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Lights. Bright lights emanated from the palace-like abode before her. Cars ladened with high quality leather, beautifully coated steel, and expensive air surrounded the building. Dozens of men and women flock near the entrance, gathering in front as one by one they entered into what felt like a bright shining star in a space desolate of light. Laughter, champagne, and diamond jewelry tossed around like pennies in the fountain. Nobility and the elite stretch towards the end of the hallway all the way to the massive ballroom filled with nothing but the presumptuous and the arrogant. Only those who bore titles and names can enter such a delightful extravaganza, a party composed of only the richest people in the country. Dukes and duchesses, counts and countesses, marquis and marquess—whatever else they call themselves, only they taste the golden glitter in their food on marble plates while the common people struggle to place bread on their wooden table.
Ahead of it all was a short young woman, early into her adulthood, her hair braided neatly and into a bun; her beige dress, simple and pleated; and her face adorned with cheap make up. No diamond nor silver traced down her skin, and no golden dust sprinkled on her lashes. She wore a small hat, indicative of a small brimmed and fairly humbling gentleman’s headwear, unbeffiting that of a lady in noble stature. Her plain white blouse was covered with a long coat, cept for the knitted blue scarf that ran along her neck, down the deep collar, and tucked inside her buttoned coat. Cosplaying that of a man’s outfit despite still wearing a long skirt down to her ankles—surely her father or her brother would’ve chastised such insolent behavior or her mother must’ve played her a cruel joke.
Stead, all such quandaries were proven false, as the young woman unveiled a small purse within her fabrics and from it drew a notebook. A small leatherbound notebook, with smooth ink paper, and beautiful marks engraved on its skin—expensive, if not the only one of such she seems to own. She carefully traced her footsteps up the stairs. Her left hand holding the notebook, the other holding her skirt up to avoid tripping.
By the door, a butler, after letting in the next fancy couple, caught her eyes. They met with a sting as the young lady felt the obvious stigma held towards her, even by mere staff whose only work is to hold the door open. Still, she held her head high and loosened her shoulders, if a single meager glance of disapproval was all it took to shake her resolve, she would’ve long left this blasted kingdom. She didn’t care for such unsightly obvious acts of detestation, after all, she was here on official business, one she’d prioritize more so than a servant who thinks too highly of himself.
“Last name, madam,” His voice exuded prejudice,
“Blanc,” She spoke lightly, keeping her composure, “Lady Blanc, please.” Her eyes glanced down towards the guest logbook as the butler scanned for her name. In a brief moment, she had caught sight of it, only for the servant to swiftly pass the page.
“Unfortunately, miss, your family is not anywhere within the guestbook.” The butler’s smile was aggravating. “Now if you can please move to your left—there are others waiting in line.”
“I beg your pardon,” Lady Blanc dare not accept such obvious nonsensical persecution, “I am certain my name is on the list alongside my brother,”
“Is Lord Blanc around to give credit to your name, Madam?” The butler continues his tyrannical display of mockery, “If not, as you can see, I’ve scanned through the guest log and your name is not in it—so again, if you can please move to your left—” His comments continue to frustrate her.
“Ridiculous, such an absurd tact to commit your foolish acts of prejudice.” No matter what, Lady Blanc had to get inside the party. “Hand me the parchment, I must see the absence of my name myself!”
The butler seized the guestbook to his chest and away from her fingers, and he shook his head with an annoyed smile and glared at the lady. “Now, madam, you must understand that you cannot simply act out of childish rage—such scandalous behaviour sullies your name even further.”
Blanc was close to teetering over the edge, her left hand prepared to swing the hard bound notebook between her fingers straight into this servant’s infuriating grin. “This is preposterous, your bias permeates your action, servant, so unless you—”
“There seems to be an issue here?” An older man, aged enough to be Lady Blanc’s father, walked outside to handle this hapless commotion. The Lady could only hope he had the common sense to clear out this bigotry. This was, after all, one of her father's old friends.
“My lord?” The butler’s face was suddenly stricken with surprise and anxiety, “It’s no large issue for the lord himself to deal with so—”
“Lord Cunningham, your staff seems to have issue in finding my good name in his list of patrons,” Lady Blanc made sure to offer him her biggest smile, most voracious men in this country can not resist a pretty woman’s charm, so she’d rather use such weaknesses to her advantage—as much she despises doing so, “he refuses my help in his search, wary it might sully my frail hands—might you offer yours instead, my good lord?”
The master of the house smiled back at her and picked up the book from the boy’s hands, “The young Lady Blanc, am I correct?” he asked as he scanned through its pages,
“Indeed, good sir,”
“Ah. Here.” He placed the book down in front of the butler with his finger pointing exactly towards her name. “Can you read it, young man? If you're having trouble with your sight, it’d do me no good to keep you here.”
The servant straightened up at the words of his master and immediately bowed his head, “My Apologies, My Lord…and Lady Blanc, for my…incompetence.” As his head pointed down, he bit his lip and tightened his fists, panicked at the sound of her following words.
“I suggest you ask your mother for more lessons on your manners.” Lady Blanc tapped her fingers on the table slowly. “We wouldn’t want a dysfunctional servant now do we?”
“Indeed we do not,” Lord Cunningham chimed in.
The young lady turned towards the lord once more and curtsied like her mother taught her, a simple, delightful, and trained curtsy. “Good evening, my good lord, I wish you a wonderful time tonight,”
Lord Cunningham took off his hat and bowed his head as well in greetings, “Good evening to you as well, fair lady, must I be allowed the honor to lead you inside?” He extended his hand with a gentlemanly regard.
“It would be my pleasure.” The lady seized her chance and welcomed herself inside, the small leather bound book in her hand found itself tucked into a side pocket.
This would be the day she found her, the woman who disgraced her family, the woman who took everything they had for all its worth—the flanderizing schemer, the boorish smooth talker, the blonde haired fox that sank her name down the gutter.
The lady will do everything to find her—
Ada Tennant.
–
The evening passed itself a merry moment, as the manor’s lord led the veritable Lady Blanc through the bustling hallways with her fingertips. Together they entered through the golden archway between the gold ladened walls of the hall to the glittering shine of the ballroom.
Chandeliers made of jewelry and glass hung brilliantly in the tall ceiling, high enough that if even a dozen adult men stood sole to head over and over, they'd still yet to graze its rocky skin.
Tables crafted with the finest of woods surrounded the revelry, placed atop were several arrays of expensive cuisine with the silver plates and forks handed by the servants themselves. From the largest roasted hogs to the most exotic caviar, they had it all for all nobility to eat.
Around it all were golden lamps and golden framed paintings worked by those whose names are sure to be engrossed into history. A merry band of strings and brass played pleasantly at the side, their music serving as the final piece of a ballroom with a truly noble feel.
Blanc felt like vomiting.
She shuddered at the sight of such a needlessly lavish display. A lifestyle that an old immature princess version of her would surely find endearing. However, a woman like her who made her own money to solely put food on the table could never find themselves accustomed to such a way of living anymore. Money like that should be expended on practical means, not some frivolous knickknacks like meager gold.
After all, in times of worry, food is often more edible than any bar of gold.
Lady Blanc followed Lord Cunningham’s lead as they toured themselves around the dance floor. The music was yet to pick up to a pace for a dance, so no noble has dared step on the limelight at all. She was led to a seat for which she pushed her skirt down and laid her bosom flat. A sigh of relief escaped her lips. She had been standing for quite some time, enough that her legs showered her with gratitude for a necessary moment of solace.
“I appreciate your display of kindness to someone like my, good lord,” her voice sweet and amiable, “I thank you towards a thousand tomorrows for such chivalry.”
“It is by no means a problem, my dear.” The good lord smiled. “It is a man’s duty to ensure every woman’s comfort. What animal must I be to let a lovely lady be disappointed.”
Lady Blanc flashed him an approving smile. In the meantime, the small lady scanned the rest of the ballroom. Her intel had spewed the callousness of Tennant’s presence to be here. There was no way she would mistake another being for that scoundrel of a lady.
Lord Cunningham seemed to notice her wandering eyes and a curiosity fueled him to question her motives, “Anyone of the young men catch your eye?” The lord muttered in his intrigue, “I suppose indeed a young woman like you would be looking for a spouse to take care of her…might I suggest one of mine?”
“Pardon?” The question caught the lady off-guard, it seems that the lord had mistaken her intentions, “You are inaccurate in your observation, my lord.”
“Do not be a stranger, Lady Blanc,” he laughed. “I am certain many men here are capable and willing to take care of such a beauty as you are.”
She hid her scowl. After all, he seems to mean no ill will—only outlandish views that he pushes to her as if it was her own. “You surely jest, good lord.” Blanc’s smile floated shakily on her face. “I am a made woman, such trivial excursions like men have no room in my life.”
The lord chuckled,
He raised a glass, words soon to break from his lips yet before such a moment were to occur, a slick white glove landed on his shoulder, persuading him to unpart his lips and face behind him. “I see you've escorted quite the fine lady, Lord Cunningham.” A sweet yet alluring voice simmered in the air. Lady Blanc’s eyes snapped up and her body tense—the gripping horrific sense of familiarity snatching her attention away from the awkwardness.
A gaze to the woman’s smile before her. Her tan brown skin, the two moles by the curves of her snarky grin. Her eyes are sharp and slanted, leering and analyzing whether the young lady of Blanc is worth extorting or not.
Her outfit, masculine, yet expects no scorn from the men around her. She exudes an air of confidence that others around can't even hope to falter. Her head crowned with a wide brimmed hat with a pointed peak; her body adorned in a flashy expensive suit, with her undershirt and vest complimenting her brown overcoat with streaking red highlights. Her hair styled and flowered in a way that reminds one that the divine specimen before them is naught a proud man but a proud woman.
“Hello, my lady,” the princely dressed scoundrel spoke, her red eyes fiery and hellish, “It appears to me, you're quite agitated. Is something the issue?”
Lady Blanc puts on her most charming smile. “No issues here at all, Miss?” She lets her words trail on, pretending as if she has not met this woman before.
“Tennant.” A straightforward and honest answer, so much so that the young lady of the Blanc family did not expect such a candid response. “And you are?”
Lord Cunningham forced open his teeth and turned to the swindler with a smile, his mouth prepared to answer the dashing woman’s query but Lady Blanc promptly dragged the lord to her side, “Excuse me, my lord,” she leaned over and kissed his cheek before standing up and taking Ada’s hand, “I will dally my time with this fair one, can I?”
Cunningham eyed the smirking noblewoman, turning to the nodding tall one before dejectedly sighing, “I have no issues, my lady. Take care of her, Miss Tennant,” though his face betrays his words.
It's odd for the lord of the manor to let such things happen.
Tennant was mildly confused by the sudden shift in dynamics as she was taken away by this small and spunky girl. “You fret me with your lack of a name, beautiful lady?” Tennant sweetened her grip on the woman’s hand.
“Oh, such trivialities do not matter.” Blanc smiled back with a gluttonous grin. “Names are for those who will share more than one night together.”
“Pardon?” Tennant didn't expect such a proactive girl to rush straight into her hands. Although, she couldn't shake the feeling of oddness lingering in the lady’s gaze.
As if on queue, the band at the stage began to place a soft melody—perfect for a dance. The elites around them scoured around for a partner, blushing ladies by the wall waiting for their men to offer their hands. Young men awkwardly approach young ladies by the tables asking for their time. It was a wondrous and adorable scene to many—
Lady Blanc welcomed herself to the battlefield.
She took Tennant's hand and forced her on the dance floor, their bodies moving in perfect synchrony daring people to ask if this was staged and planned beforehand. Lady Blanc wrapped her fingers around Tennant's and swept her around the golden tiles, their feet taking turns, avoiding stepping on top of the other.
Tennant held a wary grip as her palms slid down to Blanc’s hips as she bent her back to aim her chest to the sky. Their arms slowly slid on each other until their fingers collided into a tight embrace. The amicable and beautiful Lady Blanc spun herself away from Tennant as the music reached its crescendo, yet their hands still locked tight together. The lady reached the farthest distance, her eyes filled with determination.
The music ramped up even more as Tennant, to play along, pulled the lady back towards her. Blanc returned in a twirl, placing her soft back onto the swindler's arm, as their faces turned to one another—their attention drawn endlessly to the other's eyes.
“You tease me, my lady?” Tennant smiled, her voice raspy and enticed. “You drag me away and make me yours without even a second word, you're too cruel.”
Blanc held herself back from laughing as her legs reached over until they were standing normally once more. One of her arms placed on the princely scoundrel’s shoulder, and the other arm in a tight hold with Tennant's own.
“You pride yourself too much, Ada,” Blanc speaks with lick of spite—their dance continues as the people around them sway to the swinging beat.
Tennant’s brain fizzled, to be called by her first name, she didn't recall ever giving it to the lady.
Aha.
She'd been utterly played,
“You really are one cruel mistress.” Tennant smiled and continued their dance. “I am deeply regretful for any wrong I’ve committed to such a beautiful lady.”
Blanc scoffed.
“You say such things, yet you do not even recall my name nor my face,” Blanc leaned close, on her tip toes, to whisper to the thieving fox’s ear, “you're the cruel mistress.”
Tennant giggled and spun the lady around once more under her raised hand. “But I do remember you, Lady Blanc,” Tennant dropped unexpectedly. “Yet I assume you have not yet known my reasons for committing your family to such a position.”
Blanc raised an eyebrow. Perhaps there was more to this than meets the eye.
“What are you suggesting?”
Tennant drew her lips down to lady’s neck and alongside a soft supple kiss was a faint whisper, “These things are much bigger than you anticipate—”
Suddenly, a crash from outside the ballroom sounded throughout the giant hall. Doors snapped open as guards ran around frantically. The music grinded to a halt as panicked guests straggled away from the heavily armored soldiers.
Lord Cunningham, who was busy speaking to guests, had now drawn his attention to the rising commotion. “Excuse me, good sirs?” Lord Cunningham spoke nervously. “What is the issue that you must scare away the revel in my party?”
The captain of the guard that broke in scoffed at the lord, “Lord Cunningham, I am afraid we, the King's Guard, have received a note regarding a stolen relic that would be hidden away tonight here in this party.”
“What?”
Blanc caught Tennant's smile—
“By the order of the King, we command you to—”
“My lord!” A servant rushed out of nowhere. “T-The Giant Diamond—i-it’s gone!”
“WHAT!?” Lord Cunningham yelled in anger.
Blanc once again caught a chortle out of Tennant's lips.
“You.” Blanc’s eyes thinned into a glare. “Did you do this?”
“Coincidences are a beautiful thing, my lady?” Tennant held the lady’s hand tighter, “It is a shame that such things vanish all at once,”
“Why are you acting as if I won't tattle your involvement in this issue?” Blanc furrowed her eyebrows as her gaze met the thief’s.
“Your father was a good man involved with bad men.” Tennant smiled. “I had to clean him up before I could chase after the rabbit.”
“What?”
Cunningham's eyes snapped to Tennant who flashed him the grandest smile. “Do me a favor, my lady—play along.”
“Huh?”
“YOU!” Cunningham’s anger burst forth as he pointed at the tall woman with compounding malice. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE DIAMOND!”
Tennant shrugged and laughed, pulling Lady Blanc right next to her. “The one you bought in exchange for the Relic?”
The King's Guard turned towards Cunningham. “Bloody hell! You damn wench!”
“So that's why he seemed so favorable towards you.” Blanc blinked. “Pardon me for a moment, did you imply that Lord Cunningham has something to do with my family's downfall?”
Tennant didn't answer. “Eyes up, fair lady.” She flicked her wrist down to her waist and in a flashing second, a gun was strapped between her fingers. “Don't panic,” she whispered to Blanc.
The King's Guard immediately drew their own guns and aimed it towards the liar. “Put down your gun, now!”
Ada laughed and pointed the gun towards Blanc, whose eyes widened in fear. “I’m not the one with an innocent lady at gun point.”
This caused the guards to hesitate, their guns lowered after realizing the situation. Tennant began walking backwards until she reached the banquet table, behind it was a door deeper inside the manor.
“What are you doing?” whispered Blanc. “You dare involve me in this?”
“Playing the distressed damsel should be fun, right?” Tennant teased. “I assure you, my lady, no harm will come your way.”
“Just bloody shoot her!” Cunningham in his frustration stole a gun from one of the King’s Guard and aimed it at Tennant, with a lack of regard towards the lady the criminal held hostage.
The bullet raced across the air. It seemed Cunningham was a terrible marksman as it was heading straight to Lady Blanc instead of his initial target.
Tennant immediately responded in kind. She kicked the table over and graced it with her hand. In a beautiful second, the entire table shimmered into a gemstone. The bullets struck the table but merely dug deep into the now makeshift hard diamond wall.
The guests all around screamed and hid, running for safety, Blanc shrieked as gunshots fired from the other side of the diamond table. “Ah, it seems he doesn't care for your safety.” Tennant chuckled as the lady stared back at her with a glare.
“What an astute observation that is!?” Lady Blanc complained.
“An arcanist!?” Cunningham grumbled. “YOU FILTHY ARCANIST!”
“DROP THE GUN!” yelled one of the guards towards the lord as they tried to wrestle it out of him.
Tennant stared behind them, the door seemingly within reach. An escape route she had already devised hours before. “Lady Blanc, do you trust me?”
“Trusting you is hardly an issue when the alternative is a bullet to my face.”
Tennant chuckled at her remark. In a single swift motion, she kicked the diamond table with enough force to send it skittering down the hall and towards Lord Cunningham and the guards. As the two sides swerved to avoid getting struck by the table, Tennant took this chance to slip through the door behind them.
She ran, Lady Blanc in tow.
Their hands still holding on to each other, it was Tennant's turn to drag Blanc into her battlefield.
“Give me a break!” Blanc panted in between breaths as they rushed up the stairs. “I am not built for such physical endeavor.”
An idea flashed by the red hatted liar's mind. “If you don't mind,” she lifted the lady up her feet and into her arms, “does this feel better?”
Blanc paused, her mind racing to understand the few seconds that had just passed. When her brain finally caught up, her cheeks flushed pink, and her ears turned red. On instinct, her palm flew up and slapped the scammer’s face in a loud thwack.
“I’m sorry…” Blanc coughed. “It was on instinct.”
Tennant with a single red cheek gave her a genuine smile. “It's my pleasure to receive a lovely display of emotion, Lady Blanc.”
Behind them, the rushing of footsteps. The guards seemed to have settled the situation with Cunningham and are now after the phantom seller and thief of the relic.
The two ladies ran until they reached the top of the highest point of the manor—the only notable aspect of the room being the large stained glass window.
“What now?” Blanc said in confusion as Tennant settled her down on the floor. “We find ourselves all the way up in this decrepit room, for what?”
Tennant shrugged and approached the lady. “Privacy.” Tennant drew closer to her until their foreheads touched each other. Tennant’s hands crept up from the lady’s hips all the way to her hair. “You have beautiful hair, my lady.”
Blanc sharpened her gaze.
“You indeed have a way with your words, charmer.” Blanc rolled her eyes and slapped the fox’s hands off of her head. “I can attest to you saving my life, so what must I do to pay back such a debt?”
Tennant looked up to think for a moment. “Would a kiss be allowed?”
Blanc recoiled. “Is there anything else?”
Tennant laughed and played with the lady’s hair. “I’m afraid not.”
The sounds of footsteps closed in on the room they hid in. Tennant looked at Lady Blanc one more time. “Are you certain there's not?” Blanc pursed her lips, the guards were about to barge inside any minute now.
Tennant smiled. “I must go now, my lady.” She pulled away from Blanc but the latter held on to her hand
“Where?!” Blanc warily asked. “And what about my family's legacy!? You called my father a good man yet you let him suffer in debt!?”
“The debt has been repaid, Lady Blanc, after Cunningham's arrest, I can assure your family's honor.” Tennant let go of the Lady’s hand and approached the window. “As for the question of where—”
She drew her gun and shot the window into a shattered piece, letting it all fall apart. Blanc’s eyes locked on to Tennant. The doorknob behind them turned as the Lady loosened her tight grip and walked forward.
Wind found itself rushing in through the broken window as Tennant’s hat flew out of her head and into the door that had just opened. The guards’ view as they entered was blocked by the hat. All they could see at the time was the figures of the two women close together and by the moment they had snatched the hat out of the way.
All that was left was the lone Lady Blanc, her face annoyed yet entirely flushed pink.
“Where did she go!?” one of the Guard's remarks angrily.
“The relic?” another angrily yelled as they approached to peek out the window. “Damn it!”
“It's with me,” Lady Blanc spoke out loud. Her voice caught the guards frozen cold.
“I had taken it away from her right before she got away.” Blanc pulled out a golden orb out of her pocket, the one where her notebook should've been.
“I see.” The Guard Captain carefully took it from hand. “And what's your family name, young miss?”
“Blanc.” The lady stared out into the cold open night sky, “Give my honor to the House of Blanc.”
The lady’s fingers slowly reached to her lips before going back down to her pocket. Tennant's farewell remained in her head.
“I will return your notebook the next time we meet.”
Blanc sighed and slapped herself sane. “You better return it, you thieving fox.”