[center][img]http://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/b3RmLjgwLmRhMDc0Mi5VMkZ0WVc1MGFHRWdTMmx1WjNOc1pYaywuMAAA/mandela-script-personal-use.regular.png[/img]
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[b]Location:[/b] Ballroom & Lobby of The Cross Hotel
[b]Interacting with:[/b] Alexandros (briefly) [@Altered Tundra][/center][hr]
Ah, New Year’s Eve. The one last chance in the year to put on your best ensemble and have a few drinks. A night to enjoy some delicious holiday treats and spend quality time with loved or friends. A chance for a midnight kiss or a one-night fling. One last chance to simply enjoy the last moments of the leaving year and embrace the new one.

That was, for everyone [i]except[/i] Samantha Kingsley.

Samantha Kingsley was completely unlike the people attending this luxurious party. While the wealthy, high-profile guests swarmed around in their expensive clothes and flashy jewelry, it was Samantha’s job to tend to them. The dirty blonde female was dressed in the all-white ensemble every waiter and waitress had as a uniform, hair pulled up in an impeccable ponytail. Upon arrival, she was tasked to silently carry around full or empty champagne glasses in dainty golden trays, and she’d quickly gotten onto that.

As she walked around with her tray, Samantha found herself feeling a little envious. How would it be like to be one of these people? How would it feel to wake up in the mornings knowing your basic financial needs are covered, and you have more than you would ever use in the bank? How would it be to actually attend this party as a guest and not as some employee that took the job because money was tight in the household and the mother was pulling the night shift at the hospital?

However, her silent observation also gave her opportunity to realize there could be more to that life. While she roamed around the room, she noticed husbands flirting with other men’s wives, wives doing the same. She saw people discreetly arguing, then putting on their best fake faces to interact with other guests. She saw the faces of hypocrisy; of boredom, irritation and simple unhappiness…

Huh. Maybe money wasn’t the key to happiness after all.

It was after she’d reached this conclusion that she had a particular encounter that set her off. A handsome stranger approached her, taking one of her champagne glasses. For a second, the man had her utmost attraction, even if he wasn’t her type. But the attraction was short-lived, because after taking the glass, the man slipped some money into her pocket. And as if that wasn’t enough, he muttered something about her ‘needing them more than he did’ before taking off. 

It took every ounce of self-control for Sammi to bite her tongue and not dunk her tray on this stranger, but her livid face said it all. Who did he think he was, anyway? Never in her whole life had the young woman felt so demeaned, so little. It was in moments like this in which she wished she weren’t who she was, and instead was someone wealthy and powerful that no one could dare to speak to like that.

But she wasn't. She was just this broke, poor teenager who worked this event so she could help her mother pay the rent.

[color=crimson]“Oh, fuck this.”[/color] the young woman muttered angrily, holding her tray of now-empty champagne glasses and rushing straight to the back. She got a few strange looks from the high-end guests when she failed to stop for them to place their empty glasses on her tray, but still Samantha kept on walking without looking back.

When she had reached the back, she walked past her fellow co-workers busy with refills, dropped off her tray in the designated spot and made her way to exit the ballroom. 

[color=crimson]“I’m taking my break!”[/color] Sammi shouted among the commotion to her boss - a black-haired woman in her forties-, who simply nodded and went back to what she was doing.

Having now properly excuse herself, Sammi rushed out of the room and into the elevator, where she pushed the buttons and after a short wait had reached the lobby. Taking quick strides, the blonde took a seat in one of the plush couches in the lobby. And, as any regular teenager, Sammi pulled out her phone. Maybe some Tumblr browsing would soothe her anger.