"You really thought that'd work?" Tim asked after several seconds spent trying to wrap his head around the idea.

"Perhaps," Emma said, glancing up at him. "At worst, I'd imagined you'd become an ally in the event that a conflict erupted between us. As you've no doubt supposed, I'm no match for her brawn, and—"

"I'm…definitely not either," he said, starting to laugh again. "Wow, that's fucking great." He started to laugh harder.

The blonde woman stared at him, her brows slowly drawing down her face and her hands coming to a halt on her half-braided locks. "You… You lied to me?" she said in ten-out-of-ten amazement.

Tim held his stomach as he laughed. He squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his head back, and he laughed harder than he'd laughed in a long time. "What happened to your every intent is open to me?" he wheezed, doing a two-out-of-ten impression of her accent.

Her frown changed into a scowl, but one side of her lips twitched upwards. "It's good you're capable of finding the humor in your own lack of capability," she said.

"Oh no, you're not turning this back on me," he said, continuing to chuckle. "That's right, you did ask a lot of really specific questions like that."

"You were quite enthusiastic in your willingness to answer, as I recall," she said. "Well, I'll concede that as my loss. I'd become so certain…" She frowned at him again. "Truly she's the stronger between the two of you?"

"I think she could kill me by breathing on me," he said with a grin. "And I mean that in the literal sense."

"I imagine I'd have been incredibly surprised with that eventuality had my scheme succeeded," Emma said, her expression turning thoughtful. "No matter. My secondary reason was, perhaps, somewhat more personal."

"Oh?" Tim couldn't help but lean forward slightly.

"Curiosity," she said with a matching grin. "I'd come to this place as a champion to Sateus himself, which must surely have meant that my fellow champions were as worthy as me. You were the only male, and a not entirely human one at that—or are you human at all, I wonder—so I'd thought to test my wiles, as it were."

"Wiles tested," he said, looking at her anew. That's kind of fucked up, but I can't deny that she totally had me. "Can you really blush on command?"

"No, don't be silly," she replied, waving her hand in a dismissal. "Only a handsome and dashing man like you could poss—" She clamped a hand swiftly to her mouth, and her face erupted into a bright blush.

Tim took a long blink.

She lowered her hand and shrugged with her eyebrows at him as the color receded from her cheeks. "It's a simple trick of magic. Most ladies of the court learn it if they've the proficiency. I'd mastered it long before my tenth year."

"That seems…unfair," he said. Dating in her world must be a totally different thing if magic is so readily available. "And how old are you, anyway?"

"I've very nearly reached my twenty second year," she said with a sly smile. "But that's not truly what you've the desire to know, is it, Mister Storm? If you'd care to provide me with the length of your world's years and days, I'll provide you with a proper answer."

Wow, she's much younger than I thought. He grimaced a little. That's a bit too far outside my—

"Ooh, have I upset you with my youth?" She said, covering her mouth as she chuckled softly in amusement. "Or is it perhaps that I've grown too old? Perhaps we'll discover that I'm even older than you by your world's reckoning?"

"It's three hundred and sixty five days to a year, twenty four hours to a day," he said.

Her golden brows rose in surprise once more. "Oh, Mister Storm, it seems your world's quite a lot faster than mine, and its years are…" She held up her thumb and forefinger spaced a little apart and pouted. "So small!"

"Right," he said, stifling a laugh into a snort.

"By your measurements, I'd have reached a vigorous forty seven years," she said, her smile returning.

"Wait, what?" Tim spluttered as his own brows shot towards the ceiling.

"Why Mister Storm, you sound absolutely astonished!" she said with unrestrained glee, clapping her hands together and then clasping them tightly. "Yes, were I to live on your world, I'd be well into my twilight. Shall I—Yes, I'd imagine you'll be curious how I've arrived at my conclusion. You see, a year in my world is six hundred days, each of which is a much more reasonable thirty two hours—and I've done my calculating under the assumption that an hour on my world is the same as yours out of a desire not to embarrass your poor world too severely—which yields a touch over nineteen thousand hours per year. This is in contrast to…" She turned herself to face him and leaned over the table, her jaw pulling down in an expression of awkward concern. "Less than half that," she whispered with widened eyes, "on your…inadequate world."

Emma held the pose and expression for a moment longer before she sat back with a laugh. "I've already begun to feel positively ancient now, and I've still no notion of your age."

Tim was running the figures himself while she talked, and he was rapidly coming to a conclusion that wasn't what he'd expected. She's actually my age? And she looks like that? What the fuck? He shook his head. "No, wait, you can't just math over age like that. There's differences in how people develop—"

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"Develop, you say?" she interrupted, squeezing her shoulders together and bringing her arms up under her ten-out-of-ten chest to hold her breasts so they bulged distinctly against the fabric. "Is there some manner of me that lacks development, Mister Storm?" she asked in a challenging tone with one brow raised.

After a moment, she brought one hand down and started tugging her dress slowly up her eleven-out-of-ten legs. "Perhaps…" She let the dress fall and waved her hand. "Well, I'm not certain that would help my case, as I've a strong dislike of hair anywhere besides atop my head—a dislike it seems you share, thankfully—but I believe we've also established my ability to triumph in a battle of wits. I'd now wager my age is quite close to your own, judging by your reaction," she said with a smile as she again leaned her elbow on the arm of the sofa.

She sure likes to talk. Then again, maybe this is just the first time she's really gotten to take her mask off, like she was saying before. He met her gaze and studied her eyes. She's sort of fun to talk to. Definitely doesn't act like a twenty two year-old. Not sure she acts like someone twice that age either though. "I'm forty eight," he said at last.

"Shit, and for a moment, I'd thought myself the elder between us," she said with mock indignation.

"Would it really make a difference?" he asked.

"No, that was a joke," she said, sounding exasperated. "In truth, I'm pleased to know you're at least a slight amount older, as I've always held some disdain for those who've fornicated with men younger than themselves."

"You…what?" Tim said. He glanced down from her face as his mind wandered for an instant at her provocation.

"Oh, shall I remove my dress so you can commence to thrusting?" she said as her lips quirked up in amusement. "I'd meant it as a simple statement, not an invitation. Truly a woman's unable to make any form of sexual reference without men believing it to be an attempted seduction."

"Alright, alright, I get it," he said, rolling his eyes.

"No need to be snippy," Emma said, her smile growing a little wider. "If I'd intended any form of seduction, you'd be unable to resist in even the slightest manner, so it's nothing with which you need concern yourself."

"Is that so?" he said. She has a really flirty sense of humor. It's…sort of exciting but also a little hard to get a handle on.

"Perhaps," she said with a shrug of her eyebrows. Her fingers gestured lazily towards the inverted clock. "I've noted you'll be departing soon, and I'd like to inquire on a matter now that you've received the answers you'd sought. If it's true that you're no match for our dear scorpion, how is it you've managed to survive until now? I've had the notion that champions who've been defeated often meet their deaths, but you've endured for quite some time. I'd thought that all of the rowdy, fighting types would possess at least her level of strength."

"Well," Tim said. This should be interesting. Assuming I can even get through it without laughing at how ridiculous it is. "My first match was against some descendant of dragons, and apparently her group came here with a fertility goddess looking to find someone with dragon's blood—like me—to help repopulate their race so she surrendered once she recognized that I was who she was looking for. Then I faced off against some ogre who died of old age, and his god's a god of war who didn't want anyone to know his champion died like that, so he started spreading this rumor that one of my weapons instantly kills people if I think about it—or something like that, I don't know the exact details—so now everyone just surrenders immediately."

Emma stared at him with increasing incredulity, and her mouth slowly opened a small ways as he spoke. She blinked at him, and her head tilted to the side. "I'm…" She frowned and leaned forwards, continuing to watch his face. "If this is a fabrication, then I'll be forced to adjust my opinion of your skills in that area, Mister Storm, but…" She blinked again. "Truly?"

He shrugged. "I've been running a fucking daycare keeping that annoying kid out of trouble lately. I don't know what you've been doing other than studying—if that's actually what you've been doing at all—but I've had a really weird time."

"Not everything I'd said previously was false," she said with a slight furrow of her brows. "I've spent my every available moment in preparation that I might know of these games prior to my matches." Her furrow changed to a full, eight-out-of-ten frown before evolving into a ten-out-of-ten scowl. "As for this kid, if he's the boy I've met some time ago, then you've my deepest gratitude for preventing him from encountering me since."

"Do you know him?" Tim asked.

"I've not met with him previously, no," Emma said with a shake of her head. She closed her eyes, and her expression softened, forming into another small smile. "But we can speak further once you've returned. I'd like to give you a small token for good fortune," she said as she rose gracefully from the sofa and began slowly walking around the table, keeping her eyes locked to his.

"Should I be worried?" he joked, starting to push himself up off the armrests of his chair.

She flicked her fingers, and an invisible force tipped his legs up and knocked him back into the chair just as she reached him. Her hands went to the skirt of her dress, and she pulled it up a small amount before she carefully put one knee and then the other onto the chair, sitting astride him. "Thank you, Mister Storm," she said softly, giving him a ten-out-of-ten earnest look as her hands came up to stroke at his jawline with her thumbs. She giggled a little. "Oh my, your scales aren't quite as rough as I'd imagined," she murmured.

He reached up and took hold of her shoulders, pressing her firmly back. "Let's not do this again," he said with a grimace. "No more acting, alright?"

She didn't resist, instead falling back slightly to sit on his legs. "Mister Storm, perhaps you'll not believe me when I tell you this, but no person has ever undertaken such effort to aid me," she said, continuing to stare earnestly at him with her ten-out-of-ten mesmerizing blue eyes. "Not in the course of my entire life. Only you. It's a mystery as to why you've done such a thing, but I am appreciative of it."

"Then—"

"If you've no interest whatsoever, simply say so, and we'll not speak of it ever again," she said as she reached up to grasp his hands, slowly sliding hers around and underneath to interlace her fingers with his. "Your hands feel warm," she said in a half whisper.

Tim wasn't sure exactly what he wanted at that moment, but he was entranced by the expression on her face. Her ten-out-of-ten lips were slightly parted, and her cheeks were reddened the slightest amount. Her eyes met his when he moved them back up, and she began to tilt forward as she pressed his unresisting hands to his sides.

"Please be gentle," she whispered as her eyes closed and her lips grazed against his. Her fingers squeezed his, and she leaned forward a little more. Her breathing was heavier now, hot against his face, and the tip of her tongue brushed against his. She let out a quiet, approving sound, and he felt her lips curve into a smile against his.

Fuck it. He gave in to the slightly dizzying feeling of the experience and moved forward, freeing his hands from hers and planting them on her sides to pull her closer. She shivered a little and let out an almost inaudible sound, bringing her hands up to caress his face again before letting them run down to stroke along the scales on his neck. Their tongues brushed against each other, and he let her take the initiative as she continued to explore.

All too soon, Emma pulled back, her eyes still closed and lips slightly parted. One hand came up, and she felt at her lips for a moment. Her eyes opened halfway, remaining unfocused, and she stared at his lips. "Oh," she said softly.

Tim's surroundings changed, and he fell a short distance to land on the carpet of a god's throne room. Are you fucking serious.