The shorter blonde did her best to hide her disbelief as she stared on ahead. “You’re really going to hold me hostage at my own party? Really, Damia? Are you stooping that low?”
An eyebrow raise. “Is this low? I’m sorry, I must be so rude to hold Lady Alys Coulombe here against her will. She must have so many people to tend to, but maybe she needs a little more fresh air. The fragrance in here, wonderful.” Maybe Damia was reaching, but did she care? No.
“Damia, move.” Audrey was getting tired. Her hand reaching out to grip Damia’s arm and shove her out of the way.
The physicality was only allowed until the corsair reached out with her opposite hand, long fingers tight around Audrey’s slighter wrist. “I really recommend that you don’t touch me,” she warned, smile belying how she really felt. Proximity was tolerable, but touching? Shoving? Not if she couldn’t shove back.
“Then move out of my fucking way,” she growled back, snapping her wrist out of the blonde’s grip.
Damia barked another laugh, which echoed against the walls. “I’m in the way, this is rich. What happens if I don’t, will you just stand here?” She leaned in a little closer, eliminating some of the space between them. “Will you hit me? Come on, Alys, hit me. Really, I insist.”
It was a bait, and she wasn’t going to take it back.
Audrey’s hand fisted at her side. She wanted to hit her. More than anything, she wanted to punch her and watch her ring cut through her pretty skin. In a deep inhale, she channeled all that frustration, exhaling it out in a single breath. “No, I’m not giving you what you want,” a smirk grew on her lips, twisting. “No, I’m taking it all away. First this, next your man.” She shrugged, “But it’s alright, you can have my seconds. You always do.”
There was an angry flash in Damia’s eyes, though her smile didn’t fade-- but now it was sharp enough to cut. The words resonated too deeply, too close. She’d already lost people before, people she cared for, people she wished could be immortal so they’d never leave her. People she loved.
There was no preparation for the forceful shove that came, to push them both away from the door, and the fist that flew toward Audrey’s pretty face.
Audrey wasn’t going to be able to stop that fist that was already aimed at her, and instead her hand reached out as her fingers dug into Damia’s hair, pulling her down. In an attempt to not fall bottom, Audrey stepped on her dress hoping the taller blonde would hit the floor first in order to take the higher ground. “You fucking bitch,” she breathed in frustration, her free fist pounding down wherever it could strike.
It was going to be a problematic fight no matter where they were-- their dresses were too constricting, too long, and someone was walking out with a ripped dress, surely. Damia, however, was going to fight so that it wasn’t her, her own hand coming out to bunch into the flowing material of Audrey’s dress to yank her closer. If she fell, Audrey came with her.
A fist hit her in the back, knocking the breath out of her, and she lashed out with a heeled foot, aiming blindly but mostly for a shin.
In the scuffle, however, the door became unblocked, and shortly thereafter it opened to admit a bard in a green dress clearly intent on freshening up. She stopped in the doorway, her mouth a perfect “o” of surprise -- of all things she had thought to walk in on tonight, this hadn’t been one. “Ladies, really --”
At that moment, a heeled foot came flying at her (not aimed at her, of course, but she was standing too close), and her only real option was to jump back and use the door to block the hit. She’d considered, for half a second, just disabling them, but if they were going to be throwing kicks around blindly --
A fleeting smile to a passing lady, a chirped, “Out of order, I’m afraid, try the second floor,” and then she hurried down the hall in search of someone who would be willing to risk a black eye to put an end to the fight.