The Golden Cage

[Omi]

Charlotte froze in place as the trio walked into view, the apple falling to the floor as she recognised two of them. Lisette and Laurine, two of her handmaidens, here? She hardly dared believe it. There was a blonde-haired woman there, too, but not the one from before - this one was taller, clearly Sirian by birth. And, she noticed, the slightest bit... nervous? It was almost surreal - the woman even favoured her with a short bow before kissing her hand. She had no idea what to think, reflexively snatching her hand back as soon as the gesture was complete. The other woman's dress was formal, but she didn't wear it naturally. Overall, the impression was rather weak, and for the first time since she'd been dragged off the Calliope Charlotte felt more confused than scared.

"Lisette- what are you-" she spluttered, turning to watch the younger woman head towards her bed. The girl had been one of her personal retainers aboard the liner, and chatting with her had been one of the few highlights of her Lorraine tour. "How-"

The other woman shook her head quickly, gesturing back towards the Maltese noble - or, at least, towards the other woman serving as one. A cheap imitation of the real Gallic thing, but perhaps the closest personification there was of the poison world's cold-hearted society. The expression on Lisette's face was clear - not now. Laurine wore much the same look, her hands twisting together as she stood quietly beside the blonde-haired woman. Charlotte's blood boiled. Considering what she herself had gone through, who knew what these monsters might have done to her companions? The anger was welling up inside her already, but she put a leash on it for now.

Enma - that was the woman's name, evidently, since she hadn't stopped talking since she'd walked in. A representative of some sort. Charlotte wasn't sure what to believe, but the other woman's nervousness wasn't exactly inspiring. Her clothes bespoke some power, at least, and the way Charlotte's two servants hung on her every word was another clue, but there was a lingering suspicion niggling in her brain already. Something was not quite right here, and this Enma of House Loyola was at the centre of it. She might have claimed to represent the 'Nacion' - the Maltese Nation, Charlotte surmised - but what she said didn't quite match how she looked and acted.

"What do you want?" she said simply, switching to English. Her tone was flat and her expression guarded, though each word was laden with suspicion. There was confusion written all over her face too, of course - Charlotte didn't mind letting that show - but the fury she kept under wraps. It still manifested itself in the little things, though - her breathing was slightly heavier, her shoulders were tense, and her hands kept threatening to ball into fists. "Am I- are we on Malta? Who are you, exactly? What- what do you mean, 'negotiations'?" One question paved the way for another. Thousands more were clamouring to be let through, like water held behind a leaky dam, but those were the four most important. The rest could wait a while. What did they want from her, where was she, who exactly was the person in front of her beyond that meaningless name, and did these barbarians really expect the Gallic crown to treat them as equals?

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