The steady beat pulsed through the entire hall and the rhythmic sound of heels hitting the platform set the phase for all the staff working.
Her pencil was drumming on her sketch pad as she watched the models striding on the catwalk in licentious heels. How they manage to not falter in their steps with the thinly heeled shoes, she will never know but she can't disregard the regality of each long limb ending in the most mystic shoes she had ever seen.
The seeming theme of the show her friend Margaery was assisting with was heavily leaning towards anything crimson, Lannister Red as called nowadays. Patented color for the eponymous fashion house.
She idly traced imaginary lines on her almost forgotten sketching paper with images brought upon the shoes and the clothes that the models were wearing.
Finding much needed inspiration at such a place was a must at that point. After all, Margaery had allowed her the rare opportunity to actually have an inside scoop to one of the most exciting collection of the season. Not many were privilege to such and most definitely not her if not for the golden ticket brought upon the connection of the Tyrells in the industry.
She remembered Margaery's barbed once against a jealous senior who was vying for the same apprenticeship with Lannister's Casterly Rock show. With a whip of her curly brown hair, Margaery wittingly retorted that she cares not how she gets in as it matters not about the how's but what matters most is if one can survive and succeed once in. Be it that she was accused many times of using her grandmother's connection in the industry, Brienne admires her friend's strength to let the malicious comment roll off her back.
She watched her friend moved about the stage, directing models movements and expressions as if she has been doing it many years of her life. The vigor that she saw allowed for more images to pour out from her brain to her finger tips and to her pencil and to finally take shape in her pad.
She was grasping the fruition of the high arch, pointed recline in her mind when she was jostled from her daze.
'Can you get out of my way?' a haughty voice roused her from her flouting reverie.
As often is the case, whenever she's caught in her imagination something that had always amused her few close friends, she found herself startled beyond wits making much clattering noise to offset some of the young models walking on the catwalk and catching the attention of many others.
'Seven hells!' The same voice exclaimed exasperatedly.
She couldn't figure out whether to remove herself first or pick up her things that were now littering the floor.
She was so disgruntled that she didn't notice someone picking up her sketch pad off the floor.
'You drew this?' The obviously male voice asked. She had to quell another start before she managed to look at the person talking.
The man was meticulously looking at her sketch pad without giving her a look despite posing a question towards her. It was at that point that she took stock of him. The cogs in her seemingly addled brain started turning, golden blond hair, bright green eyes, two-days' worth of scruff, grey suit and the same red she was staring at the last hour for a tie. Jaime Lannister.
'What are we waiting here for? Dragons to hatch?' The same haughty voice filled in again.
Jaime Lannister finally looked up, more to give the owner of the haughty voice an exasperated look but settled on her instead.
'You're a man, no?' He asked genuinely bewildered.
At that, the woman laughed and Brienne finally looked over at the female seemingly overcame by ill humor. If Jaime Lannister took her a while to recognize, seeing the woman was of instant recognition. Cersei Lannister, the other half of the Lannister twins.
Cersei Lannister was laughing boisterously yet still delicate ways of her and not little did it contain derision reserved all for her.
'Oh, Jamie! How can you be so rude?' She chastised but her tone and laugh was dripping with mockery. A hot flush crawled quickly on Brienne's skin, immediately she could feel everyone's eyes on her and the embarrassment made her want to run but at the same time frozen on the spot.
The male Lannister shook his head but there was an indulgent smile on his lips as he perused her appearance. Her short straw colored hair, the plaid shirt thrown over a worn t-shirt, cargo pants that have seen much much better days and combat boots that although comfortable have definitely have one too many scuffs. She knew she was not up to par compared to anyone else in that hall filled with both beautiful and fashionable people. And of course no one would even dare think of comparing her appearance with Cersei Lannister that despite the scathing insulting laugh remained ethereal with her flowing locks framing an expertly made up face.
'This your work, girl?' He asked again and calling her girl grated at her nerves.
'It is,' she said and finding movement with her limbs grabbed the sketch pad none too gently out of the most renowned photographer this side of the world. 'And if you'll excuse me.'
Disregarding the pencil that rolled off her hand she turned and with a stiff spine walked away looking at the nearest bend as if a shore of safety.
She could still hear Cersei Lannister's laugh and maybe half imagined the low chastising voice of Jaime Lannister to his twin sister.
Not a minute later Margaery was behind her, headset and the clipboard she was holding scarce from her.
'Don't mind those two, spoiled brats that they are.'
Brienne laughed mirthlessly.
'You and I know that if there're two people who can act as spoiled and rotten in this world, it's them.'
Margaery just snorted in acquiescence as it is true.
'So I can't be bothered really.' She supplied some more. Margaery just looked at her as she stared straight ahead willing the embarrassment to leave her system and the girl thought better than to further comment.
'Well, I'm hungry. I think it's as good time as any to take a break now that her majesty Cersei chose to grace us with her presence.'
Margaery insisted that she watch the show three days after the incident. She fervently wanted to say no using the remaining portfolio she needed to finish in time as an excuse but she was outdone by the girl's tenacity.
It was not like she was making any progress holed inside her apartment. The ideas that flooded her before seemed to all retract inside her brain to nothing but mere vignettes that she can almost see but not very clearly.
With a defeated sigh, she put herself inside the only trouser Margaery deemed appropriate for the event and a white button down shirt. The Tyrell wanted her to slip on a heeled shoe but she put her foot down against it sighting that she attracts more unwanted attention already with her height as it is and certainly another three inches would just be catastrophic in her books. So she slipped on a loafer of her own designs that was built for comfort more than anything.
The hall was unrecognizable from just a few days ago. The whole space was transformed to all shine and luster, of heat and softness. She had heard of Lannister's richness but it was her first time seeing the proof of it with her own eyes. The antique tapestries adorning the walls with depiction of a history that is no doubt the family's were most possibly not imitations. Even the vases and bowls, the tables they rest on and the chaises and couch tastefully placed inside the space for invited guests to seat upon were from a period and price range that would make anyone tear up in amazement.
She appreciatively traced the embroidery on one of the chairs, tracing the intricate work forming the lion's face with golden thread and precious stone for its eyes. The furniture left her in awe and with images for designs it inspired her with. Her fingers were itching to sketch and she grasped for her bag just to find none on her side.
Margaery insisted that her knapsack was surely out of place for the event so she was left with nothing but a small purse she fumbled clumsily with. She was not made for anything so small in her hands.
She tried to find any passable paper after locating a pen in her borrowed purse. But the place didn't deem paper napkins acceptable and she didn't think it would go unnoticed if she started drawing on the table cloth gilded with Lannister red.
So Brienne made her way around all the furniture and guests but without not a few pointed looks towards her. It was fortunate that she was just eager to get a hold of paper to put her ideas into something tangible that she disregarded the tedious comments about her height or her appearance.
She vaguely remembers the passage towards the backstage. It was a nice coincidence to find a familiar face standing by one of the doors leading to the back. It was Sam who she was able to meet a few days ago when she came to watch the rehearsal. The younger man allowed her access when she mentioned she was in search for Margaery who stole her bag filled with her needed paraphernalia.
The backstage was as chaotic if not more compared to the media outside. Models and staff alike were bustling in an organized melee preparing for the show. She didn't see the familiar form of her friend so she took liberties in walking around dodging people.
Brienne found herself in the quieter side of private dressing rooms and resting areas. The place was definitely deserted as everyone was mostly gathered at the general prep area. She was about to turn back when she heard voices.
Regularly she was not much of a curious person. Having a very curious father Brienne had learned to be cautious for the both of them. Never stick your nose into things you have no business with, never dip a finger in a pot you can't see inside of.
She heard a clatter and she jumped. There was groan soon after. It wasn't curiosity but mere reflex to aide someone who could possibly be hurt so she turned back with hurried steps to see what the noise was all about. Never had she thought that Tarthian chivalry was just about to turn her world upside down.