Growing Pains

Chapter 1

"Are you ready?" Bret whispered to Charlie. He nodded.

Bret was the only one who saw Charlie's response. The others in the ballroom - all the aristocrats, whirling, whirling in their asinine dances, still wearing those porcelain masques - were too engrossed in whatever boring violin number was in vogue this season. Dum ta ta, dum ta ta, one two step, one two step. The two conspirators were beneath their notice.

However, to Bret's irritation, Charlie was just as distracted. She waved in front of his face, and he scowled as he turned to her. "What?" he hissed. "I was listening!"

"Yeah, while digging around in your pockets! You're not subtle! Do you want the guards to throw us out before we even steal anything?"

Charlie yanked his hands out of his trousers immediately, making Bret groan at the lack of tact. At least it did help Charlie's image: he had the clothes of a noble at the ball, draped over the wiry body of a swimmer. He even had the stupid masque, concealing a dashing face, often amused, that was wasted on this laggardly man. She couldn't see the dagger and set of picks Charlie had smuggled into the party, now that he wasn't turning them over again and again in his pockets. Impatient, reckless idiot... at least he looked ashamed.

"Well, hey, I just want to be ready in case, you know..." he mumbled.

Bret would have crossed her arms if she could've without drawing attention. Their plan needed Charlie to be in the crowd, and she would be in the... big suit of armor. It was huge on her, chin level with the metal neckline, pouting at him behind the helmet. Bret hated having to wear it. She was the socializer, smiling just as much as Charlie, but for a purpose: entertainment meant distraction, and distraction meant easy marks for Charlie.

Oh, Bret wished she could be one of the nobles, dancing around in the stupid masques, champagne in hand - playing these fops like her harp with one of her seventy-three artfully crafted Party Tales - perhaps number twenty eight, the one with the chimney sweeps? The nobles love the poors getting punished, so Bret thought it would be a winner.

Unfortunately, she'd never know, because the racist nobles wouldn't let a half-ogre on the floor. She barely looked like a half-breed - she was a sprightly woman, well suited to the role of a distraction, because she looked as pleasing as she did unthreatening, nothing like the brutish ogres most thought of. When she pulled out her lute and danced to her own tune, laughing like she was surprised she could play Kor-Grolloch's Concertina for the Blueberry Grove so well (as if she didn't bust her ass getting it perfect a few months back) - yes, she looked more like a high elf, or a fairy: basking in a golden light, while the two curving black horns on her forehead were just some mistaken afterthought that failed to mar the image. Bret was fond of talking about one time she went to a party: she had charmed everyone there so well that they not only didn't realize Charlie had robbed them of three weeks' wages, but also they failed to file a good report to the guard. Every wanted poster she saw as they left town had Charlie's face an indistinct blur, and the sketch of her face was accurate... except it was missing the horns. They were so enthralled they had missed them!

She knew they weren't even looking at her slight chest, or her colorful vest, or the skirt that tickled the tops of her knees - she knew because they were trying to lock eyes with her all evening, and they wanted her company. She was always quick to remind Charlie of this fact: she had genuine charisma, and it made them good money.

And now that wonderful asset of theirs was cooped up in an ugly suit of armor, forced to act as a guard so she could be allowed in at all. Bret had to arrive in it to avoid the stares, helmet already on, claiming to be some bodyguard from the provinces that came with some or other noble. She was still going to give a distraction for Charlie, later, but the moron himself got free reign of the party until her time came. It damn well should be coming, in fact, but Charlie was distracted by all the wealth on display here. She could see his gaze wandering after a woman in a dress seemingly woven from pure gold. Frowning, she pointed in front of his face, down a side hallway.

"Get to your spot, or we're gonna get found out!" she said.

"Jeez, fine, fine! I'll go!" he said, grumbling as he walked away. Bret was glad no one could see her seething under the armor.

She settled for adjusting her helmet for the hundredth time, paranoid about how tight a fit it was. It nearly brushed against her horns. Bret forced herself to stop, telling herself that there was no way she would damage a horn here. She just had to be extra careful.