To put it very mildly, tonight's show had not been good for her. She had spent the early part of the evening being berated by the director, two costumers, and the producer about her hasty exit, her treatment of her costume, and even the state of her corset (just dirt, she pointed out, which could be hidden by her dress); by the time they were finished and she was finally dressed, made-up, and coiffed, her mood had been foul. Then Orrin had cornered her and attempted - for the fifteenth time - to ask her out to what he called drinks (which was actually an invitation to take his pants off of him), and Timur had drunkenly attempted to question her about her supposed political clout - still - and really it was a miracle she got through the show at all.
After, she closed her dressing room door. She did not do this often, as she usually reveled in the backstage chaos, but she was tired, her head ached, and the sooner she was out of here, the better for everyone. To add insult to injury, the costumers had met her in a veritable crowd right after curtain call to repossess her dress - as though she were going to try destroying it on purpose! - so she was in a dressing gown, slowly working a brush through hair stiff from styling. Usually, the stage lifted her mood, but today she just wanted to go home. She thought, again, that perhaps she should have asked Aspel for company. But she hadn't, and it was late now. Time to go home and be alone.
The next person who yelled at her might well get more than he or she bargained for.
The knock was unexpected, and she sighed. "Who's there?" she called, attempting to keep irritation from her voice. She did not want to face another colleague tonight.