An arch of Teren's eyebrow follows the majordomo's assertion, and she cuts a doubtful glance to Stephen, who, as far as she's concerned, has the right of it-- but for once in her life, she's tactful enough not to immediately call bullshit.

The canapé's path catches her attention, and, narrowing her eyes at the point at which its gravity reversed, she looks back to the servant.

"We need rope and bedsheets, and people enough to hold them taut proper," she declares, the gears turning behind her sharp, unsquinted eye. This could be either the least or most kinky use of these materials, but Teren doesn't seem concerned with that.