The Last Supper

Isabella Heiwa · 03-10-2012, 03:06 PM

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I'm not sure where she should be sitting so I left it fairly vague.

Word Count ► 317

She brushed back her long longs with the scent, letting it soak into the course hair along her face. She used only a slight dabbling of it, knowing how precious it was until the first lavender would begin to bloom in the territory. For now, she was using up the last of her saved oil. Though she had worn the same scent often enough, it was one she favored and she found herself not caring if anyone noted it. It was what marked her as who she was. How could Isabella protest that kind of advertising? And the King would be there, and she was sure he would react to her scent, even if it was hardly a public reaction. That was all she wanted.

For this supper, she had chosen a lighter dress of some filmy material that simply hung on her curves rather than hide them. The necklace Sirius had given her lay heavy around her neck. Absently, white fingers grazed the cold material as she walked from her home to the Supper. Her strides were easy; it was still early enough but not early enough that she would be the first one in attendance, hopefully. Her attire, strangely simple and unassuming, was more because of her mood of calm and the feelings of success in her chest.

Others had already arrived, and Isabella kept her look level as she gave a slightly formal bow of the head to the Auxilary and the Boss. Her eyes lingered briefly on the Thistle King, though she shifted it from him with practiced ease. As she sat herself down, she glanced at the other members present. Odessa had been holding onto a golden male, and it was easy enough to see their relationship. Isabella gave a small smile at the woman, remembering the reading she had given her. But they would not sit near her; they outranked her.

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