[Mature, PM to Join] Gravel and Some Wine

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 12 Hamis 2717
The Smaller Ladies Retiring Room, the Richelieu Residence, Uptown

Niccolette had waited, patiently, in the hall outside the retiring room. The door had swung shut behind two ladies gossiping in gossamer; they had walked away without so much as the slightest glance to the side. The Bastian breathed, deeply and evenly, holding her field close to her skin, tighter in than the polite, faint dampening she maintained throughout social events.

She glanced through the hall, and she went, quickly, slipping down the corridor and into the powder room. The door closed behind her, and Niccolette leaned back against it with a smug, self-satisfied grin. The attendant looked wide-eyed at her; Niccolette raised her eyebrows, and the human lowered her gaze and curtsied.

“Can I get you anything, madam?” She asked, eyes still down.

“My case,” Niccolette said, with an amused little smirk. “Gold, with the initials N and I in the corner,” she paused. “And a wet handkerchief.”

“Yes madam,” the human hurried off.

Niccolette sat herself at one of the small, mirrored tables; she giggled at the sight of herself in the mirror, at the smeared lipstick against faintly swollen lips. Her dress glittered gold in the light, flowing against her skin; she adjusted the line of it with another little smile, carefully smoothing the waist with her hand. It was rutched on one side and flawlessly smooth on the other, at least in the original design.

Niccolette took the handkerchief from the made when she came; she set about carefully dabbing the lipstick from her mouth, cleaning up the smeared lines of it. Uzoji, Niccolette thought with an amused smirk, probably had only to wash his face in the bathroom before being able to rejoin the party.

Niccolette folded the handkerchief over itself. She had at least been sensible enough not to wear powder, so no one’s clothing had been too badly stained.

“Some champagne as well,” Niccolette said, without looking up.

There was a curtsy just visible in the mirror behind her, and then the door closing behind the attendant.

Niccolette set the stained handkerchief aside, to let her face dry and see there was anything else which needed cleaning up. She eased her sapphire earrings out, and set them neatly on the table; she took a small silver handled brush from her purse, and ran it slowly and evenly through her hair.

It had been a dull party to begin with. There was a lull around the middle of the rainy season when things always seemed to drag; all the politicians and hanger-ons and socialites grown bored. Niccolette understood; she herself was thoroughly bored. The parties dragged together; they blurred faintly at the edges. There were dinners and then dinners again, and breakfast came rarely if at all.

Horace and Constantine Richelieu, tonight’s hosts, seemed as uninspired as all the rest. There was very little to differentiate this party. There had been a dinner, served before; Niccolette scarcely remembered the food, if she had even eaten. There must have been conversation, naturally. Now there was dancing, and a game room, and a whole quiet house to explore outside of the ground floor – there were gardens, in the back, faintly damp from rain earlier in the day, nothing much special from what Niccolette had seen of the window. Was there a theme? Niccolette could scarcely remember. Of course there were flowers in great glittering vases, and some sort of a massive chandelier; she did not bother to try to picture them.

Niccolette supposed the absolute lack of anything exciting – no duels, no arguments, nothing publicly scandalous – was a relief to her hosts, but it scarcely helped with the crushing mid-rainy season dullness. Even the Hesseans seemed bored, and that was indeed impressive. And Uzoji? Niccolette felt a squirming unease in her chest; she brushed it aside. No, she thought, he was surely not bored tonight, not anymore.

All the same, watching herself in the mirror and brushing the tangles from her hair, Niccolette felt an odd, abrupt ache. A longing, she thought, for the Eqe Aqawe, for a simpler night when she could let Uzoji cut her corset loose without caring if it could be laced back up afterwards, and go to sleep when she felt like it. When she had time, she thought, irritably, to meditate.

Niccolette shook the thoughts away, and snorted softly. What sort of a Bastian had she become? She kept working on her hair; the feeling of it beneath her fingertips, the gentle pull against her head - she could not but grin, then. She didn’t trouble to hide it.

[caporushes]

12 of Hamis, 2717 - Evening
The Smaller Ladies Retiring Room, the Richelieu Residence, Uptown

What a terribly dull party this was turning out to be.

Lilliana hated it, all the endless mediocre conversation with old men who wished to ingratiate themselves with her mother through the daughter. Futile efforts--Ana had not had the ear of Madame Steerpike in years. Still, she smiled and laughed in all the right places, as was practically second nature to her by now. A vision of bronze silk and pale gold taffetta, turning her attention on each person in the room one by one. Perhaps she could have borne it, the chatter of socialites and policitians and people without much else to do in the depths of the rainy season, if there wasn't the problem of her date.

Ana sighed. She had liked this one, truly. Miss Leonetti had been as lovely a creature as she'd ever seen, dark-haired and dark-eyed with skin that blushed so very prettily. And clever, too! She had the most delightful things to say about art, just the right balance of insight and wickedness all dripping from her thin mouth. They had been together six months, and Ana had been enjoying herself thoroughly. Up until tonight, that is. She just had to ruin everything, didn't she? Ana had been afraid of this. At a certain point, they all ruined it one way or another. Usually it happened in private, where Ana could deal with it in the way that seemed the most prudent. Not her Miss Leonetti, though. Not but an hour into this interminable party, Miss Leonetti had gotten drunk and had demanded to know if Ana loved her.

Of course, she couldn't lie. Neither could she tell the truth, at least not here. She knew her Miss Leonetti, and that road only led to her crying in public and most importantly the potential ruination of a very well-tailored peach satin gown. This left Ana with only one option: a dignified retreat to the smaller of the ladies' retiring rooms. Miss Leonetti was unlikely to search for her there, and Ana found herself relishing the idea of some quiet away from the tyranny of terrible conversation.

As Ana approached the room, she saw the attendant scuttle by. Someone else must be in the room already--Ana prayed to any god that would listen that it wasn't one of the Richelieu daughters. They were all five of them absolute drips, each one more sodden than the last. To encounter any of them would be an unpleasant turn to an continually terrible evening. Just what she needed.

To Ana's absolute delight, it was none of the Richelieus at all, but a much more pleasing face entirely. Familiar, although it took her a moment to place a name with the face. Mrs.... Ibutatu, was it? Yes. The Bastian woman who had married a Mugrobi man. Ana's eyes swept across the figure in front of her and took note of her hair, her makeup, the state of her dress. Copper eyebrows arched--someone's night had been far more entertaining than her own. She swept into the room, field politely dampened. There was a moment where she debated with herself--to speak, or to stay silent? But the party had been so dull, and married women were still very pretty after all.

"Your neck, Mrs. Ibutatu," Ana said, standing next to Niccolette in the mirror and inspecting hair that was not mussed in the least. Amber eyes met Niccolette's and she smiled, just a little wicked.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 12 Hamis 2717
The Smaller Ladies Retiring Room, the Richelieu Residence, Uptown

Niccolette ran the brush through her hair what she thought would, finally, be the last time. She was glad, at least, that she’d worn it down tonight; she did as a general rule, although occasionally she had it pinned it. It would have been much more difficult to return to the party with her hair suddenly, unexpectedly loose, Niccolette thought, her lips curving into a faintly wicked smile.

For a moment, she was nearly sorry; it might have been enough of an excuse for them to leave. It was not her, Niccolette decided; it was the party. There was nothing else to be concerned about.

There was a quiet noise from the door. Niccolette glanced into the mirror, and saw a slim figure in bronze and pale gold, who came into the room, paused, and then slowly approached.

She spoke, and Niccolette grinned, meeting her gaze unabashed in the mirror, more than a little amused at the wicked curl at the edge of the other woman’s smile.

“Quite right,” Niccolette murmured. She ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it back off her forehead, and teasing it over onto her shoulder, revealing the smooth pale skin of her neck. She touched the faint purple marks with her fingertips. If anything, she looked self-satisfied, almost smug; there was nothing even resembling the faintest hint of embarrassment.

Niccolette took a dry cloth, and draped it over her shoulder, covering the rich gold silk of her dress. She took out a small tube of greasepaint first, suitable for covering up the occasional spot – although Niccolette had scarcely had anything resembling spots in her teens, and since they had been even more rare. She had a little tube of the stuff all the same; one simply could not be seen without it. She dabbed the flesh colored paste onto her neck, carefully, and smoothed it over the skin. Next, Niccolette opened a small container of powder, whisked her brush against it, tilted her chin up, and set to work, lightly swishing the brush across her skin.

Niccolette set the brush down, tilting her neck a little more, turning her head carefully to change the light and the angle, and checking it in the mirror. Yes, she thought, pleased; that was considerably better.

“It is Miss Steerpike, is it not?” Niccolette lifted her gaze to the woman in the mirror, still smiling. She was sure she had been introduced to the woman – Lilliana Steerpike – this year, or perhaps the year before. She lived, Niccolette remembered, in Florne; she spent the rainy season in Vienda, as Niccolette and Uzoji did as well.

Niccolette picked up a small container of eyeblack; she leaned a little closer to the mirror, and smoothed out the lines around her eyelids, carefully evening them – careful, too, not to thicken them too much. Her hands were steady and even, as they ought to have been; she had, Niccolette thought wryly, some ten years now of practice.

Niccolette set the smaller brush down, and snapped the case shut. She sorted through her reticule, and fished out a twist of colored silk paper, setting it down. Bastian, naturally; she knew someone who knew someone. She did not care for the Anaxi stuff; the texture was too sticky on the lips, and looked harsh in the light. Niccolette took out another brush, pressing her lips together and smiling to find the line of them, and carefully began to paint the color onto them, the same warm, dark red that she had worn earlier in the evening.

“It is,” Niccolette murmured, setting the lip color brush down, “a terribly boring party.” She sighed, and turned in her seat, looking up at the lovely Anaxi women with a distinctly wicked grin. “Am I fit once more for public consumption?” Niccolette asked, smiling more than a little wickedly herself.

[caporushes]

12 of Hamis, 2717 - Evening
The Smaller Ladies Retiring Room, the Richelieu Residence, Uptown

Ana had not been sure, quite, how her comment would be received. She had met Mrs. Ibutatu very briefly, after all--at another party, much like this one. Although that one, as she recalled, had been at least somewhat more interesting. There was a small risk to the comment, that she would simply be offended or scandalized that Ana had chosen to comment rather than remain politely silent. There was a risk, too, that she would merely accept it as a helpful pointer and move on. But Ana rather doubted that result, and regardless would have found some way to smooth it over. She was pleased, then, to see her comment taken without even the suggestion of embarrassment from the other woman--indeed, she seemed rather smug.

Well she might, Ana reflected. She was given to understand that her husband was very handsome, if one were interested. A pity, though. Ana could not help but feel the smallest of pangs of regret--it wasn't her habit to pay undue attention to married women. At least, not any longer. That was a game for younger women, and her dalliances in that sphere had long since passed. Not that Ana had ever courted scandal--perish the thought. Still, what better company to replace that of Miss Leonetti?

"I am so delighted to know you remember!" Ana kept her attention only slightly averted towards Mrs. Ibutatu--Niccolette, she remembered; the rest she trained on her reflection, looking for imperfections that were not there. It was impolite, after all, to look too closely at a woman as she fixed her makeup. A small, exasperated sigh escaped Ana when she remembered that her Miss Leonetti was the one who had done her cosmetics for the evening. Her maid was a fair enough hand with it, of course, but she hadn't the artistic touch of Miss Leonetti. How completely vexing. So much trouble, and all because she wasn't content to leave things as they were.

Mercifully, Niccolette was indeed proving to be delightful subtitute already. It was, of course, terribly rude to say so about the party--but Ana whole-heartedly agreed. She laughed, a sound with just enough of a scandalized tone to indicate how much she appreciated the comment.

"I have been to better, it is true," she acknowledged, smiling again. "One does what one must, I suppose, during the slower times."

At last Ana gave up on the pretense of searching for imaginary flaws in her own reflection and turned to face Niccolette more fully. She made a great show of looking the Bastian woman over, humming in thought. Eventually she paused, looked to Niccolette, and smiled no less wickedly than she had before. "Well, I certainly think that would liven up the party a bit more than anyone would have intended."

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 12 Hamis 2717
The Smaller Ladies Retiring Room, the Richelieu Residence, Uptown

Lilliana answered just right – a wicked little laugh, followed by a polite turning of Niccolette’s comment into something more appropriate, though still with a distinctly sharp edge. Niccolette grinned, broadly, amused. Someone scandalized at the insults to their host would have been dreadfully boring; someone too keen to take up the joke would also have been a disappointment. This was already proving more interesting than much of the rest of the evening – the last little while, naturally, exempted.

Niccolette raised her eyebrows as Lilliana took her time in answering the question. She was not so self-conscious as to glance down at herself; it had been an entirely rhetorical question. Instead, she occupied herself with picking up the sapphire earrings; they were gold back, and the small hooks glinted in the light as Niccolette settled the drops in her ears once more.

Lilliana’s answer was well-worth the wait. Niccolette laughed – no shy, girlish thing, but full-throated, although it dissolved into giggles quickly enough. She grinned, broadly. “Oh, but can you imagine their faces!” Niccolette said, still giggling a little. "At least it would break up the dullness,." she paused. "For me most of all, I should think." She grinned.

The door opened; the maid came back in. Niccolette had expected a glass of champagne; there was, instead, a bottle, still corked, and a glass.

Niccolette raised her eyebrows lightly, lips pursed.

“I couldn’t find the waiter, madam,” The human said, nervously, glancing up at the two women, and then down. “Sorry.”

Niccolette shrugged. “It shall be our secret,” she said. “So long as you fetch another glass.” She reached into the reticule, took out a coin, and reached past Lilliana, hanging a coin to the human.

“Yes madam,” The maid said, eyes wide; she pocketed the coin, curtsied deeply, and fled the room.

Niccolette picked up the bottle of champagne, turning it in her hands. “Nicely cold,” she said, amused. “It must have been chilling somewhere.” She looked up at Lilliana with a smile. “You shall join me, yes?"

Niccolette settled her hands on the metal cage around the cork, rotating the tab most of the way open; she did not remove it, just yet, long fingers still settled against it. She grasped the heavy base of the bottle in her other hand, lifting it to angle across her body, and turned the bottle gently. She tugged, lightly at the cork; there was a sharp fizzing noise, and then the two came apart.

Niccolette set the cork down, gently. She looked up at Lilliana with a little smirk, glancing down at the glass. Delicately, she wrapped her hand around the neck of the bottle; she settled it against her lips, tilted her head back, and drank – a small mouthful, more of a sip than a chug, but still rather direct.

Niccolette grinned, licking her lips, and offered the bottle to Lilliana with a smile. She did not, this time, so much as look at the glass; there was a distinct challenge in her gaze, eyes lit green by the warm lights of the retiring room.

[caporushes]

12 of Hamis, 2717 - Evening
The Smaller Ladies Retiring Room

Though Ana herself did not like to laugh so loudly in public--she was too well-trained out of it--she appreciated it when Niccolette did so. Anything less would not have suited her, Ana thought. Already she could tell that the woman in front of her was no wilting flower; every moment she proved more entertaining.

Before she could respond, the door opened and a maid entered. Ana had a vague memory of passing her on the way in; so this had been her errand. Not the whole bottle, but there had also only been one person in the room before. Poor girl--she did seem so nervous. Ana frowned for a moment; this reflected not well at all upon their hosts. Ah well. It was hardly her place to comment on the management of someone else's domestic staff. Perhaps this girl was just the anxious sort, besides. Lilliana put the human girl from her mind and looked instead to the bottle in Niccolette's hands.

"Of course," she agreed lightly. Who was she to turn down such a charming invitation? Lips carefully painted a shade of red only one or two darker than was her natural coloring curved into a smile, genuinely delighted. Even more so as she watched Niccolette take a sip direct from the mouth of the bottle. The bottle was held out to her; Ana looked from the bottle to the glass, then back to Niccolette. For a moment she pondered her course of action. She liked the challenge in Niccolette's eyes. It was distinctly more fun than endless discussion with the bankers and politicians and socialites in the main room. There was her dignity to consider, however.

After a small deliberation, Ana shrugged; a showy gesture for Niccolette's benefit. She took the bottle gingerly. She couldn't resist a challenge, in the end. If her dignity could not withstand such a delicate assault as this, then she needed to do a better job of maintaining it. Ana took a sip herself, hovering a hand over her mouth just so when she handed the bottle back. It wasn't her habit, to behave in such a manner. But the party really had been so very dreadful.

"Well," she laughed, "I do believe that if my Miss Leonetti saw us now, that would solve my problem rather neatly." That it would have been the look on Ana's face now more than the action itself was not worth mentioning. Miss Leonetti was an artist, after all. They had different standards of behavior. Ana laughed, imagining the scene.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 12 Hamis 2717
The Smaller Ladies Retiring Room, the Richelieu Residence, Uptown

Niccolette watched, with a smile, as Lilliana’s eyes went from the bottle to the glass, and then back again. There was a faint pause, and Niccolette felt a faint pulse of disappointment. Not shame, naturally, nor embarrassment; she was well-past such things. Even if she had not been, Lilliana had missed her chance to play the fainting, outraged miss with her earlier comments; she did not think the other woman in the least missish. If she refused now, Niccolette thought, rather disappointedly, it would be more a lack of courage in her convictions than anything else.

Lilliana rose to the occasion, taking a small sip. She had covered her mouth as she handed the bottle back, but it didn’t do much to hide the pleased look on her face, nor the laugh which followed.

Niccolette grinned.

The maid entered again, curtsying, and set down a second champagne glass.

“You may pour,” Niccolette said, scarcely looking at her.

The glasses bubbled up, both of them, and the maid handed Niccolette one with a trembling hand, then Lilliana as well. She curtsied, and retreated to the back of the room, sitting on a stool there, hands pleating in the white fabric of her apron.

“Miss Leonetti?” Niccolette asked, curiously, looking back at Lilliana. She glanced at the door, and sighed; she did not much care for the thought of venturing back out into the party, making polite conversation with people whose lives consisted of dull Uptown parties and the occasional political intrigue. It seemed beyond boring; she could not think of anything to recommend it.

“The Bastian in the peach satin, yes?” Niccolette grinned; she patted one of the stools next to her. Her legs crossed delicately at the ankle, not sharply enough to ruffle the pleated, asymmetric skirt of her dress. She took a delicate sip of champagne, settling the bottom of the glass against her lap; the fingers of her left hand curled around the stem, her wedding ring catching the light.

“What problem could you have with such a lovely creature?” Niccolette asked, curiously. She did not entirely expect that Lilliana would tell her; she took another small sip of champagne. It was lovely stuff, light and bubbly and perfectly easy to drink. Niccolette did not know why or where the bottle had been chilling, but she was almost entirely certain it had been meant for some purpose other than two guests idling in the smaller ladies’ retiring room. Naturally, that only made it all the better to savor.

Niccolette was nearly positive that she had met Lilliana Steerpike at least once the year before, and perhaps at an earlier party this year as well. She could not quite recall whether she had seen Miss Leonetti the year before; she did not quite think so.

[caporushes]

12 of Hamis, 2717 - Evening
The Smaller Ladies' Retiring Room

The maid returned with a second glass and poured for them both. Ana took hers with a smile, then put the girl out of her mind as soon as she retreated from view. Her companion seemed no more eager to rejoin the party than she was. Ana could not blame her; it really was tremendously dull. At least Niccolette, she imagined, didn't have to listen to so many endless stories of her mother's many graces. Oh, but Vienda was so dull to her now. If it weren't for her parents, she thought she would likely never return.

Ana took the seat next to Niccolette with a sigh. "The very one," she sighed again, all the sorrows of the world in her voice. Bronze and gold settled around her, the light of the room picking out patterns in the weave of the fabric. She took a sip of her champagne as she considered how to answer the question of the problem of Miss Leonetti. Too much of the details would be boring, of course, and hardly appropriate.

"She is lovely, isn't she? It's a shame. It has come to my attention that we have... mis-matched expectations. I shall miss her eye for cosmetics, when I return to Florne." To say nothing of the woman herself, who she would indeed be sad to lose the company of. Their time together had been wonderful, in all respects. But she had grown just as dull as this party, and there was nothing Ana could stand less than being bored.

She took another sip, then stared contemplative at the glass. Painted fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass--gold, like the taffetta in her gown, or her eyes. Another gift from Miss Leonetti. The champagne was delightful, it had to be acknowledged. Ana was pleased to have it, even if she was quite certain it was finer stuff than was meant to be given by the bottle-ful to guests. That was what happened, she reflected, when one mis-managed their staff. They didn't care to keep your standards. Truly, the Richelieus had nobody to blame for such an error but themselves.

"You know, I somehow don't think this bottle was chilling just for us?" She smiled as she said it, clearly pleased with the error.

[Niccolette Ibutatu]

Evening, 12 Hamis 2717
The Smaller Ladies Retiring Room, the Richelieu Residence, Uptown

Niccolette raised her eyebrows, curiously, at Lilliana’s response. It was nicely gauged, Niccolette thought; it revealed the heart of the problem she had mentioned, without any details.

Niccolette had no particular interest in sharing her own past, her own memories. She knew well enough that the love affair of a girl at nineteen bore little resemblance to the attitude a woman of nearly thirty might take towards such a romance, for all that she was still maddeningly, embarrassingly, blissfully in love with the same man. She remembered times of uncertainty; she remembered not knowing what Uzoji intended towards her, a few months at just barely twenty when she had doubted.

They had resolved that, bit by bit. Not all at once, Niccolette remembered. She had known he loved her, but she had not known what love meant to him, then. She had not known that he, too, was waiting and unsure. And then she had; in blood and fire and passion, she had known, and he had known too. Perhaps it had not been easy, but it had been right, and Niccolette - even at the worst moments since - had not regretted it for so much as a heartbeat.

And now?

Niccolette tilted the champagne glass, delicately from side to side; the light caught her ring again, recently polished. No, she thought; no. She did not doubt, not anymore. They had banished doubt, between them. Her lips pressed together, the briefest flicker, then parted. Niccolette glanced up in the mirror to mask the motion, checking her reflection.

There was nothing to doubt, she thought, studying herself; studying, too, the glittering reflection of the sapphires in her ears, her thick loose hair, the hidden patch of skin on her neck. There was nothing to doubt.

Niccolette’s lips curved into a wicked grin at the mention of the champagne. “I quite doubt it,” she said, just as pleased as Lilliana. She lifted her glass to the other woman, a delicate half-toast, and took another sip. It rather amused her to think of someone - one of the Richelieu’s, she thought, most likely - making do with a bottle of what was served to the guests.

“It does sound like a shame,” Niccolette shrugged; there was no weight to the words. She had no particular stake in it, either way. Nor did she desire in the least to browbeat Lilliana over her unmarried status. Niccolette had never really believed in comparisons, in the first place, and in the second, Lilliana was not even quite a friend.

“I am sure you will have distractions, back in Florne,” Niccolette said with a little smirk. “Unless it has changed very much in these last years?” She tilted her glass delicately from side to side again, letting the champagne swirl and catch the light, and set the glass down on the table, turning to Lilliana with raised brows.

[caporushes]

12 of Hamis, 2717 - Evening
The Smaller Ladies' Retiring Room

Niccolette had not shown much interest in her difficulties with the lovely Miss Leonetti--good. There was nothing particularly interesting about it, really. A tired story she had been through many, many times before. One day, she reflected, she hoped to be free of having to tell it. That day had yet to come, but one could only hope. Truthfully, she wasn't sure what that freedom would look like. For Ana to change, to give in to the expectations her parents had for her? To at least marry a nice young woman from a respectable family, if she couldn't do the proper thing and produce an heir for the Steerpike line? This was highly unlikely. Only slightly less unlikely was the idea that Lilliana Steerpike would ever meet a woman who kept her attention and did not have that same demand herself. Ah well. There were many lovely diversions with which she could fill her time.

Ana smiled and took a sip of her own champagne before answering. "I cannot say how much it has changed in the last--how many years has it been, Mrs. Ibutatu?--but yes, I agree. There are many distractions to be had, when I return." And there were. Although at some point the trick became finding distractions with which she was not already acquainted. Ana didn't think she needed to share this piece of scandal with Niccolette. There was a difference between being interestingly scandalous and tawdry, after all. For a brief moment, Ana was tired, wondering if she wasn't the latter in the end. But it was only a moment, and the moment passed without comment.

The time had been passing so much more enjoyably than out there in the party, sitting here next to Niccolette and drinking their likely ill-gotten champagne. Lovely company and lovely conversation--that's what a party should be. She didn't think as she would call on the Richelieus again any time soon, beyond the expectations of social convention. However, she couldn't hide in the retiring room all night. That would hardly do, either. Ana had the last of the champagne in her glass with no small amount of reluctance.

"Ah, well. As pleasing as it has been to be re-introduced, I fear I must--" Ana began, only to stop herself mid-sentence. She paused, listening to the voices she could hear outside the room. If she wasn't mistaken, and she never was, that was Miss Leonetti she heard. And quite possibly one of the drippier of the Richelieu daughters. Oh, Alioe preserve! How had she managed to dodge the young woman all night, only to have her finally find her here, of all places? Ana's face creased in a small, delicate frown. Irritation flashed in gold eyes. She didn't let it linger, but her displeasure was obvious. She rose to her feet, glancing at the door. She then looked back to Niccolette with a face that was almost apologetic.

"It seems one can only postpone the inevitable for so long. I do believe I hear Miss Leonetti in the hall. You may wish to wait a moment before you exit. She can be..." What word would be most appropriate? She had many, certainly, but most of them were unkind. Ana made a hum of a consideration. "...Excitable."

How terribly dreadful. There was very little chance of avoiding a scene if she went out into the hallway now. Just what she needed to end such a dreary event. Of course she would prefer to let the young woman down gently, but if she forced the issue tonight... Well. Miss Leonetti had had quite a few more drinks than were advisable this evening. Ana permitted herself a small noise of vexation as she debated what she would do next.