Level: Null

Uproot

Sophra Huxley was used to being looked up to. It wasn't a boast or a matter of pride either, particularly as she felt she had little to offer to those who looked up to her. Sure, her mastery level was an unheard of 100, but her power was paltry to the extreme. What use was [Perfect Balance] if she wasn't planning to be a street performer or the like? 

She tugged at her corset ruefully, and realized that even if she had wanted to be something as mundane as a street performer, her family would hardly let that happen. She sighed, aggrieved, as her serving girl hurried her hand away from the garment fussily. What did her parents have her use her power for? Portraits. Portraits and fittings.

She may not have been aiming to join the royal guard or any other martial profession, but she was convinced she'd have the muscle tone to match any seasoned guard with the positions she was required to hold for hours on end. Why her parents couldn't hire someone with [Perfect Recall] or [Literal Translation] to make the portraits faster she could never figure out. 

"Tha's you misdress." The fussy serving girl announced cheerfully, drawing her from her thoughts with her understreet accent. "I rek'n yull be glad fur flass t'nigh." 

Sophra inclined her head graciously as she had been taught. "Thank you Candice, I imagine I will." Indeed, flats would be extremely preferable to the uncomfortably high heels on her previous gown's accessory list. Just because she could balance on a knife point didn't mean her ankles wouldn't ache for days after doing so. 

"Yull be need'n a'thin else m'lady?" Candice asked politely, her eyes distant at a point somewhere in open air that meant she was looking with her [Mirror Lens] at the different angles of her dress. She pressed a smile onto her face.

"No, thank you. Tell mother I will be ready for the coach when it arrives." Candice bowed and left the room. 

If it wouldn't crush the ridiculous amounts of tulle in her dress she may have thrown herself dramatically onto her settee. This ball was going to be disastrous. She didn't need a foresight ability to tell that. 

Duke Beaumont had issued a formal challenge to The Earl of Gwarinn's Point- ostensibly over a missing shipment sent in goodwill, though everyone knew his ladywife had been sharing the earl's bed for months now. The scandal was nothing new, of course. She learned something new and shocking about a noble ever time she opened a missive. 

No, the disaster stemmed from there, because a reputable source had placed Lady Beaumont at a soiree the very night of her supposed adultery. That Sophra's mother, the Lady Huxley, was in possession of the [Double Vision] ability, as well as in attendance, there was no guarantee she hadn't covered for the other woman. Nevermind that the two had an icy relationship at best. 

She cast her eyes to her writing desk with a dark look. 

The illustrious Earl of Gwarinn's Point had apparently decided to stir the pot once more, and the proof sat with curled flourishes and flowery praise on her desk. There was no doubt that her mail was being watched, sealed letter or not, with how deeply her family seemed to slide into this debacle, so it would only have been a matter of minutes before the interested parties found out that the Earl had now set his eyes on a more youthful prize. 

She sighed again, and turned her eyes back towards her mirror. Her black hair was coiled tightly upon her head, though she usually had several locks hanging down to tease her chin the high tight coiffe showed both her unblemished neckline- important to show no signs of impropriety- and disallowed the ability to touch her skin in any polite manner above her neck line. The low neckline would usually say 'seductress' but coupled with the  obvious lack of lovemarks on all visible skin it would act as another mark of innocence. 

The corset, on the other hand, emphasized the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips, which was a subtle enough insult that only those well versed in the game would catch it. That she wore a simple emerald necklace to match her gold and emerald chain diadem rather than the platinum gorget he had gifted her spoke volumes.

A knock sounded on the door and she turned to face it as Candice re-entered the room, "Beggin yer pard'n m'lady, carriage for you. 'er Ladyship is callin fer you." Sophra nodded tightly. 

"Mother often forgets her powders. I shall make my way down myself, run along and check the washroom for them." She told her. Candice bowed shallowly and left, closing the door behind her. 

Sophra gathered her skirts, stepping lithely across the flagstone flooring, pleased at the padded footsteps rather than clacking heels she had grown used to. Dancing slippers were named justly; that her mother insisted in the newest fashion of daggers on her feet was a travesty she wasn't eager to repeat. 

She slipped into the hallway, wishing idly she was young enough to climb along the bannisters and down to the main floor. A woman of twenty six could hardly be allowed such liberties. Instead she pulled the hollow tipped hair-rods from her sleeves and arranged the disguised weapons in her hair as artfully as she could manage. 

"There you are dear." Her mother's voice announced from the vestibule once she was in sight. "That serving girl brought your powders and oils and the coachman is speaking to your father." 

Her mother was a plain thing, having attracted her father through political connections and sheer force of will rather than a pretty face, and she clearly expected Sophra to follow tradition, though the way her eyes tracked the statement of her gown and hair said that she appreciated the visual insult as well as the aesthetics of the gown. 

She smiled mischievously, "Shall we sort this mess then?" And though Sophra had been convinced the ball would be a disaster, she suddenly wasn't so sure. She smiled back at her mother as the elder woman led the two outside. 

The game was afoot.