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Things were looking up. The older woman in the corner, perched leisurely in the leathery folds of an old weather-beaten winchester was starting to come alive. She had arrived early, for, by her watch, there were only two moments at which one should arrive; early; and exactly on time. Her reward was a tart that would tell her precisely nothing, regardless of how she pressed the issue, but would, on the brighter side, pour her a glass of wine. Since she'd been kept waiting, she'd had the good sense to ask if there was anything else, and, as it happened, she was now on her third sherry, the small bottle lurking just underneath the sofa. It was a waste of time to keep having to call the Hostess over.

As people had begun to arrive, the older woman had kept largely to herself, lazily drawing invisible dust-patterns on the wooden arm of the sofa, enjoying the almost furry feel of the particles on her finger. Her face was stony, betrayed only by the slight flicker of the eyelashes that always seemed to happen whenever she started to get tired, and she was, she realised, pouring her fourth glass of sherry, starting to get tired.

This wouldn't do at all. She shook her head as though to throw the drowsiness out and unevenly rose to her feet, gently adjusting her hair in case the arrival of four strangers had somehow blemished it.

[color=82ca9d]"Hey, bimbo, got a light?"[/color] Said a bright young thing, to a polished-looking gentleman, proving, once again, that, for all the polish in the world, a man was useless; he patted seemingly endlessly on his pockets to find one such that the older woman simply had to intervene.

[color=fff79a]"Take mine, dear,"[/color] she said, handing over a small silvery lighter with yellow stones that gently gleamed with the low ambient light encrusted in the casing, before continuing with a knowing wink, [color=fff79a]"We women need to stick together!"[/color]

[color=fff79a]"Marion,"[/color] she thrust out her hand to shake.