"Sasha" was not at all a gruesome looking woman. That wasn't to say that she had the same visible sophistication of Lady Montague, nor the strange- almost sculpted -beauty of her pretty young servants. But of all the women that lived amongst the poorest of the poor, she wore it the best by far. It was god-given set of good looks; a thin diamond shaped face framed with a small but strong jaw, naturally smooth skin, petite ears and a prominent nose. Women of her caliber, in royalty, would often flit gracefully into age. However a life of hardships had not lent her a kind complexion: tough skin, rough calluses on her hands, and the faint lines of stress and worry creased her eyebrows and the corners of her lips prematurely marring an otherwise unspoiled seed of a very lucky man. Her eyes, once a piercing meadow green in her youth were now dulled with the hardships of life and growing up into poverty had malnourished what had potential to be a ripe, voluptuous shape into an almost sickly one. Her breasts, maybe in some other world generous and swollen, were little more than husks of their proper form and did little but sit there just barely peeking atop her scrawny midriff. Her body was thin, almost what one would consider gangly, but despite it all she did look rather stunning in the evening attire chosen for her by the accompanying maids.
The directoire chosen by one of the brunette maids was a sort faded grapevine color: a rich green that had been purposely faded in the sense of tastefulness. Along the bust and some midriff trim, the green yielded to gold that pleasantly contrasted against the girl's pale peasant skin. It was laced at the back, the shimmering fabric holding up the entire dress in a manner reminiscent of a corset, to compensate for her lacking female figure, it was tied at its tightest so as to make sure that it wouldn't slide off during dinner. Her exotic hair color contrasted the verdant gown brilliantly, making her natural beauty stand out all the more. And with a little splash, the day's dose of oil and dirt was washed from her face. She was now officially dressed for dinner after only an hour of preparation and getting manhandled by creepy identical maids. At home, it took her little less than five minutes to prepare. The upper class were such odd people.
Seeing that their guest for the evening was finally ready for supper, the nameless servants curtseyed and offered their hands; to which she could only oblige after them treating her to such nice clothing. The once defiant girl was finding herself a little overwhelmed by the flattery that this place seemed to emanate, while not one word had been said in the castle if it hadn't been from either her or her mysterious host. In fact, since her arrival, she hadn't seen a single trace of the man she loathed so much; which was probably for the better. No matter, she'd see him at dinner, where she would promptly attempt to choke the aristocrat with whatever she might have handy. Or maybe a quick slice to his jugular with a steak knife. Oh, she did hope that steak was on the menu tonight! ...Not that she was actually looking forward to partaking in one of the many lavish meals that had helped send her country spiraling into an economic warzone from the underside of the upperclass. That would be purely hypocritical of her. Still, it had to best whatever that pulpy slop they served in Rebel Headquarters.
A long walk led by her escorts landed the three of them in the entryway once again, where Lady Montague awaited the arrival of her dinner guest amongst a circle of guards. She was busy shouting at one of them for something before her beloved Sasha had reentered the room. "Oh Miss Garniet!" she called her once again that dreadful name, "You look absolutely stunning in green, however I would have preferred that the maids have dressed you in purple; it would be so much more your color." The other woman snorted distastefully, "They're your clothes, and all you can think to do is gripe that I haven't been dressed in the right ones?" she asked somewhat indignantly, "I will never understand you upperclass women."
The older woman winced slightly, "Oh, Dear, please refrain from using the word 'gripe'," she sounded as if she had smelled something unpleasant, "Its terribly unbecoming."
But, unbecoming or not, the minor discrepancy was soon forgotten as Lady Montague escorted the lovely Sasha Garniet down the hall along with the seemingly favored sextuplet guards on either side of them. She insisted that they walk slowly and gracefully, which was made hard on her guest. Not because of her rather unsophisticated lifestyle, but because the delicious smells wafting out and about the dining hall made it rather hard to keep a steadily slow pace. She was so enthralled by the lovely aroma that she hadn't remembered the whole purpose of her infiltration before realizing that Lord Antoine Marquis was not seated at the table! She attempted to halt, but the burly soldiers kept her moving along by viciously prodding her with the butts of whichever respective weapon said guard might be holding whenever she fell out of line. As the two women separated, each was followed by three identical men that sat behind her at the head of the table. She was shown to the end opposite Lady Montague.
The dining room, if at all possible, was even more disturbingly overdecorated than the other main rooms of the house. All over the walls were royal colors of the crown (now overthrown) and a large aclictic of game heads. Two boars, two hawks, two lions, and many other brave creatures were killed in twos and hung mirroring each other across the distance of the dining room. The table, long and elaborately decorated with a beautiful centerpiece that all but blocked the guest's view of Lady Montague, was draped in a fine cloth that hung over the horizontal edges- as the table was much longer than it was thick. Empty chairs were set evenly at either side of the table, the only two occupied being the ones that herself and Sophia Montague sat in themselves. Over the centerpiece, only Lady Montague's head and upper torso were visible, whereas her guest of the evening was all but overshadowed by the gaudy decoration.
Things were abnormally quiet for the first minute or so as the wine was brought out to the women seated at the table. Again, more cookie-cutter servants rushed to the women's sides as they each received a heavy goblet ornamented with precious stones and the like. The guest could only marvel how much sparkling red wine, the color of her hair, the cup could hold; after the butler left her side she found that it was far too heavy to lift with one hand! But the smell was divine, so much that she felt already a little influenced by the vapors alone. Her head splashed slightly, not quite swimming yet though, as she struggled to focus on the statuesque woman towering over the mass of flowers. "Do you like the wine, Miss Garniet?" came the whimsical pratter of her hostess, "Lord Marquis had it brought over as a gift from Italy some years ago. He asked that we save it for only the most special occasions." The one so wrongly declared as Sasha snorted, "One would hardly call surrender a special occasion where I'm from, but I do appreciate a good dip into consumption now and then."
Lady Montague chuckled slightly from the other end of the table, one that was obviously fae and somewhat condescending, but still a laugh. "Yes, quite." she said breathlessly, "Lord Marquis would most likely share the same opinion, Miss Garniet."
"Montague," she said with a sort of feigned social tolerance for the woman across from her (still purposely forgetting the Lady), "Since we are spending so much time talking of Lord Marquis, sitting at his table, drinking his wine, and wearing his clothes and whatnot, I was wondering if it would be at all possible to expedite my meeting with him. I can't help but notice that he isn't at the table, which I find rather peculiar considering that, like I said before, this is his castle. Is he not feeling well? Shall I go put him out of his misery with a lashing of my silver tongue or the dagger I've strapped onto my ankle?" she smiled wickedly, "I've often dreamed of the day I get to rip out the throat of the man I've despised for so long; would you be terribly offended if I skipped dinner and just walked right up to his bedchambers and give him and whatever harlot he's so preoccupied with up there a good stabbing?"
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