"I'd like to leave the party now," Sonia says abruptly to a guard. None of them have been hanging off her elbow exactly, but there are enough of them that it's easy enough to locate one and walk up to him. She didn't want to come to this stupid thing in the first place, and she's tired of the stupid robes they made her wear -- more diplomatically worded, of course, as a strong suggestion, that wearing her fatigues or anything else to a Class 3 formal event like this was culturally unacceptable, and Sonia had nearly told him that he could take his unacceptable and shove it right up his ass, but it didn't seem worth the effort. But she's been here long enough, let the ghem gawk at her and make diplomatic conversation in which Sonia tried to be as innocently tactless and insulting as possible, and she's tired of it now. She's sick of her cell, but she's sick of this party more.
The guard looks down at her, reluctance tugging at his mouth. "I think the ghem-General and his wife would prefer that you stayed a little longer, Princess."
"My feet hurt."
"Then perhaps we should find you someplace to sit for a while."
"I think that the one freedom a prisoner on parole should have is to go back to her cell whenever she wants to," Sonia says crossly. Eyes narrowed, lips pursed, jaw set, she is ready to throw a spectacular adult tantrum right in the middle of their fancy party. The guard seems to sense this, because he sighs and waves at one of his comrades.
"The Princess would like to leave the party," he tells the other guard, who opens his mouth but then quickly closes it at the look on Sonia's face.
Sonia is determinedly silent on the walk back, though she makes a great show of tearing the decorative combs out of her hair as soon as they're outside and dropping them pointedly on the ground. The guards choose not to react, not stopping or slowing their pace, and for some reason that only frustrates Sonia more.
The corridors of the barracks complex are only half-lit at this hour, and nearly deserted, almost everyone either on duty or at the party. Even the lift tube down to the lower level is dimmed down to just its emergency lights, and as they approach Sonia wonders if she could goad the guards into some reaction if she just kicked off her shoes right here.
Botched escape and rescue - 4/27
The guard looks down at her, reluctance tugging at his mouth. "I think the ghem-General and his wife would prefer that you stayed a little longer, Princess."
"My feet hurt."
"Then perhaps we should find you someplace to sit for a while."
"I think that the one freedom a prisoner on parole should have is to go back to her cell whenever she wants to," Sonia says crossly. Eyes narrowed, lips pursed, jaw set, she is ready to throw a spectacular adult tantrum right in the middle of their fancy party. The guard seems to sense this, because he sighs and waves at one of his comrades.
"The Princess would like to leave the party," he tells the other guard, who opens his mouth but then quickly closes it at the look on Sonia's face.
Sonia is determinedly silent on the walk back, though she makes a great show of tearing the decorative combs out of her hair as soon as they're outside and dropping them pointedly on the ground. The guards choose not to react, not stopping or slowing their pace, and for some reason that only frustrates Sonia more.
The corridors of the barracks complex are only half-lit at this hour, and nearly deserted, almost everyone either on duty or at the party. Even the lift tube down to the lower level is dimmed down to just its emergency lights, and as they approach Sonia wonders if she could goad the guards into some reaction if she just kicked off her shoes right here.