[ This is ridiculous. Not just the long shirt she's wearing which says ask me about losing at court (though that particular memory is enough to make Dahlia's jaw tighten, to make her teeth grind together and her breath come tight and controlled), but the whole concept of this city. The very idea that she would have this line down her throat, marking her as submissive, or that she's supposed to be involved in this sort of sexual lifestyle.

But as of right now, she can hardly make this city regret its decisions, so Dahlia swallows another lump of air and thinks of her sister's simpering face. Soft and innocent, allow her shoulders to relax, bring a hand to her mouth in uncertain thought, gaze down.

Iris would suit this designation perfectly. And surely everyone here will quickly believe the same of Dahlia.

Life is so much easier when people think you couldn't hurt a fly, after all. ]

Um... [ She approaches the nearest person — whoever they may be — and glances up shyly at them, hands tight against her clipboard. ] Excuse me... I, um, think this place has given me the wrong shirt. I've never been to court, let alone lost there.

[ That's a lie, but who would possibly suspect such a girl of having a reason to be in court? Let alone lose in one? ]

[ So, as long as Dahlia is stuck here, she'll have to make the best of it. Perhaps this could be a good thing, a new world without any of the baggage of her previous life. No family, no Mia Fey ruining her plans, no precious Feenie (ugh, how does Iris do it?).

She's free. She's skipped the wait on death row and has this whole new life to enjoy.

Well. Perhaps enjoy is a strong term when you're stuck in the Down, but Dahlia is sure she can correct that eventually, with a little scheming. But for today, she needs to know more about the city she is forced to call home, so she begins in the Down, dressed prettily in her signature white dress (she can't keep wearing this day in and day out, though, and she knows it) as she walks past the Motel, paying minimal attention to the salespeople hawking their samples and concentrating instead on the other Submissives here, noting faces trying to listen for pieces of conversation which might actually be useful in this ridiculous place.

She follows a striking head of hair with her eyes as it weaves in and out of others, picking up speed as though running late (a poem comes to mind, one of rushing through the world and missing everything), and doesn't see the salesperson approaching her until a cloud of cinnamon-pear perfume envelopes her. ]

Watch it! [ The snarled words are a far cry from the sweet, delicate dress or the slow steps she's taken through the Down so far, red hair flaring out around her like a cloud of flame. How dare this woman ruin Dahlia's carefully crafted appearance with such a discordant scent?!

She should be made to regret that. Perhaps... Ah. There's someone who looks useful. Dahlia's anger dissolves off her face as quickly as it appeared, replaced by glistening, teary eyes as she runs over towards them, sniffling. ]

C-can you help me?

[ hit me with anything you want! ]