Crashing the Party - Drabble

One Shot.

Corsets should be burned.
      
       Honestly, I don't care what they do for my figure. They should all be thrown into a pile and burned. Everyone should drink and dance to celebrate their departure from existence. Most women might love the way it pushes the breast together and enlarges the cleavage while it shrinks their waist, but I could have murdered whoever invented the damned contraption and decided that women needed to wear one at all times. As my hand maid tied me into my corset, I glared stoically at the bedpost I was gripping, inwardly rolling my eyes at the way my ribs felt pressed in and my bosom pushed up. 
      
       The dress was simple; going to my feet, where a pair of black three-inch heels made me a bit taller than my original five-foot-six. With sheer black gauze painted intricately with silver designs laid into the fabric, the blood red silk underneath hugged my form in a loving fashion all the way down. The square neckline exposed my neck and the tops of my shoulders, the sleeves slacking off slightly as they went down to the elbow. From the elbow, the red silk stopped and only the black gauze hung four or five inches below my arm. Lampblack was applied to my eyelashes and kohl was used to line them thinly, as my handmaid believed that less was more. I didn't really care, as I was being painted up for show anyway. A light red stain was put on my lips and a bit of powder applied to my skin, making me look half a shade lighter than I normally did. I would have had a slight but even tan were it not for the powder making me pale. The only ring I was permitted to wear was the diamond given to me by my husband-to-be, Richard Harley.
      
       My long dark brown hair had equally dark red strands that could only be seen in certain lights. To keep the hair from falling in my face, the front sections of my hair was pinned back with a butterfly pin, the rest left to hang down. Admittedly, I did like the way the black lining painted around my eyes seemed to make the blue pigment of my eye stand out, alive with a more powerful hue. High cheek bones complimented my soft jaw, giving me a very feminine face. 
      
       "Sophia," my handmaid said to get my attention. "Are you alright? You look like someone's up and died on you"
      
       Coming out of my stupor, I gave her a very vague smile. "I'm engaged, Pamela." Turning back to the mirror, I added with a humorless tone, "I might as well be dead. I'll have as many privileges."
      
       I picked up the necklace off my table, hearing Pamela say, "Your mother won't like that."
      
       "My mother can bite me, Pamela," I snapped back, fastening the necklace around my neck despite the disapproving look at my language. It was a simple silver chain, but it was hung from the chain that would upset my mother when she saw it. Given to men who died in action performing acts of honor, it was an emerald with rounded edges. On the face of the emerald, a sword could be seen in brilliant dark blue. 
      
       When I was eight, my bodyguard took a knife in the throat. It was meant for me. My father, being a bit cold toward servants and soldiers alike, had the necklace made only to discover that my guard had no family to accept it. I stole it when it was handed off to be tossed in the treasury and now wore it every day. Ever since, I used it as a reminder for why I gave up sleep, snuck around, made excuses, and went through every extra pain I could to hide that I had been stealing from my father's treasuries to pay the Captain of the Guard to teach me to fight on my own.
      
       By this point, I was perfectly adept at fighting. I was better with twin blades than I was with one alone, but Brome refused to let me practice that without him present, as it's easy to screw up and get hurt. At first, I'd only wanted to learn how to handle a knife and basic fist fighting. Slowly, I pushed to learn more. Now, at nineteen years, I was more than capable of taking care of myself.
      
       I didn't care to fight any armies, though.
      
       Looking around the room, I felt confined. My four poster bed with the goose down duvet and one-hundred count thread sheets, the mahogany wood vanity, the oak wardrobe, the pine desk, my large plywood chest, and the big polished bookcase stacked full would have made anyone happy. Toned with pale tans and reds, my room looked very much like an heiress's bedroom. My father was the Duke of White Bay and close to the High King �" recently come to the throne after killing his own brother for the place. I rather hated him. 
      
       A vile loathsome man, the High King had changed his title from High Prince, to King �" feeling it better suited him. I was furious that my father invited him to this damned ball. I hardly wanted to be here; the idea of making me play nice for the royal family made me sick.
      
       With a sigh, I left my room. It was time to face the music.
      
      
       The ball room was so expansive that it easily fit the entire guest list along with sixty plus servants. Bright in shades of gold and wood, the room was alight. The chandeliers were admired as well as the twenty-foot-long tables laden with food. Servants easily weaved through the crowd with silver trays covered in assorted finger foods and glasses of champagne. Pamela �" dressed in her modest white gown that identified her as a servant of the house �" followed loyally along behind me until I dismissed her with a light gesture, saying softly, "Go see if my mother needs you. I'd like to be as alone as I can be tonight."
      
       Richard spotted me immediately, taking in the sight of me with his usual vague appreciation. He didn't see me. He saw his latest trophy. He extended his arm but I subtly declined, refusing to meet his eye more than necessary. Richard was an exceptionally handsome man. His own dark hair was neatly slicked back and his black slacks and coat were both very dashing. The bright red shirt he wore was meant to coordinate with the red I wore, though I felt the shades were a bit off. His light brown eyes were intelligent and alert. Most people assumed that his debonair smile and charming attitude were all signs of his good moral character. I knew better. 
      
       He was a son of a b***h. Richard was a cousin to the High King, making him ninth in line to the throne. He'd likely never be a part of the royal family's core, but any woman who married him would be able to console herself knowing that that bloodline would be enough to never work a day in her life. Not entirely a bad man, he had redeeming qualities. He could carry intelligent conversation and when the mood struck him, he was actually charming and witty. I personally had no use for him, though. He loved to boast of his impressive skill with a blade, but as I got older and I continued to get better myself; I started spotting the lies. I started realizing how often men actually bolster themselves by exaggeration in their physical stories.
      
       Noting my obvious reluctance to be around him, he murmured, "You'll come to love me in time, Sophia." 
      
       Slowly, I turned my gaze to him with the same cold emotionless calm I'd been perfecting since hearing six months ago that my father wanted to marry me off since I'd been refusing to pick a husband. This disarmed him a bit as it seemed to every time, as if he never gets used to the sight of a woman with so much cold indifference in her eyes. He took the faintest step away from me and though I spoke softly, there was ice firming my tone. "You would think so." I paused, starting to walk away as I added, "You would be wrong."
      
       Passing a server with a tray, I scooped a glass of champagne off of him and drained it, setting it skillfully down on the next silver tray I spotted. One of the servers who often took my plate at dinner commented to me softly, "Hitting it hard a bit quick, aren't we?"
      
       I gave him a waning smile. "Not hard enough, my lad." With that, I took another and downed it like a shot at a bar. He just shook his head and let me to it, not daring to argue with me. The pleasant buzz that warmed my stomach and fuzzed out my head made me smile a bit easier �" the biting cold in my gaze easing with the warmth of the champagne. My eyes caught a glimpse of men carrying glasses with a darker liquid and I snapped my fingers to get the attention of a maid who was passing me with h'orderves. She stopped to look at me and I asked her gently, "Are they serving brandy?" I pointed out the man with the darker glasses and she nodded, telling me that they were meant for gentlemen who didn't care for the light-weight alcohol. Smiling, I said, "Fetch me a glass of it, will you?" 
      
       She looked like she might argue but she merely went off to do as told. Returning to me quickly, at first, I think she expected me to sip it instead of gulping it down in a smooth motion before handing it back with a bright smile. "Miss, are you alright?"
      
       "Fantastic now," I replied, picking a piece of cheese from her plate and popping it into my mouth to chase the alcohol and maybe soak a little of it up. 
      
       As I scanned the table, I started feeling progressively more fuzzy around the brain and I felt my skin flush with warmth. The alcohol was finally catching up. If I had to be here, I was going to get a little tipsy and try to enjoy it as much as I could. By any sane notion, the idea of an engagement ball was absolutely repulsive to me. My mother wanted to tell high society that her daughter was marrying into royal blood and I had no choice other than to smile, nod, and dance for the crowd. Thankfully, people seemed to be wise enough to leave me be. A couple of women came up to admire the ring on my finger and I obligingly held out my hand to let them ooh and ah over it. 
      
       One commented to me, "It's huge! Why, you'd sink to the bottom of the ocean!"
      
       Without thinking, I replied with a sardonic laugh, "If only." Her smile flickered and I excused myself before anyone could say anything else to me about the rock on my hand. A bit of a scandal broke out over a female guest's severely plunging neckline and I took the chance to slip out onto the balcony, moving into the night air with relish. 
      
       I went to the edge of the large balcony, resting my arms on the railing as I gazed out over the magnificent gardens that surrounded the mansion. I could hear the music faintly out here, but I was oddly glad to be free of the sound of violins and the piano. Closing my eyes, I took this chance to soak in the cool night air on my skin and the moon light. I let my hair down, eyeing the clip in my hand for a moment before throwing it with a flick of the wrist. 
      
       "That was careless," said a deep voice from behind me. Turning, I pressed myself against the rail and looked to see a gorgeous man, grinning at me.
      
       Black hair rakishly brushed his forehead, looking both like he hadn't bothered to do anything with his hair and like he meant for it to look exactly that way. His eyes were so dark that they could have been as black as his hair. Tanned with a rugged look to him, the grin on his face gave him a sort of boyish charm that I could imagine was popular with women. He was also probably the most under-dressed man here. He was wearing a black dress shirt with a vest of similar, if slightly lighter, coloring buttoned over it. Black slacks couldn't hide the dark brown leather boots that looked worn and old. I saw a peek of tattoos at his right wrist and wondered just who this man was �" and what was he doing here?
      
       Thinking, I rolled my tongue before opening my mouth to speak. "You mistake me, sir. That was not carelessness. It was fun."
      
       His grin grew and he held up a thin white stick, pulling out a match as he gestured in way of asking whether I minded. I knew that men who didn't care to deal with stuffing a pipe rolled tobacco into thin sticks of paper pinched shut on both ends. I waved him off and he immediately �" and skillfully �" struck the match on his boot and lit up in a smooth motion. Tossing the match over the edge, he walked up next to me, holding the stick between his index and middle finger as he took a drag. I noticed that he expertly flicked it without thinking with his thumb to make the ashes on the end fall off.
      
       Blowing the smoke from the corner of his mouth, he looked at me and asked, "What are you doing out here, gorgeous?"
      
       I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by the compliment. "You're in tattered boots and a vest. What the hell are you doing here period?"
      
       "I asked you first," he replied smoothly.
      
       For a few moments, I denied him any answer before I finally gave in. "I needed some air. It's not hot in there, but it's definitely hard to breathe."
      
       Accepting the response, he said, "If I told you, I'd have to kill you." I just grinned, turning back to the gardens below as he took another puff. "Can I let you in on a secret?"
      
       "I don't know," I teased. "Can you?"
      
       Grinning, he said, "Will you promise not to tell?" Considering for a moment, I merely nodded and he took that as a go. "I'm not supposed to be here. I'm party-crashing tonight." Glancing back into the ballroom where a dance had started, he added, "I didn't think it was such a big shindig but the crowd is pretty serious. There are guards everywhere."
      
       "The High King is supposed to show up. He's a friend of the family," I informed him. "I don't even know how you got in. I doubt there was a Mr. Tattered Old Boots on the guest list and no one gets in without an invite."
      
       He laughed, shaking his head and taking another drag. "You, madam, are funny." Pausing, he seemed to consider telling me something before deciding against it. He still spoke again, though. "Let's just say that I get what I want and leave it at that."
      
       I eyed him for a long time. This man was handsome and nothing like any other man inside. I knew because of his cavalier disregard for… apparently everything. He was a party crasher in filthy boots. He was also the one I wanted to spend the evening with. 
      
       Suddenly, I smiled. "What's your name?"
      
       "You can call me Joe," he said. "That's not my name, but that's what you can call me." 
      
       "Short for Joseph, I would imagine," I replied. He just shrugged and finished off the white stick, tossing the butt down below. Looking inside, I asked, "Would you care to dance?"
      
       He theatrically hopped back, bowing and extending a hand as he replied teasingly, "Madame, would you please grace me with this dance?"
      
       I laughed, taking his hand and letting him lead me out onto the dance floor. It was an energetic jig and despite what I expected, he easily caught on and didn't miss a beat. As we moved with the group, I asked at one point, "For a party crasher, you're not half-bad."
      
       "For a rich girl, you aren't a b***h. The world is surprising." Despite the vulgar language and the rude joke at my expense, I found myself laughing. We chatted idly as we danced. I remember wondering whether or not the High King was still planning to attend, as the party had been going strong for an hour before I even came down. It had been at least a second hour since then. Either he was trying to make missing half the party the new trend, or he wasn't coming. The thought was dismissed, because Joe spoke. Randomly, he seemed to finally think to ask, "What's the party for, anyway?"
      
       Considering for a moment, I decided to admit it. "It's my party, actually." Surprise lit up his face and I giggled, stealing his own line, "The world is surprising." 
      
       "Indeed it is," he replied with a laugh. "I knew that the Duke's daughter was engaged. I didn't know you were the daughter, though! Why didn't you have me booted?"
      
       "I'm sorry," I apologized sarcastically, grinning. "Did I give off the impression that I wanted to be here with high class society?"
      
       "Oh, definitely," he laughed. "Hiding out on the balcony made that terribly clear to my well-traveled eyes. I figured you were just a bored guest."
      
       Changing the subject randomly, I said, "You never asked my name."
      
       He shrugged. "I figured that you would tell me if it were important that I know." He paused and then, apparently to humor me, he asked, "What's your name?"
      
       "Sophia," I replied with a smile. The song slowed and instead of stepping away, I moved in to waltz. He put his hand on my lower back and eased into it just as smoothly. We were quiet for a few minutes before I randomly forced him to turn me so that I was hidden by his broad shoulders. He raised a confused eyebrow and I said, "I'm hiding again." Irritated, I muttered, "What I wouldn't give for an escape." 
      
       Chuckling softly, I heard him mutter, "You might actually get that wish, Princess." 
      
       Before I could blink, smoke erupted from somewhere on the dance floor, engulfing the entire left half of the room in a snap. Screams went up and chaos exploded in the room. More smoke shot up and I couldn't help but yelp in surprise. Joe grabbed my arm and said over the yelling, "Stick close." Having no other idea in mind, I went. The room rocked and a boom sounded in the next moment and somewhere in my mind, I realized that Joe probably wasn't just here to steal dances with pretty rich girls and get free food.
      
       I think he was crashing the party; literally.

Author's Note

I was watching Titanic and came up with this. I don't know how so don't ask. Though, I think a character from another story wormed his way in there as the party crasher.