Description: Though she has long kept the wool over the eyes of her 'allies', the woman calling herself Sophia Smith has made the first overt move in her plans to sow confusion and dissent between the ranks of the Sacred Order and the NOL - by poisoning the latter's food supply while making sure her face is seen by hard-ass who runs the kitchen - a face that will be very easy to link back to the Sacred Order. Who does she actually work for and what purpose does she have in putting these two factions at each other's throats? Only time will tell.
Since setting up base camp here, the NOL has been meticulous and thorough with their establishing of a forward base. Some might call it a beachhead, considering the level of preparedness here, but that has some sinister implications. No, there are enough tents here to run a full exploration if Illyria.
The mess tent is not different. It is a large military setup that is the cleanest section of the base camp save for the possible exception of the medical facilities. A steady stream of supplies goes in and out of here as the well-trained culinary staff of the NOL keeps the rest of the base fed during regular dining hours and works on setting aside and packing rations for expedtionary teams the rest of the time. Men and women in NOL uniforms -- albeit, white ones that closely resemble typical kitchen attire -- filter in and out carrying boxes of supplies, and filter out with loads of prepacked meals. Right now they are between lunch and dinner, but the smell of cooking food and and the sound of clanging pots and pans clearly indicate things haven't slowed down at all.
Amidst the clamour and bustle of the busy mess tent, a new figure quietly slips into the steady stream of workers making their way to and fro through the large kitchen. Though not a perfect match to the elegant uniforms of the NOL staffers, the outfit that she wears matches the general look and color close enough that the busy bees going about their tasks fail to take notice of the minor discrepancies, too distracted with their work to pay close attention to such trivial details.
The woman smiles faintly as she winds her way through the narrow spaces between cooks and appliances, confidently navigating the ever-moving maze of bodies with deft agility. One of the primary rules of infiltration is to act like you belong in the place you are trying to sneak into. Human minds are strange things, possessed of both impressive power and unmatched efficiency. However, to achieve the latter, the conscious mind is not made aware of every little detail, instead keying in only on things that tend to stand out. This flaw, if it can be called that, can be overcome with intense training but such keen awareness is impossible to maintain for long periods of time. The chances of someone paying incredible attention to the kitchen staff's uniforms in a busy military complex are quite small.
The large bag upon her shoulder shifts as she ducks to the side avoid being broadsided by an inattentive cook, forcing her to lower it to the ground for a moment to readjust her grip on the heavy load. She hefts it back into place once the traffic has thinned a bit, making sure that the lone word 'FLOUR' stenciled neatly in blocky letters on the front is visible to anyone who might get curious about what it is she's hauling around.
It takes her a couple of minutes to wind her way around to the back of the tent. Dozens of cabinets, shelves, and crates line the makeshift pantry dividing the stacks of supplies up into neat rows like that of a warehouse. The woman glances around at the piles of food and spices trying to find where it is that the other sacks like the one she carries have been placed. Wouldn't do to have something left out of place, would it? That just draws undo attention.
The manpower needed to set this up must have been considerable. Fortunately, that manpower is almost entirely occupied at the moment between keeping the kitchen stocked and clean--without even considering who all is busy doing the actual cooking and prep work.
As such, Siren goes unbothered back into the supply section. There are boxes of pepper, oil, and other spices next to the freezers, which are connected to some variety of unseen power supply. A stack that matches her lone "Flour" box is slightly over the right.
"WHAT," comes a loud, slightly shrill female voice. "Are you doing?"
A steady click of heels comes from across the kitchen as a (very) short female approaches her. She can't even be five feet. If it weren't for her features, she might be mistaken for a child. What's even stranger is that her wardrobe is entirely inappropriate for the kitchen: a black bell dress that looks more like a ballgown. It has white lace highlights and a bit red gem in the choker. She has an apron on over it. She looks agitated.
"I was VERY CLEAR that I needed TWO BOXES OF FLOUR on line three SIX MINUTES AGO. I mean, shit, it's not THAT heavy, is it?" The woman reaches over, sliding her hand between boxes of potatoes. There's probably three twenty pound boxes there.
She lifts them effortlessly with one hand, balancing them carefully.
"OH, you're the fresh meat, aren't you?" The little woman sighs deeply. "How come I always wind up with trainees? ANYWAY, GREENHORN. Take another box and come with me."
Sophia's eyes go wide as the voice calls out to her from behind without any warning, her muscles tensing up instinctively for a few moments. Rather than whirling around in shock, which would probably make her look rather guilty, the woman slowly turns to peer at the source of the command. She blinks at the tiny woman in surprise several times, both her stature and manner of attire completely failing to match up with anything that belongs in a military kitchen.
However, regardless of what she expected, the little woman seems to be quite confident in the authority that she wields as she berates the clueless infiltrator. Sophia steps aside to avoid being strode right over by the angry cook, only just barely pulling her feet out of the way of those sharp little heels. Her eyes widen again at the feet of strength and balance put on display as several heavy boxes are hoisted aloft like they were full of little more than packing peanuts.
Well, this is an interesting predicament she finds herself in. Fortunately, it doesn't look like she's been found out just yet. This can still work out alright.
Remaining silent, the medic just nods in reply to the boisterous head chef and quickly shuffles over to grab another box of flour. She takes a moment to steady it on her other shoulder, hoisting the pair of them aloft without too much trouble. Not wanting to give the already annoyed woman any other reason to scrutinize her too closely, she hurries back over to her side and makes to follow along to wherever it is that she wants these packages to go.
Clack, clack, clack. The little woman marches on along with the huge stack of boxes balanced one-handed. She flips her hair back with her other hand, leaving her curls bouncing briefly.
"Since you're not the one I sent back for the flour, I'm guessing she took another break. DAMN SLACKER!!!" The chef keeps marching on. "Anyway, since you're new here, let's get acquainted. Have you worked in a kitchen before?"
The little woman waits barely on a moment before interrupting. "Actually no, I don't really care. It'll show if you have. THREE BASIC RULES!"
She holds up on finger over her shoulder so the medic can see it. "One: I'm the head chef, so whatever I say goes. I don't care how you did it elsewhere, because they were doing it WRONG."
A second finger goes up. "Two: When I give you an assignment, I want it done NOW and I want it done WELL. I shouldn't have to pick up after you because you're not a child."
A third finger goes up. "--mm. What was my third rule again?" She waggles her fingers, shaking her hand a little bit.
Damn, this woman sure is bossy. Then again, they are in a military base so that might be something to be expected. Sophia's never really had much reason to interact with soldiers before nor any particular desire to either. If it wasn't for the task she needs to accomplish here she'd never have set foot anywhere near the NOL's facilities. It isn't that she's frightened or anything, it's just a pointless risk. The tension between the Sacred Order and this lot is already quite obvious and she's not particularly keen on getting caught in the middle.
Her mouth opens to respond to the little chef's question, but barely gets one word out before she's cut off by the sudden retraction. Sophia frowns briefly. Working under this person must be hellish. Maybe she's got a Napleon complex or something. She's certainly short enough for it.
Amandine's rules get listed off in rapid succession, quickly reinforcing the belief in the medic's mind that this person has let their authority go to their head. It happens sometimes when certain people are given power, they just kind of go crazy and assume a little responsibility makes them far more important than they are. Hell, she's seen surgeons with smaller egos than this overdressed peacock.
That doesn't stop her from playing the role of the timid little worker though, nodding vigorously at each of Amandine's commandments as she shuffles along behind her into the mess tent. The sudden trailing off at the third rule causes her eyes to narrow sharply. A person like this would never 'forget' their own rules. She probably rehearses bellowing them at the poor workers who get assigned to her command. This is some sort of a test.
Unfortunately, she hasn't the slightest clue what the answer might be. Saying the wrong thing could out her as a spy while saying nothing might do the same. Sophia ponders her options for a moment but eventually chooses to remain silent, hoping that the chef's ego will make her more eager to hear the sound of her own voice than that of some witless subordinate.
"Oh, that's right!" the chef says, suddenly on a heel. She basically spins like a ballerina, whirling to face the medic and look her in the eye. This means standing up on her tiptoes, but even that doesn't quite do it. When the chef realizes this, she gestures with her finger for Siren to lean in just a little.
"My third rule," she says, holding up three fingers, "is to never interrupt me when I'm talking unless it's INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT. It probably isn't, though, so, just don't interrupt. Good job! You pass. I might even come to like you--what was your name again?" She looks up and down Siren for several moments, eyes lingering on the woman's hips. She frowns.
"Go on, you can speak up."
Continuing to play her role, Sophia's eyes widen again as the tiny terror of the kitchen whirls around to face her, stopping dead in her tracks to avoid barreling into the woman. She blinks a couple of times, confused by the sudden stop, but dutifully leans down to bring her face closer to that of Amandine when she motions for her to do so.
Whew, her gut instinct was correct. She's always been good at reading people, not that this particular person is difficult to figure out. It would have been more unpleasant than most blunders had she slipped up here, though. Militaries are among the less understanding sorts when it comes to this sort of thing.
Seeming to find her voice again after a short pause, the medic offers a faint smile and says in a warm alto heavily laden with her French accent, "Sophia, ma'am. Sophia Smith."
Naturally, giving her actual name to this person would be a completely absurd idea under normal circumstances. Even if she manages to accomplish her goal and leave the special package she brought behind, the results of that success would no doubt bring a flurry of investigations down on the operations of the kitchen. Questions would get asked, people would be investigated, and there would be a very conspicuous abscence in the form of the missing recruit whose name isn't on any of their rosters. It wouldn't take a lot of digging for the NOL to realize that Sophia is a member of the Sacred Order and for the accusations to start flying.
And that is precisely what she wants to happen.
The stage has already been set for the coming storm of conflict. The relationship between the merry band of clueless wanna-be heroes and the merciless blade of the Library's military might is in a state that could be generously described as perilous. Already threats of violence have been espoused by the usually calm and kind leader of the knights himself, egged on by the taunting haughtiness of the NOL's officers.
All it will take is a tiny spark to set this powder keg ablaze. Or in this particular case, a little dash of poison.
The little chef bites her lip as she gets a name, continuing to appraise Sophia with a critical eye. For a long moment she looks ready to say something, but then she stays silent for a merciful moment.
"Okay then, Sophia. I'm Amandine, but you can call me 'ma'am' or 'head chef' as appropriate. Let's get moving before those SLACKERS in line three get lost again." Amandine turns and takes step.
"My kingdom for a sous chef would can find his ass with both hands. HONESTLY." She stops again, heels clicking.
"Oh, Sophia," she says. "Why don't you lead the way to line 3. I just realized we'll need a second box of pepper." A pause. "Not that they DESERVE any extra seasoning or anything, but we may have officers present."
The 'recruit' rises back to her full height and blinks again, staring wide-eyed down at Amandine for a few seconds in silence as she's asked to take the lead. Despite her willingness to work, it seems that she might be a little slow. This possibility is further emphasized as she glances back and forth across the tent as if unsure about something.
"Um... sorry, ma'ma, but... dis iz so embarrassing... I 'ave only just arrived at ze camp a few 'ours ago. Which one iz line three?"
Sophia smiles apologetically, looking genuinely ashamed that she doesn't know her way around her own workspace. While she doesn't expect this hardass to be particularly forgiving, it's better she ask now rather than draw attention by getting yelled at across the entire tent when she goes to the wrong place.
"Oh," the chef says, her voice dipping down a half-octave. "That's right. You're NEW." She acts as if this last part is a horrible offense to good taste. "I suppose it can't be helped then," she says, shrugging helplessly with her free hand. "Come on then."
She clacks past Sophia and back from whence they came, looking over the boxes carefully. She points at a few, counting them off silently (which might be a surprise considering how loud is he is about everything else).
"You know, Sophia," Amandine says. "I'm ALSO in charge of logistics BESIDES being the head chef. I have to watch the orders of supplies, and have them sorted and catalogued, and put in new requests. Unfortunately a lot of my crew can't understand SIMPLE SUPPLY NEEDS and need a hand here and there." Amandine talks with her free hand, the potato boxes still balanced in the other.
"Then again," she continues, waving dismissively. "Not everyone can keep such perfect records of the supply chain like ME." She closes her eyes for a moment, looking immensely proud of herself.
"Until she's suddenly looking at Sophia. "Like when there's an extra box of flour that never got ordered. Isn't THAT funny?"
Shit. So she's loud, bossy, and perceptive. An unfortunate combination.
Sophia's forced smile falters slightly at the little chef's unusual question, allowing the small woman to see the look of confusion on her face. So far she's been playing dumb, which means the dimwitted newbie taking a few extra seconds to think things over shouldn't raise any red flags.
Things keep waivering between looking like it will all go to plan and finding some new obstacle to stand in her path. It's not exactly a new sensation; infact, she quite enjoys when her missions end up providing her with unexpected challenges. Unlike the weak persona that she's wearing as a mask at the moment, Siren is calm and calculating, already trying to figure out how best to play this situation to her advantage. She has quite a few options at her disposal, never one to go into a situation without being prepared ahead of time. The real question is which one will provide the most desirable outcome.
Her eyes drift over to the rows of boxes and then back to the crates on her shoulders. She puts on a thoughtful look, making it obvious that she's thinking as if this is something that requires concerted effort on her part. After several seconds of straining her brain, the woman peers back down at Amandine and offers her thoughts on the matter.
"Maybe... dere was a mistake on ze ordair?"
"I suppose there could be," Amandine says, tapping her chin. "But that would be even stranger, see," She taps toward Sophia, heels clicking. It's an ominous sort of clack, a gradual one. Not that hurried pace from before.
"The last time someone made an IDIOT MISTAKE on one of my orders, I was VERY THOROUGH to prevent that from happening again."
Amandine brushes her hair out of her face almost demurely. "It was extremely unpleasant!" A pause. "For him, of course. I kind of enjoyed it."
Amandine takes another step closer.
"So where do you think the flour came from, Sophia?"
Well, that figures. It was far too much to hope such a simple explanation would suffice but it was worth a shot. Sometimes its the simple excuses that work the best. But hope is not lost yet, not until the little lady is about to accuse her of something. Suspicion and certainty are often only inches apart but it only takes a pinch of doubt to make a difference.
Apparently too dense to pick up on the threatening undertones of Amandine's steady approach, Sophia continues to stare at the chef with a clueless look as she dismisses the obvious explanation. The woman blinks a few times, surprised that her guess was wrong, before lapsing once more into her overtly thoughtful expression. Contemplative noises escape into the air as she peers up at the ceiling, taking her time with coming up with a good answer.
"Hmmmmmm... was eet... a present?"
Amandine looks at Siren for a long moment. Her eyes narrow. She steps over toward an empty shelf, dropping the potatoes unceremoniously onto it. With her hand free, she dusts the two together, shaking off the residue from the box.
And then her fists go to her hips as stomps toward Sophia.
"A present?" she says, "is that what you think? Who, pray tell, would send flo--"
She stops, and blinks, and stares at Sophia.
"Did you just PUN at me?"
The woman smiles broadly, her eyes sparkling with mischief when the diminuative chef finally catches on to her little joke. It's hardly top shelf material but she has a limited amount of resources to work with here. A pleased noise escapes from between her pearly teeth and her chest puffs out proudly, somewhat straining the fabric of the tight uniform in the process.
"Heee... eez good joke, non? A play on words! Flour and flowair sound ze same, so I just sweetch ze meaning. Very funny!"
Sophia titters like a schoolgirl at her own joke, playing the part of the airhead with practiced ease. People often expect women to be dumb, even other women, and it's an easy stereotype to exploit as all she has to do is act like an idiot. So long as she can convince the little chef that she's too dumb to be suspicious then things should work out.
Amandine purses her lips. Her continues to look Sophia in the eye as best she can. When the Frenchwoman puffs her chest out, however, Amandine's eyes move down to that. Her eye twitches briefly.
"So this is a...joke to you, is it?" Amandine's presence suddenly swells. She's not very tall, but the weightyness of her being this close is somehow menacing. If Sophia has an acute sense for chi, she can likely tell that Amandine's is...quite large. Something about it is off though, as if there's another, similar presence swelling elsewhere in the mess tent.
But there's no time to dwell on it because of the yelling. Something just set her off in full.
"Oh, NOW it makes sense. I just BET you're one of those kitchen trainees who wanted this job because you just LOOOOVE FOOD, don't you? I know your type! I could tell when I first looked you over. You realize the French course order is meant to use SMALL portions, right? Not seven full-sized meals?" Amandine paces around, trying to move behind Sophia--though not close enough to grab her. "Do you eat éclairs by the half-dozen or the dozen? I mean, YOUR ASS!"
Amandine smacks the back of her own dress, her own backside well-hidden under it. "Are you TRYING to see if you apply for a postal code for your derriere, or does that just a side effect of your eating habits? BE HONEST NOW!"
The little tyrant's outrage at being the butt of a joke was to be expected; planned for even. She had intentionally chosen a persona that would seem to pose no threat to the chef's ego yet still possessed the capability to drive her up the wall. A bubbly airhead was suited to both of these requirements. By making the short-stack angry about the joke, she had diverted attention away from the original point of contention. A little verbal sleight of hand, so to say.
What Sophia did not expect was the direction that the little woman's rage would take. The startled confusion on her face is mostly real this time as she blinks wide-eyed at the sudden outburst, not quite sure what exactly prompted this particular tantrum. Her neurosis must run deeper than first suspected if one little joke is enough to set her off on a tirade.
Perhaps fortunately for the spy, her powers of observation in regards to spiritual powers are not particularly sharp. Infact, were it not for the cybernetic implants in her mind she likely wouldn't have even detected the swelling aura of power. Tiny readouts flash across her vision filling her mind with rapidly adjusting numbers as the young chef's anger mounts. Well, that's mildly concerning. It won't much matter if she fails to get ousted as a spy if this crazy woman blasts a hole in her out of jealousy.
Were she a normal woman, such comments about her figure would likely be the equivalent of a full broadside from the main guns of a battleship fired without warning or provocation - a clear declaration of all-out war. But, in Siren's case, the form she currently maintains isn't even her own, so it's hard to take too much offense. However, in order to keep up her disguise, she has to show some sort of reaction and no airhead worth their salt would sit there and take that kind of abuse quietly.
Looking uncertain at first, Sophia twists her body around to keep the angry chef in view, tilting forward to peer underneath the heavy boxes of flour like a bird peeping underneath its wing. This has the 'unfortunate' and 'unintended' side-effect of causing her to bend over somewhat which only presses the thick cushions of her ample backside against the already tight fabric of the faux-uniform right as Amandine calls her out for it. A massive flush of red explodes in the French woman's cheeks and she instinctively lowers her arms to cover her tush, causing both of the boxes of flour to drop to the floor with a loud crash.
"Dat...dat is not true! Non, non, non! I am not a little piggy gobbling up food all day! You should not say such mean tings, ma'am! I cannot 'elp dat I look dis way!"
This sort of commotion is what she has been trying to avoid but it looks like something of this sort was almost inevitable with this little firecracker running the show. Now all she can hope to do is maintain some damage control and escape before someone clever enough to notice the discrepancies in her presence comes along to find out what all the fuss is about. On the other hand, it seems pretty likely that these sorts of outburst are common for the girl. Maybe everyone will just ignore it as commonplace.
"Oh, GREAT," Amandine says, rolling her eyes when the boxes go on the floor. "So you're CLUMSY too!! SHEESH!" Her platform heels clack as she steps forward to look Sophia in the eye again.
"But no, I definitely wouldn't say a LITTLE piggy with those plush curves! And OF COURSE you don't don't gobble up food ALL day, you've got to make time for work, and sleep, and WALLOWING IN THE MUD I'm sure!! UGH!!!"
The little chef rubs the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes as she does. "But now there's a MESS. Let's clean up this FIRST, so I can continue. You CAN bend down with a rag without that round of bottom of yours wrecking your uniform, RIGHT?" Amandine stomps over, taking some rags from a box and tossing them at Sophia. Onces she does, she pulls open a freezer and removes a tray of...are those cream puffs?
Amandine pops one in her mouth, devouring it greedily. In goes another, and a third. Then she's practically dumping the tray into her gullet. This doesn't stop her from talking with her mouth obnoxiously full.
"Ugh, you people--mmph--stress me out--mmph--SO MUCH!" Gulp.The empty tray clatters onto the countertop, and the little chef is fishing a bottle out of the wine cooler. She pops the cork, not even looking for glass before she upends the bottle and chugs from it.
"I'll get a mop."
Another NOL-uniformed staff member sticks his head around the corner, spiky blond hair poking out before he does. "Head chef?"
"I--j-just checking on the flour, m-ma'am! Is everything OK?"
Sophia mentally celebrates her successful deflection while sporting a hurt look as the angry midget continues to shame her for having a body that any red-blooded male would be salivating over. That was pretty much the entire reason that she had molded herself such, sexiness is just as much of a weapon as intelligence and charm when wielded properly. It would seem that has backfired on her here, but with a little skillfull manipulation she's managed to keep things moving in the right direction.
The medic's eyes boggle at Amandine as she devours an entire tray of sweets and starts in on a bottle of wine almost in the same gulp. She clutches the rag that had been thrown her way to her chest for a moment, her expression clearly broadcasting the desire to say something further. Instead, she turns to regard the new face that pops around the, smiling nervously as she shoos the soldier away.
"Ahaha... fine! Everyting is fine! I just tripped a littel. No need for worries!"
The spy kneels down and grabs one of the boxes of flour, patting it vigorously on the side which causes a thick cloud of white powder to explode into the air with each smack. Yet another display of clumsiness to their eyes but in truth it serves another purpose.
"See? Good as new!"
Sophia hurries over to the pile of boxes with her cargo, 'accidentally' kicking the second box of flour in that direction as she does so. Naturally this causes her to 'stumble' a couple of times, tossing a bit more flour into the air as she does so. Once she's made her way over to the stores she pauses, glancing over her shoulder to make sure the chef and anyone else who happens to come along can't see her through the temporary smoke screen. When she is sure the coast is clear, she casually lifts one of the crates from the bottom of the pile in one hand and slides the special one into its place, swapping them out so that it looks like the untainted flour is one of the two she was carrying. Some swift work with the rag cleans the traces of flour from the exterior of the boxes making them visually indistinguishable.
"Yeah, you know, GREENHORNS!" Amandine tells the staff member far too loudly. But then Sophia is patting a box of floor and stirring up an even bigger mess. There's soon a whole cloud of flour in the air. The tiny chef's eye twitches.
She stomps the floor angrily, making the whole kitchen rattle with the impact--and likely making the situation worse. The bottle goes bottoms-up as Amandine steadily chugs it empty. Her arm drops to the side, she pauses, and then thumps her chest.
What follows is an obnoxiously rude, practically room-rattling belch. Amandine isn't even polite enough to say "excuse me."
"Are you done yet?" she asks. She leans around to look at the second staffer. "Big butt here has wasted so much flour we're gonna need to use a cornmeal batter for tonight."
Everything appears to be going according to plan. Whatever suspicions the mistress of the kitchen might have had seem to have been drowned in the display of pure baffoonery Sophia'd put on to try and distract her. As she'd surmised, the act of ruining the precious organization and neatness that the little control-freak bellowed on about was enough to throw her completely for a loop. A little fly in the ointment.
Amandine's furious chugging gives the spy more than enough time to make the switch without being noticed. It likely will be several days before that particular batch of flour gets used but when it does there will most certainly be some commotion. The poison she'd laced throughout the batch isn't fatal but it's definately debilitating, certainly strong enough to take anyone who consumes it out of action for a few days at the least. Losing a large chunk of their forces to sudden mysterious sickness will be hard for the NOL to ignore and she's pretty sure that the little kitchen witch is going to remember her for a long time after this.
Sophia stumbles out of the cloud, coughing noisily. She waves her hands at the air to clear away some of the flour dust, half covered in white powder herself at this point. Somehow, despite all of the trouble she's caused, this bumbling idiot still finds the courage to smile at Amandine as she casually dusts a nearby shelf off with her dirty rag.
"I put ze flour back where eet belongs! A littel dusting 'ere, a few swipes dere... eet will be all clean again in no time, oui?"
Too busy looking at the chef, the woman's hand 'accidentally' brushes against a few bottles as she swipes the rag across the surface of the shelf. The ominous rattle of clinking glass fills the tent before a pair of the containers go tumbling over the side, almost seeming to fall in slow motion as they tip end over end to shatter upon the floor. Thick sticky liquid that might have been some sort of sauce or chowder explodes into the air as if a grenade has gone off, splattering the floor, the shelves, and Amandine herself in something that could either be some sort of sauce or chowder. Whatever it is, it reeks.
In one moment, things seem to be looking up. Sophia has almost cleaned up her mess, put the flour back in its place, and got out of here messier but without a hitch. Then the shelf is bumped. Perhaps it was the sheer intentionality of Sophia's bumping, or maybe it was the combination of assaults from that coupled with the stomp earlier. Whatever the case, a jar of tikka masala falls to the floor and explodes, splattering Amandine's dress. A moment ago it was pristine, despite the kitchen work. That is no longer the case.
"YOU BUMBLING. INCOMPETENT. BIG-BOTTOMED IDIOT!" Glass crunches as the wine bottle in Amandine's hand is crunched. The part she was not holding falls to the ground and shatters, glass dust twinkling off her fingers as she stomps toward Sophia, hiking her dress up as she passes over the sauce. Her hand snaps out, going for the woman's throat.
And, with the sound of crashing glass, the last piece of her plan falls into place. Sophia has to try hard not to smile as the bossy den mother of the NOL's mess hall gets showered with spicy sauce, thoroughly ruining that ridiculously fancy dress and wiping the pompous look off her face once and for all. Sure, she's exchanged it for a look of pure murder, but it's still a win in the spy's book. The true secret to enjoying one's job is finding pleasure in the little opportunities that come along every now and then.
Still, now that she's established an imminent need to escape the kitchen she has to actually accomplish that. Fortunately, Amandine's blind fury and short stature make her both careless and slow, allowing the medic to get her shapely behind out of the way without too much trouble. She staggers backwards with a look of pure terror on her face, apparently failing to notice that she's about to step right into the puddle left behind by one of the broken jars. Her foot shifts sideways suddenly as the traction vanishes out from underneath her, slipping into a tumble that causes her to fall safely away from the chef's outstretched hand.
The movement that she makes then is very quick, its intentional nature likely unnoticed in the ensuing chaos. As she falls, Siren slips her other foot infront of Amandine's dainty ankle and tugs sideways, attempting to trip her up as she lunges forward. To anyone watching the altercation it would likely look like the angry little woman had just slipped, much the same as her clumsy subordinate. That's the plan atleast. If she can get the witch to back off for just a moment or two she can make good her escape and no one is going to question her running away very fast from this particular mess.
Amandine hand reaches for Sophia's throat, and when the woman slips out of her grasp, her fingers work the air for several moments to no avail. The next few moments pass in a flash.
The extended foot hooks Amandine's ankle, but it likely doesn't work quite as intended. Despite being a dainty little thing, Amandine moves forward like a miniature freight train and threatens to spin Sophia around on the floor as she trucks on through before stumbling and smashing into a cart backside first.
The cart rolls away, leaving Amandine to flop unceremoniously into a pile of flour. The ensuing cloud forces her to cough violently, giving Sophia a precious few moments to slip toward the door.
Sophia lets out a muffled gasp of pain as her foot gets twisted by the wrecking ball that is the pissed off chef, managing to pull it out of the way in time to keep her leg from getting tangled up in the woman's long dress. That didn't quite go as planned. Either way, Amandine is down and she's not about to miss this opportunity. Time to kiss this hellish kitchen goodbye!
Pushing nimbly to her feet with the grace of a practiced acrobat, something that puts the lie to her earlier bouts of apparent clumsiness, the spy can't help but take a brief second to turn and grin down at the now flour-covered runt. She puts two fingers to her forehead, offering a mock salute, then turns and takes off at a dead run past the small crowd of kitchen orderlies who have started to congregate around the source of the commotion.
"I wouldn't be 'ere when she gets up if I were you!", she calls over her shoulder with an energetic lilt to her voice. She takes her own advice to heart quite thoroughly, literally vaulting over an entire row mess tables in a single bound and darting out the flap that serves as one of the exits from the giant tent.
A few heads turn her way as she plows into the open at full speed but Sophia pays them no mind, tearing across the complex like the hounds of Hell itself were on her tail. She bounds as nimbly as a gazelle, clearing almost a dozen feet with every stride until she hits the perimeter of chain-link and barbed wire. Ducking into a crouch, the woman slides right up to the edge of the barrier and then explodes into the air, casually clearing the entire wall with an elegant and entirely unnecessary backflip.
She gives a little wave to the guards stationed nearby, winking coyly at them while hanging upside down in the air at the apex of her acrobatic leap.
"See ya, boys~"
As Sophia slips away from the scene, she can likely hear the furious yelling of Amandine in the kitchen. It's followed by an ominous clatter that can't be good for anyone involved.
Meanwhile, the guards seem mostly confused. She /is/ in uniform, but this is one that'll take some calling in to figure out what precisely happened.
No one will want to interview Amandine about it until she cools down, however.
Log created on 15:33:08 03/18/2018 by Siren, and last modified on 21:29:52 03/19/2018.