:What is she doing in such a fine gown? It has to be some sort of mistake.:
Greta turns her head sharply, her indignation almost immediately undercut by shame and embarrassment - as if she has any better argument against her mysterious adversary than 'shut it.' It is a fine gown, like nothing she's ever worn before, and she probably has no business in it, but that doesn't mean she enjoys being put in her place by some - some random woman she can't seem to spot.
:She'd feel less out of place in the kitchen, wherever it is. But considering the fact that she hardly knows where she is now, expecting her to find the kitchen might be a tall order.:
Oh, that is just-! Greta turns in a complete circle, almost treading on her own hemline twice. She knows how to spot a gossip, she thinks (some things can't be that different no matter what universe you're in, and a marriage can only be childless for so long before people start to talk), but she doesn't catch anyone looking at her, or pointedly looking away, or any other subtle sign that any of the women within hearing distance have seen fit to comment on her presence.
:Still, it's hard to argue that she belongs here.:
Greta reddens. She wants to confront whoever it is, but there's no one to confront, and she's not about to start tapping random women on the shoulder and asking if they have some sort of problem with her. Ugh. At a loss, she starts to edge along the wall with the vague hope of reaching a door. She has no intention of slinking off to the kitchen, but perhaps she can at least put that beastly woman behind her.
no subject
Greta turns her head sharply, her indignation almost immediately undercut by shame and embarrassment - as if she has any better argument against her mysterious adversary than 'shut it.' It is a fine gown, like nothing she's ever worn before, and she probably has no business in it, but that doesn't mean she enjoys being put in her place by some - some random woman she can't seem to spot.
:She'd feel less out of place in the kitchen, wherever it is. But considering the fact that she hardly knows where she is now, expecting her to find the kitchen might be a tall order.:
Oh, that is just-! Greta turns in a complete circle, almost treading on her own hemline twice. She knows how to spot a gossip, she thinks (some things can't be that different no matter what universe you're in, and a marriage can only be childless for so long before people start to talk), but she doesn't catch anyone looking at her, or pointedly looking away, or any other subtle sign that any of the women within hearing distance have seen fit to comment on her presence.
:Still, it's hard to argue that she belongs here.:
Greta reddens. She wants to confront whoever it is, but there's no one to confront, and she's not about to start tapping random women on the shoulder and asking if they have some sort of problem with her. Ugh. At a loss, she starts to edge along the wall with the vague hope of reaching a door. She has no intention of slinking off to the kitchen, but perhaps she can at least put that beastly woman behind her.