Snippet #2343252

It hadn't taken Alice very long to get to the refreshments table. Now that she had a long-stemmed glass of liquor in her hand, her stomach had finally quieted with its butterflies, and she was beginning to enjoy herself.

Though she knew she was terribly out of place-- women draped in ball gowns swished by, waving fans, whereas Alice just had this simple green frock and men's shoes hidden under the chiffon-- it didn't bother her in the least. She let a smile glaze over her face, and she just watched everything around her. She had a million questions and nobody to ask them. Who painted that canvas over there? Why did they use the colors that they did? Did anything inspire them? What technique were they using? And what about the music? Who composed it? Was this an esteemed piece?

A headache wormed its way into her head, and she knew it wasn't because of the alcohol. (Though she would deny it, she could toss back a few drinks, no problem.) Squeezing her eyes shut, she lifted glove-covered fingers to her temple and gave a short breath. Really, now? This night was supposed to be amazing. But the back of her neck was prickling and suddenly all of the people around, the body heat rising up, the layers of dresses and the black tuxedos and canes were intolerably constricting.

She had to get out. Alice turned, intending to walk over to the orchestra pit and sit where the music was loudest and the people were fewest.

"Hey there, little missy-- oh!"

Alice turned right into the man, almost walking straight into him-- but she bumped him enough so that his wine spilled against her collar bone. She let out a rattled gasp as ice-cold liquid poured down her front, trickled down her bodice, crawled across the fabric of her dress in a growing stain. "Oh, shit!" she said-- completely unladylike, but she didn't really care at the moment.

The guy was already swearing himself, yanking a towel from a passing waiter and coming at her, spilling apologies, but there was no way Alice was letting a man near her... chest... with an ice-soaked rag.

"Thanks," she snapped, but immediately her face softened; she winced at the harsh tone in her voice. "Thanks," she said, apologetically this time, "but I'm-- I'll just go now."

"I'm... uh... sorry." He cringed, rubbing his neck, but Alice just sighed and gave a wistful half smile.

"It's okay, it's okay, don't worry about it..."

The smile wavered and broke as she brushed past him and made for the doors into the gardens.

"Well, shit, shit, shit," she mumbled now that nobody could hear her. Crickets sang in the outdoors; stars twinkled like diamonds on velvet overhead. At least nobody could see the red creeping across her cheeks, or her suddenly watery eyes. She laughed at herself. "Shit!" she repeated, breaking into snorting giggles. The cursing was suddenly hilarious.

"Oh God, look what I've done tonight," she groaned, but still grinning, and sank onto a bench. (It appeared to be a stone slab hefted by what appeared to be carved cherubs. Kind of disturbing really.) She stared blankly down at her dress; the dark violet on green looked like an enormous bloodstain.

"Oh dear Lord, why does something like this always happen?" she sighed, wishing she'd grabbed the cloth.