Integra sat at the table full of a most unlikely crowd, complete with the cliché elderly gentlemen and their much younger wives. However, those were not as abundant this evening as they usually were. Mixed in, rather frequently, were the odd gentlemen sporting a white carnation. She supposed this was the Queen's way of giving her the illusion of choice. Really they all looked the same. Prim attire, white teeth, organized hair soon to bald, and a complete left arm, of which was capable of showing off a trophy wife, unlike herself, at social events like these. Integra wasn't fooled. Just by looking at them she had rooted out an alcoholic, an abuser, a pet lover and a pretty boy. All of which were unacceptable. Unfortunately the Queen had left her with many more options.
It was going to be a long night.
The first course was lovely soft bread with a preserved center and a mysterious, but delicious dipping sauce. It wasn't half bad, which was something as usually the Queen's chef served horrible, what Integra liked to call, lab food. It was always experimental looking, like something had gone wrong in the kitchen and they decided to serve it anyway. The chef called it 'new age eating.' Integra called it trollop.
She was rather enjoying her sauce, when this horrible woman, a wife of someone with far too much money, suddenly let out a horrible shriek. The whole table turned to her.
"Is something wrong?" asked the waiter assigned to that particular woman. She was sitting almost as far away from Integra as a person could, which meant she wasn't extremely important. The general rule was, the closer you are to the Queen, the greater your value. Integra was sitting at her right hand side.
The woman quickly shook her head 'no.' Just by looking at her Integra could tell she was a new wife, new to her husband, new to this society and new to what proper etiquette when dining above ones own status.
They continued on with dinner.
The next course was a soup with a side salad. Integra's hopes of something edible were dashed. The soup was a muggletawny. An Indian soup that, normally, Integra liked very much, but this was not her usual version. Instead of its usual dark mustard color it was slightly brown and there were unidentifiable bits of something floating around, not at the surface, but in the bowl. Later she would find out there were live fish, which was just a terrible idea on many levels, but the chef had included to make dinner had a touch of 'land and sea.'
She supposed that the salad was the 'land' part, however that wasn't anything worth risking putting in her mouth. There was an awful acidic small coming from it, and she was half surprised when she didn't find any dirt or earthworms in it, looking back.
Next the main course was served. Integra didn't even bother looking at it; she simply pushed it around her plate with her fork.
Meanwhile, the new wife at the end of the table was becoming an issue. Integra could only assume that she'd been carrying on the whole time, but it was only now that her tones were loud enough to reach the ears of her Majesty and her guest.
"…I would have though better, my dear husband Howard, bless him, told me these things were very prestigious. I say! Honestly, there's only been one thing I'd eat, and it had somebody else's hair in it. Can you imagine? At my home there would never be such a-"
"Why, you simply have very many wonderful opinions on our Majesty's dining service," interrupted Integra with a lazy drawl. The woman, not knowing she'd even been heard, flushed a deep crimson color and sunk down in her chair.
"Indeed," continued Integra, "you have so many good ideas I think you should yourself go to the kitchen and assist them so that the procedure is more to you liking. It's quite obvious that's more the correct place for you. You look likely to have experience with being help, with the kind of subtle etiquette you posses. Please, feel free to dazzle us with your culinary abilities."
The woman looked like she was practically on the verge of tears now, her arms crossed protectively across her chest, but Integra did not back off.
Integra looked her in her chair a long moment, as if waiting for something. The whole table was holding its breath.
"Why are you still here?' questioned Integra after a long moment. "I was not joking, madam."
The woman let out a sob. Integra sneered with disgusted.
"You man be excused," she said, not wanting to watch some hormonal woman be emotional all over her food and others as well, as bad as it was it was still her dinner this evening.
The woman pushed back her chair and it landed on the floor with a crash. She ran out of the room, her head in her hands, odd sound escaping the confines of her turmoil.
"My apologies," murmured what appeared to be her husband to the table.
Integra didn't answer, merely stabbed at what she thought was supposed to be a steak.
"Does everyone like the gorilla meat?" asked the Queen, after a time, breaking the silence as Integra dropped her knife in shock. "Just joking!" she added at the horrified look on Integra's face.
Integra folded her hands politely and vowed to eat nothing the remainder of the meal.
When dessert came, she was highly amused by the antic of her tablemates. They oohed and ahhed over the wiggly substance that seemed to dance. It was clear like jewelry and it tasted of cool berries.
Integra laughed to herself; after all, it was only Jell-O.
There was a break between the dinner and the ball itself. In this time the guests were expected to change their attire and 'freshen up.' Integra, who had been wearing one of her suits, simply out of spite, knew that for the remainder of the night she would be wearing a gown of the Queen's choice. However, when she got to her room she was surprised.
"Cream?" she asked looking at her dress. "I suppose wearing the typical virginal white would be too much for a woman who kills vermin as a life choice."
She held the thing up against her to the mirror. It looked like something a harlot would wear. It wasn't a gown in the traditional sense, but it was still…Integra simply did not like it. The neckline came to the throat at a horizontal line, where at the shoulder the neckline disappeared and where you went over to the back you were left with two thin straps that faded into the upper buttock where the dress gathered in loose folds and eased into a flat A line style.
Integra threw the dress to the side. She didn't even want to think about the accessories.
She looked around her room, hoping to see some alcoholic beverage, finding none she decided to plop herself resignedly in the chair. She didn't have a lot of time, she needed to get ready, but she didn't want the ball to start. She'd have to face the music…and the dancing….and the awkward introductions…and the dancing….oooooh.
She got out of the chair and went to sit at a little table that had make-up on it. She looked in the mirror, what she saw looking back at her was familiar. Long platinum hair that looked to bright to be natural, bags under her grey-blue eyes, she could see the start of crows feet around her eyes. Her lips rested at a permanent frown.
She was no beauty queen, and she didn't feel like putting layers of paste over her face in a sad effort to regain what had been honorably lost. But, she did. She did it because her Queen would have wanted it. She did it to impress a faceless man who wanted her titles and status. She did it because it was her duty, her duty to put on face powder.
If she didn't feel so miserable she might have laughed.
She supposed she did an alright job. A little eyeliner, a little rouge, some shadow and some color for her lips. At first she refused the mascara, wary of it. She didn't particularly feel the need to put a pointy stick with several dozen bristles so close to her eye for longer facial hair, but in the end it went on like everything else.
She looked at herself in the mirror once again. She didn't look to hideous. She tried to make the cosmetics subtle.
Next she put on the dress, refusing to look at herself in it. It went on easily, with only a single zipper. The material did feel nice, soft and cool. Integra felt grateful that it had some redeeming qualities.
Her hair would have to be done. She had no idea what to do about that. Weren't guests like her supposed to have a chambermaid to help with this sort of thing? It barely did what she wanted on a good day. There was a reason she always wore it down. She ended up just taking it, putting it in a very loose bun, letting the excess fall out everywhere. She then double pinned back all the loose ends and made it look like a very intricate mess, she sprayed it with hairspray to make it sick. A few loose tendrils fell around her face, but she really didn't give a rat's ass. It as good as it was going to get.
She located a box that had matching shoes. She was so used to her boots it took a moment to adjust to the new footwear. The heel was a little more than she liked, but the spikiness of it appealed to her. She, at least, could poke someone's eye out with a well place drop kick, if anyone got fresh.
It took hardly anytime at all to get used to walking in them. Once upon a time, in a life that seemed cut off from this one she'd been taught to walk in ladies footwear…but that was forever ago.
The Queen had even gone to a length to make sure that she had the proper jewelry. It was in another box, next to where the shoes had been. She wouldn't be surprised to find that it was from the Queen's own royal store. Even she could recognize the beauty of the finely crafted silver. There were chandelier earrings that seemed to glow, with a matching bracelet. Also included was a ring.
The ring was strange. She picked it up and looked at it. It was silver, but it had gold inlay. It had the Hellsing family crest and was bejeweled. Integra was impressed; it looked elegant without being gaudy. She hoped the Queen intended her to keep it, although even is she didn't Integra had a feeling it would disappear…
The time had come, she must leave her room and face the hounds. She did hope none of them tried to hump her leg to get her attention.
She forced herself to look in the mirror before leaving, if only to see what was to be ridiculed later.
She was a bit weary of the thing staring back at her, it didn't look like her. It looked like someone who knew what they were doing, someone who was used to this sort of thing, of extravagant parties and lavish presents.
Still unsure on whether or not she looked presentable she set off to the lion's den.
