Hobbit n. a member of a fictitious peaceful and genial race of small humanlike creatures that dwell underground
"Well Fiora," Lady Tirrell's voice rattled from her lace encased throat, "it's always good to see the younger generation taking the initiative." She looked around, making a show of her aloofness. "Though I would have expected one of your older siblings to be taking over such an old and prestigious house."
The hall the woman was trying so hard to be unimpressed by could have fit her entire estate, Fiora thought sourly. The Laurent mansion was a massive structure of fine polished wood and stone. The hall they stood in rose several stories over their heads, elegantly carved columns gleaming.
Currently the hall was adorned with ribbons and flowers on top of the usual décor. It was only appropriate, given the occasion. She could hardly skimp for the banquet in honor of her own rightful ascension to leading one of Demacia's most venerated houses.
Lady Tirrell leaned forward with an overly warm smile, taking Fiora's gloved hands in her soft ones. "But I have heard nothing but good things of your skills as a duelist. I hear you even bested your own father in single combat."
Fiora seethed under her forced smile. Hateful woman. She knew damn well how Fiora had won her place, and couldn't even be bothered to use her title. Fiora might be half the woman's age, but she outranked her and had fought for that title; she would have it used.
That she had managed to insult her entire family in the sparse time allowed for formal greetings was just impressive. The woman was obviously a master in an art Fiora only dabbled in, having higher skills to master.
That did not mean she would admit defeat, however.
So Fiora collected the woman's gift, a nonsensical plume of the sort she used even now to adorn the excessively elaborate chapeau perched on her head. It had seemed appropriate, and Fiora knew the woman was bright enough to read between the lines. "Thank you so much for coming, as you were obligated to do. This gift represents how I believe you to be unnecessarily expensive, frivolous, and essentially a waste of space."
Out loud she said, "And I am pleased to have you here as always, Lady Tirrell. It is always inspiring to see one of your impressive age defying its inevitable limitations. And I will pass on your well-wishes to my siblings. I would have them come greet you themselves, but they have more important guests to attend to." She smiled sweetly, the mocking gesture hurting her face. She gestured at the garcon and continued. "I would pass your wishes onto my father as well, but as you seem to be aware, he is currently indisposed."
The garcon returned, tray ladened with drinks and a handful of gold coins. Fiora took a few of the heavy disks and pressed them into her guest's hand. "Be sure to tip your local town crier. It is only fair, him being the main source of your news.
The woman's already tight face tightened almost imperceptibly, though not imperceptible to Fiora. Training tirelessly for years in reading your opponent's muscle movements for fencing, an exercise with actual stakes, more than prepared her for these petty exchanges.
The woman flushed, bobbed her head hurriedly and moved past her into the estate.
Fiora took a moment to savor her victory before turning to the next guest. Only 32 more to go.