Lying in wait in a sizable living room next to the grand foyer, layed in laughter, that man's wife. Head resting on a freveled cushion, body bent and widely spread on her large L-shaped couch. Feet not even close to reach the end of the fluffed up chaise. Head up-right, arms and legs separated on the slick fabric like a back lying lizard. Body slightly sinking in its embracing comfort. Its tidied velvet closely warping to embrace her skin and replaced dress. Swapped from a vicious red to a rich sea blue.
With her, all slumped on the same couch chirping and cackling like witches were her close acquaintances, maybe even friends if she put herself down. All of them lucky enough to know her and lucky enough to have such a generous friend like her to always allow them to crash at her place evenever they pleased. Her home being the closest to everyone.
Room dosed in white light from a exorbitant array of constantly luminating gems, lining her pearl painted walls and hanging on her grandiose chandelier. Abundant waves too stimulating for her weak eyes, forever making her squint her already small eyes since they were first installed. Refusing to replace them with a weaker set. Anything she says under the massive roof would be final yet unwilling to change anything that hurts her if it made it any less fantastic. The mansion was her face, anything to make it less was a insult to herself. So she kept the lights painfully white, carpets and rugs large, walls laced with arts and stands adorned with vases. Anything and everything she wanted, she could politely ask her useful wed to buy who'll completely love to if it made her happy.
The group chatting heartily on the soft coach about their recent doings and recent buys, their jarring laughter echoing around the entirety of the plain room, reaching to the man in the dinning room past the foyer, sitting with newpaper in hand and fryed potato chips in the the other. So much speech yet she hasn't talked much with them. No one to ask her any questions or striking up a meaning conversation with her, conversing between the four instead.
Flat on her back, her empty mind suddenly woke when a question was directed to her, at least she though it was since the noise damped.
"Is that a new painting?"
Coming from the nearest to her, a skinny woman in brown frilly cloths that covered her whole body. Eyes kept on a orange slice she picked up as she asked.
Scanning the room, wondering which painting was being mentioned.
"Hmmm.. that one? I brought that a few weeks ago in the mall."
She's hanged it for display instantly yet was only noticed now.
"Wasn't there some other painting there before?"
Coming from another with more meat on her bones.
"Yes but I replaced it, it was growing old."
Before anyone else spoke, she quickly added on.
"It costed alot actually from a upcoming painter, Marcus bean.
Purchased too long to remember. She had a tiny notion of the painters initials but not fully the name so she blurted out whatever seemed close or impressive.
"Is that so? I prefer the old one. The colours are incompatible on this." Confidently said by the skinny woman. Having no knowledge or artist skills to back up her statement
From the end of the couch with the highest amount of fruit seeds and inedible fruit parts, equipped with the largest earrings one can find. In a uncaring tone but still wanting to be involved.
"What was the old one."
"Probably some random shapes and letters."
Chuckling as she said it, her face stylelessly masked with so much makeup it could've dissipated the force of a punch.
Irking the buyer.
'Ugly hag' she thought in discretion.
"I'm pretty sure it was a mountain and sky in strange colours." Voiced by the bigger women, eyes darting through the varied platters of fruit on a glass table.
Everyone else agreed or gave a short grunt to the comment.
"The piece is okay i would say." Voiced with an air of wisdom. "I would've blended the colours more to create a smoother image."
Her arm outstretched and finger pointed, crudely following the lines on the canvas. Using all her effort to steady her hand.
Their words like subtle insults thrown at her face, clearly unbothering to remember the splendid crafts she owns. The topic soon diverging to the damages from the storm again and to her husband standing by the front door, until it was interrupted by the beating of shoes on marble.
Alone in the dinning room chucking another chip into his chewing mouth, wiped his hand on his cotton shirt and pulled the newpaper tight. Focusing intently on a underdressed lady in a picture, eyes hogging like the smell of boiled eggs. Moving on with his search, looking for the next women to stare at if he was lucky enough to have another pic in the news.
Search ending in disappointment so he began to read the paper.
Trees stuck by lighting . . . someone's house burning during the storm . . . new invention of a type of flashlight . . . people coming from the north . . .
'New shops opening in town by the same owner? Who the hell?'
Drawing his head closer to better read the section but the loud ruckus from the living room made it hard to sharply follow. Resetting his progress when a whipping screech of a laugh escaped from one of the girl's mouth.
Reading then paused by the clanking of hoofs and neighing of a horse on his front yard. Not long before a firm knocking on the front door. 'Ah, it's time'.
He was reluctant to let go but the problems that would come after would be an out-right hassle. Getting people into his home, a place for it to happen, another place for it to stay, buy things for it, get things for it, sign paperwork, this and that.
The more he though in his shrewd mind the more jolly he was to let go. Pros outweighing the negatives by miles and miles. Even better for his own reputation, trading and selling needed the key of honourability to work and excell. A stain such as this would make him into a mockery to the respectful community if it happened to get leaked. So to rid of the probability would be a remarkable action, sending it far and away never to be heard or seen.
On his feet, gladly opening both the front doors. Greeted the coachman in cheerful tone.
"Hello to you good man."
Smile wide and creasing his eyes, wrinkles forming on his forehead.
Driver responding with his own pale smile with the wagon behind, a ripped hood with dirt and abraded wheels showcasing its poor health. A short and boney horse was the icing on top.
"Evening."
Shaking eachothers hands.
"I'll wait on the wagon.", The coachman uttered, already walking towards to the collection of unwell wood.
"It won't be long.", Forced to talk to the man's back left a displeasure in his dry lips but he pushed it aside, it was to be expected. Cheap wagon meant crappy service.
Both waiting for the arrival of Marie.
'What to pack-what to pack!?'
Caught in a bewildering tornado about what to stuff in her little brief case. No time for needs and not a clue in the world what and why she was packing, caught in the moment. Cramming as much as she could, her underwear and cloths are a obvious bring, trailed with some money to carry and that was all she could think off. Maybe some chocolate to eat would be good?
Time bolting past with each second thinking, further away the long hand became on the clicking clock from the designated time.
Soundless in its movement yet the jolt of minutes felt like an ever-increasing weight being placed on her skin.
Squeezing inside the last folded pants she could fit. Accidentally slammed the case close with excessive force prompting a resounding click of closure and a spike in her heartbeat, afraid she had damaged her valise. But a hasty look would tell the case was unharmed.
Quick in the uptake of relief, like and unlike an owl swiftly yet noisily dashed out the door. Running past the stone path, past the kitchen and to the grand foyer where a chubby man stood waiting. Displeasure cleanly written on his oily face.
Standing next to the closed front doors, impatiently waiting with the occasional turn and pivot around, stood in place in view of his wife and guests. Standing for over fifteen minutes, debating whether to sit down or to continue standing but thought so long, to stay standing would be the 'cooler' action so to say. The glances of woman also played a part in his decision.
Standing for so long, the girls couldn't ignore his presence any longer, one indifferently saying,
"What's your husband doing?"
Observing her husband with emotionless eyes spoke uncaringly.
"Being an idiot again. He's sending that maid away."
The group instantly knew what maid she was talking about. A bitter, shriveled, moron of a maid.
Told of the servant's actions, a cloudy view of the character had been drawn in their minds. Clumsy in nature always dropping expensive plates and filled cups, slow in her job to clean and cook and even slower in her in head striking annoyance to anyone talking to her. Worse of all, would talk back in a whisper and deny accusations of her saying anything. A unruly worker which the group couldn't help but glow red when hearing the tales.
Of course all spoken by the wife.
"Had enough of her hmm... "
Said one, juice dripping from the corner of her mouth. Wiped her face but only left a coloured smudge on her palm, hurriedly scrubbing it off with a tissue.
Like the rest of the group, understanding exactly the reason why.
"Better than me, I would've sent her away the moment she talked back to me." Expressed with disdain and somewhat increasing in volume as the skinny women went on.
And speaking of the the devil, footsteps arriving closer with each tap. They instinctively knew who those steps belonged to. Through the open archway connecting the foyer to living room, the so called bitter maid came into view.
Without wasting a breathe, stood upright and strolled her way towards Marie. Blurting her thin voice.
"Finally! Get going. Shoo . . Shoo . ."
Flapping her hands besides Marie.
Marie catching her breathe after a rush suddenly startled when blaring words shot into her ear canal.
Seeing the motion of the woman's hand, like that for pushing away a stray animal. Marie took it with a weak chest. Backing away from the closing fingers until she could no longer. Stopped by a round man who towered over her.
Walking over, he impatiently instructed Marie to get outside.
"Get to the wagon outside, you'll be going to a clinic."
Displeased by the fact he was kept waiting, immediately turning around and leaving. Alleviating Marie's apprehensive heart. Sweating from running carrying a stuffed bag, began to sweat profusely when surrounded by the two people. Easing up when he went away.
Idle with a deathly stare watched as Marie pushed out the front doors. Her mind turning content as she saw Marie disappear to nowhere. No longer does she need to look at the servants charming face which was just incompatible for a girl of status like her. More fitting for her own awe-inspiring self.
Out again under the starry night, a larger spectacle of lit stars in the sky above yet somehow gloomier than before. Chilly is the cold, bleak is the wind, uncaring is the dark. Her pajamas unwilling yet forced to flutter in the bare gust. Trees hushed in their wails which encompased everything she heard.
Before her waiting, a cheap ride. A gruff man ready to go and a boney, pathetic horse that accompanied it. Neck encased to the wagon, prepared to be commanded.
Shine of the moon beaming down upon the fainted object. Casting it in a hollow glow. Feeble is the moonlight and desolate the choice it revealed to her. Her only choice.
Fearful she is. Months spent running away but now forced to stop, reluctant to sit on its seat but with shaky hands pulled and climbed on with her valise in tow. Settling down beside crates and barrels, found herself a spot to sit with a dampened face. Lines on her cracked spirit splintering even more. Creeping out the mansion's gate, sluggish was the horse that carried her away. Wood groaning and creaking with each bump the wheels climbed, pain pulsed on every fall down into hard wood. Too much to constantly handle, Marie sat on her flexing briefcase. Easing the hurt but a smile couldn't form on her washed face. Feelings starting to well up.
Through bends and turns, slithering in between walls of homes and buildings, structures getting smaller and smaller. From a glamorous range of lavish mansions to fine, humble homes to unimpressionable, large huts. Bumps becoming more and more horrible, roads less cleaned the further the wagon drove.
Streets no longer shone with the order of street lamps. From looming lighting of lit up gemstones to the flicking flames of oil and wax. Only the scattered light of weak candles from certain dirty windows embellished the road.
Companied with moonlit silence, even with the sense of fear nudging the back of her head her sleepiness gradually overpowered the unease. After a day of hard work and action her tiredness was a difficult foe to fight, even as a hardened warrior, one needed sleep at the end of the day. Attempting to stay awake, widening her eyes when they began to close, her effort soon took its toll. Scent of earth and the wisps of fresh air, noise of fellow wagons dying down leaving only a single girl on the empty streets.
knees together and hip angled, butt flat on her cloths and chocolates, both hands inbetween her warm thighs. Her feet extended to the side with her shoulder heavy on the side of the wagon. Faced towards the open back, watching the world grow small. Head soon drooping falling asleep alongside the barrels and crates that rested with her.