Snippet #1688286

Well, wasn't this fun.

Deget had put on some of her best clothes: A black vest and white, ironed dress shirt that fit to her figure slightly to give her curves a gentle squeeze along with pin-stripped pants and boots. 'What a shame' she thought briefly. 'That these clothes will get dirty. Ta think I fished them outta the closet just to get them all messed up.' She looked a bit like a man with her strange attire but the soft shape of her face, her full lips and eyes did give her away. If you didn't see her figure.

She was so dumb- so incredibly dumb to get into this stupid thing. Lined up in the hallway like sheep or cattle lined up for their deaths. Behind her glasses and in her mind's eyes, she wondered if things had gone differently for Zeke. What if- What if.. No. Things were probably different for him but nevertheless, she was in this situation now, wasn't she? Stuck in this manor- her new prison- with people that would probably have intentions to kill her. She didn't- wouldn't- trust Drake's words about the end. People like him probably would 'reward' the last man standing with death. Maybe a diamond necklace only to be stained in blood a little bit afterward.

But that was not the present- not yet. For now, the Jamaican listened and absorbed the information of the four others that she would be 'playing with.' She didn't stiffen when Drake got to her but instead offered him a polite smile. "Thank ju very much," she murmured. "Bu' he didn't happen ta come back- haven't seen 'im in quite a while." She nodded at him before looking onward and frowning at the display of poor James. Her heart went out for the butler and when Drake finally left, the glasses-clad woman was the first to go up to him.

She knelt down a bit and frowned at him slightly. "You alright?" It was a quiet question and one she hoped he would answer. "O' course ya don't have ta answer but simply nod. Probahly can't speak 'cause of what he did.." The woman seemed quite calm and made sure James was okay before standing up once more and adjusting her glasses.

Her Jamaican accent was noticeable- she didn't try to hide it anymore- as was the way she stood up. Like a sore thumb, with her dark skin and features. Whatever. She was quite proud of who she was, thank ye very much, and she wasn't about to let anyone convince her otherwise. Or make her think differently.