Hi, you have now contained water in your glass bottle which is about as sensitive as your clit. Would you like to prevent the water from being able to come?

Would she like to WHAT. 

Keep the water from having an orgasm. Using this handy interface. 

... She, too, is a creature of the Everything Trying To Fuck You place. She has a power for winning a sex fight.

Experimentally, she stoppers the bottle, and lightly sloshes it, dashing the water against the walls of the container. Oh, and no, the water cannot come. The water is a bad and naughty fluid and must be punished. 

Very quickly, the water in the bottle descends into a quivering mess. It trembles, shudders, climbs the wall of the bottle as if beseeching her. 

... She is being cruel. 

She lets the water come.

It sloshes down to relieved stillness in the bottom of her jar. 

Would you like to collect the essence of this spirit for later binding?

... sure?

The bottle abruptly compresses to a sea-blue marble the size of her pinky, and settles into her hand. The water splashes everywhere, and then flows quickly back towards its oasis. 

The jewel feels... soft. Tranquil. Sweet. Clarifying.

This would go so well in a wire cage bracelet. 

It feels right. 

She goes back to her camp, back to the stone cave, and fetches her craft kit. 

The next hour or so is spent making a bracelet to contain the jewel. 

As it settles into place, becomes part of the bracelet, something snaps into place, and suddenly the copper wire takes on a faint sea-green tint.

... It has the spirit of the water in it now. 

She puts on the bracelet. 

She feels... sharper, now. More clearheaded. A little more flexible. A little less hidebound. 

All good things, she thinks. 

She leaves the bracelet on. 

(Another quick trip back to the cavern establishes glass, desert sand and oasis water in her array of liquids and minerals.)

So... now what? 

... Now, she thinks, she enjoys herself improving her sculpting skill to be faster, more fluid, and more artistic. She should keep an eye out, obviously, this is an alien world, but this is fun and useful and it'll keep her out of trouble and run up her desert clock. All good things. And she feels a special interest coming on.

Heh, coming.

The hours till sunset blur past in a haze. Between the aphrodisiac water and the sensitivity of the glass as it's sculpted, it's a very long and very enjoyable day. 

Nothing disturbs her, though once she sees a bird in the far distance, circling.

An oasis in the desert, even one so small as this one, must be a rare thing. If she waits long enough and there are people here, she should encounter them. Probably maybe. 

In the meantime, it's time to pack up camp and head back to the cavern to prepare a late supper and sleep. Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches sounds right.

She goes home, and the round bed in her cavern embraces her with open arms. 

She takes a cold bath to disperse the lingering heat of the desert, then has supper and takes her pills, then flops into bed. 

It's been a good day, despite the fact she got sexually assaulted by vegetation.

The pink sands welcome her the next morning...

And when she comes out of her cavern, she sees a small area of tents set up about thirty degrees around the oasis from her.

A pink-skinned, pink-eyed woman with horns walks past, glances over in Eva's direction, and double-takes. 

She steps closer, and her hands flurry in a complicated mess of signs. 

Sheee does not speak that. That's not even ASL. 

But she can guess that at least one of those signs means hello. She has a little feeling of intution that it's this one...

She gestures back, then unpacks one of her better glass sculptures from the pack she's wearing and makes a circular motion. 

She mimes biting something, then takes out one of her glass bottles and mimes drinking. Then she extends the bottle. 

The horned girl's eyebrows rise, but she goes back into her tent and comes out with a large, peach-like fruit the color of flesh. 

Yeah sure she'll take that trade. It might be a total rip-off but it's worth it to establish contact. 

She steps forward, takes off her shirt, lays it out on the sand, and places the glass sculpture on it. It is shaped like a butterfly she saw once, as best as she could manage it.

Then she backs away and sits on the sand again.

The woman approaches, lays the fruit on the shirt, and takes away the sculpture. She backs off to a respectful distance and makes a sign. 

Eva goes and picks up the fruit and her shirt again.

She makes the sign back. It seems to be the thing to do.

The woman begins to cross the space towards her —