shelley_winters | (no subject)

(no subject)

Shelley stares hard at the floor after Mesaana walks away, ignoring the proximity of other guests and the way they look at her, hopeful or fearful or condescending. How dare that women even speak to her after- but the Forsaken all have that supreme arrogance, Ishamael more than any. Her expression tightens bitterly. After this, she is never taking any wager from him ever again.

She turns to pick up her wine for lack of anything else to do, and catches a woman's eye, who curtsies, and makes her way closer.

"My lady," she greets.

Shelley stares back warily before nodding politely. How is she supposed to address this woman? Saying 'my lady' back would sound silly, but she doesn't know who this is.

"Your dress looks wonderful, if I may say so," the older woman continues, apparently unconcerned by her silence. "I am Mohra Terail. Might I know your name?"

Shelley pauses. Well... why not?

"Thank you, Lady Mohra. I am Selae Arata Pilaera," she lies smoothly, and with no small amount of satisfaction.

The woman smiles widely at this evident acceptance of her company, and moves closer.

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Shelley allows herself a small, mirthless smile, conjured by the thought of Mesaana's outrage should she hear this conversation.

"I see," she says, not worried by how obvious it must be that she has no clue who that is. "Is he present tonight?"

Mohra's brow knitted slightly. How had she not heard of her lord? How provincial were the Friends of the Dark where she was from? No sense being rude to the common folk, anyway.

"Oh, yes. He was talking with the Chosen Graendal when I last saw him."

Shelley represses a nervous frown, and searches for something positive to say about the host.

"Oh, Lady Graendal, yes. She is... a-a very good dancer."

If terrifying, and sickening, and sharing the lack of regard for personal space that all the Forsaken seem to possess.

Lady Mohra blinked.

All her practiced social graces melted for a moment as she tilted her head. Surely, she did not say that...

"Excuse me?"

Oh dear.

"I... was not with her for very long, earlier on, but she is a most accomplished lady. A-as well as being very powerful, of course."

Shelley inwardly crosses her fingers. She hopes she isn't sounding too ridiculous. After everything, some random Darkfriend snob laughing at her might be the final straw.

This lady was a... friend of the Chosen Graendal? This was certainly unsettling. She could be a powerful contact, but dealing in the affairs of the Chosen was always dangerous. Mohra's look of confusion only settled slightly.

"I see."

"Lady Mohra, I see you have met my lady."

A smooth, honeyed voice interjected as a slight man in deepest black stood beside Shelley. Piercing blue eyes met her face with a smile.

"Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Ishamael."

Shelley bites her tongue discreetly. Does he have to sneak around like that? Then she forces a small smile, hating herself - but him more - and nodding to him before turning back to Mohra.

She sips her wine in the pause, then silently almost chokes when she remembers where she is, and why she hadn't tasted it before.

Mohra's face went deathly pale as she stood still for a moment before stammering a reply. The Champion of the Shadow. This woman was his...

"L-lord Ishamael."

A pause as she glanced at the tiny redheaded woman. She did not know that he had a lady and that this was her. She expected her to be... different, somehow.

A turn and a small bow to Shelley. This minor lady's shock certainly was amusing and it afforded an excellent opportunity.

"May I ask the pleasure of a dance, my lady?"

Shelley swallows, and inwardly glares at him. But that was the term of the wager, and she can hardly refuse in front of this woman without causing a fuss.

"You may," she says finally, extending a small hand with the same cool hauteur he encouraged her to show other guests.

"Will you excuse us, Lady Mohra?"

The steadiness of her bow was a credit to her control before a deep breath.

"Yes, of course, my lady, Lord Ishamael."

With perhaps a touch of undue haste, Mohra slid off into the crowd.

Taking her hand, Ishamael led her out to the dance floor. A soft smile as he waited for a moment for the music to begin.

"Thank you, Lady Shelley."

"I hardly had a choice," she mutters, while poorly feigning unconcern.

Shelley places her hand on his shoulder as the music starts with a small sigh, and doesn't look at him. At times like this, it helps that her eyeline is just below his neck.

Ishamael tilted his head as the music began to play. His hand rested gently on her hip, his thumb sliding over the embroidery as he spoke softly.

"Did something happen that I should know about, Lady Shelley?"

Shelley shifts irritably, and keeps looking straight ahead, letting him lead the dance - which is necessary in any case, as she is not entirely familiar with these steps.

"Depends."

She borrowed one of Mesaana's aliases? She spoke to Mesaana? She danced with Graendal?

A small smile as he glanced over her shoulder. That stunt with Mesaana's alias was truly hysterical. He had been watching from afar for long enough to see.

"For the record, I think your use of the alias of Selae Arata Pilaera was both exceptionally clever and outrageously funny. To see the look on Mesaana's face when she learned of it..."

"Yes, she'll probably fail to kill me again," mutters Shelley, glancing at the floor to check she is following his steps correctly.

"I just hope it confuses people."

That woman may have been terrified by Ishamael's appearance, but Shelley knows how gossip spreads.

Ishamael nodded calmly. Yes, she was right. There would be a great deal of confusion as networks began to try to find information and failed miserably on almost every front.

"No, Mesaana will do no such thing."

A pause as the couple turned gracefully. There was a pleasure to dancing.

"And yes, I imagine that confusion will reign."

"Good."

It's just a pity that these people are all so backstabbing and suspicious of one another that it doesn't affect him in the least.

Then the girl frowns.

"Hang on, you mean, she is going to kill me? Oh, fantastic."

Ishamael brought his head close to hers. His voice low and intense. He would not let them hurt her, and if they did, then so help them.

"No, she is not."

Shelley rolls her eyes, not hunching her shoulders at his increased proximity with an effort.

"She'd really want to, though," she says, with grim satisfaction.

A chuckle as he commented quietly. A glance over to several of the other men. There were fewer people on the dance floor, because this dance was more demanding..

"The dance requires a spin.... Here."

Gently, he spun her, slowly so she would not lose her balance and fall. That would be a socially embarassing situation.

Despite the care he takes, Shelley almost trips on her long skirts as they swirl with her. She grabs at his hand and glares surreptitiously at the end, managing to steady herself.

A soft smile as he caught her and they returned to a normal dance steps. It felt good to have her with him. He would keep her safe.

"Honestly, Lady Shelley, I can live with Mesaana's chagrin."