loch lemach gives zero fucks (cutandthrust) wrote in emillion, |
“Crowded,” was all that Damia could manage as she stepped by throngs of people, eying them from head to toe out of habit. A thief was always a thief, but stealing in this particular venue with kingsguard watching like hawks was not a smart career move. Still, habit was hard to kick, and it didn’t hurt to size everyone up. “I see they’ve lumped us into the second rate hall,” she noted to her companion, eyebrows raising. “Can’t allow us to defile the nobles with our presence, can they?” Loch smirked. “Think of it as them not letting the nobles defile us with their presence. Or bore us dead.” Had she known about the segregation in advance, she would never have come. There was no finding a noble backer in a room full of commoners. But perhaps later in the evening, when the guests had taken advantage of the free alcohol and tongues were looser, she would crash the nobles’ party. Surely the King and his guard would not mind an extra, invisible guest. “This place makes my fingers itch,” she said to Damia, eyeing the decor. “It’s terribly drab for a palace,” the other blonde remarked, plucking a— well, a something off a passing platter. “We would have better luck redecorating it ourselves. Imagine how the garden would look then.” Damia popped the flaky something in her mouth, approving of the mushroom and that it wasn’t something horrendously obscure. “Get a big man-eating plant in a corner of the garden we could feed unwanted guests to,” Loch said, amused. “No need to pay all these guards. They’re bound to rebel eventually, with that uniform.” At her side, Damia scoffed. “I wouldn’t even call that a uniform,” she corrected as she snagged a glass of champagne off another platter, flashing the waiter a most delightful smile that waned the moment he was gone. “How much do you suspect this will taste like piss compared to what they’re serving the nobles?” The glass was held up to inspect. “Could always sneak into the nobles’ party and find out.” Unlike Damia, Loch did not take a drink. She could not imagine the King would poison his guests, but old habits never died. “A lady has a few drinks, might be feeling disoriented and walk into the wrong room.” Her companion tilted her head, a smile sliding over her lips. “Can’t fault a lady for that, now can we?” “Not in that dress.” Loch’s expression mirrored Damia’s. She offered her arm to the corsair. “Shall we, darling?” There was no need to be asked twice as that arm was gently taken. “Lead the way, my lady.” |