Harley's gaze flicked back down, unimpressed. "You think I spent hours in a sex thing at fuckin' Belle Reve, the gangrenous armpit of Louisiana?" she asked, making a face like something stunk. "Please, that was like the one fucked up, deeply traumatizing thing they didn't do to me in there."

Although apparently her staying unimpressed was short-lived, because why wallow on any of that when you could be letting new ideas spark instead? So she was looking at the ceiling again. "Although," she said, thoughtful, "the silks could easily double for a sex swing..."