fine hands. She wiggled her fingers. “All this fuss over thumbs…”
“Necessity’s the mother of invention.” Sato shrugged, face wry. “A charming thought, if quintessentially useless. Powerlessness inspires significantly greater innovation.” The wryness grew more pronounced. “At least that has been my experience.”
She canted her head, listening to the deep, fey sense of instinct. Apparently pleased at what it whispered, Sato turned to Marijuana and gestured towards the main room door. “I think they’re just about ready. Shall we?”