[ The dead one indeed. Emma has always prided herself on being able to hold her own, even from a terribly young age. She's stronger than most would think, particularly at first sight, and indeed, as Shaw would think, she's as flawless as perfect diamond. She's terribly intelligent as well, something she doesn't mind acknowledging, despite however she loves it whenever so many underestimate exactly, exactly what she can do.

She loves it, too. Loves the way he screams and moans, loves the way she can wreck him in every possible formation there could possibly be. She plays the role of Queen all too well. ]

Marvelous. Though I'm sure you'll be searching yourself sometime soon. Or sending me off. Please, do try to make it somewhere a bit more hospitable than Russia, will you?

[ Whenever he takes her in his hands, whenever he spins her in time to the easy-going jazz coming from the record player, she can't help but smile, delighted. He rather loves romancing her, in somewhat of an old-fashioned way, and she slides against him easily, dancing right against him and twirling in his arms. ]

Lovely. Should I get us a bottle of good champagne? [ She rather likes that idea -- it's been too long. A day feels too long without being able to have him, being able to tear out those moans from his throat like they were made for her. Shaw is one of the few she doesn't mind actually having sex with, one of the few she doesn't just simply cast an image of herself only to sit idly by and boredly drink champagne waiting for the gentleman to finish. She likes him.

It's a terrible thing, liking someone like Shaw. ]