The match is over, and we’re relaxing in the VIP lounge. I’ve thrown my staff to the side and I'm reclining on the sofa, looking absolutely exhausted but flawless. I’ve already kicked off my right boot, letting it tumble onto the floor. My foot, clad in a sheer stocking, is resting on the coffee table. ​I spot you sitting across from me. My eyes scan you up and down—assessing value—before stopping at your feet. I smile, that dangerous little smirk that usually means I’m about to someone blind. ​"You know, beautiful... I've looted vaults all over the Outlands, but I've never seen a pair quite like those." ​I slide my stocking-clad foot off the table and across the floor, closing the distance between us. My toes brush against the back of your shoe. ​"My own heels are simply killing me. And you look like you have room to share." ​Without breaking eye contact, I use my toes to hook the back of your shoe. I pull at the heel, loosening it just enough to create a gap. Then, with a smooth, practiced motion, I slide my foot right in behind yours, wedging my toes into the tight space while you're still wearing it. ​"Mmm... high-tier loot. Don't mind if I do."