The House That Vander Built - Abigail Le Grande vs. Kurt Vander

The sleek black limousine pulled up just beyond the throng of waiting hopefuls. A few members of the media taking special notice, leaning out from their various hiding spots to analyze the darkened windows. Commercial plates, a rental service, but little else beyond that. Those left stranded in waiting looked to the vehicle with expectation, perhaps being the lucky ones to rub elbows with a celebrity before being snubbed at the door. Within, one of the occupants was making exaggerated faces and blowing raspberries at blissfully unaware onlookers, much to the amusement of a dolled-up Trixie Hart.

“I thought it was just a match,” Abigail whined, shying away from her redheaded guardian Beckett as the salacious woman doted over her young ward. Brushing back from hair, adjusting her vest, and making sure the white rose on her lapel sat firmly. She didn't seem to understand the fuss, but the other woman was insistent like a nagging mother playing matchmaker.

“Think of it more as an audition.” The redhead lifted her head, looking down her nose at her work. Abigail was a pretty girl with all the makings of something special. She had the looks, the physicality, and the drive to be great. There was a reason she had been the darling of their circus troupe, one that went well beyond the fact she was related to the owner.  She just needed a bit of guidance to take her to the next level… Leaning in Beckett carefully worked the top two buttons of Abigail's blouse open, nudging the fabric aside to show a bit of skin. Provocative but tasteful. Perfect.

“He's just a wrestler though.” Abigail squirmed but let Beckett have her way. It was hard to escape the contortionist in the best of circumstances and the confines of a limo while spacious were not nearly enough.

“Not even on the same brand. Good old Tension lad.” Trixie chimed in, trying to work off the top of a fresh bottle of sparkling water with her bare hands.

“A rich wrestler.” Beckett corrected, tugging the bottle from Trixie and sliding it back into the iced cooler. While the limo was fully stocked, she had no intention of paying for making use of any of the various drinks and foods that were found inside. This was all for appearances, after all, nothing more. “Also influential regardless of his brand. The boy asked for you specifically. That means he is interested in you. We can use that.”

“What do you mean? Like, in the match?” Abigail squinted, folding her arms as she eyed Beckett incredulously.

“Hmm? Oh.. yes, the match, sure.” The redhead waved a dismissive hand to Abigail as she leaned back, starting to adjust her own attire, notably more elegant than either of the other girls. While she came from humble beginnings, she was something of a social chameleon and was able to blend in with even the classiest of crowds if she wanted. “I am talking about something more though. A sponsorship. You are a rising star, one that would be good on one of his magazine covers or in whatever articles they write in those things. Just think of all the lovely things we could afford with Vander money behind us.”

“A new whoopie cushion?” Trixie inquired, suddenly far more interested in this Vander man and his dirty magazine.

“Bigger.” Beckett snorted softly.

“A new hand buzzer?” Trixie held up her hand, wiggling her fingers.

“Trixie dear…” Beckett glanced sidelong to the blond, grumbling through a sneer.

“A cotton candy machine for the apartment?” Trixie reached out, tugging Beckett's hands away from the adjustments she was making to the neckline of her dress, clasping them hopefully.

“TRIX-” Beckett sat up in annoyance, about to scold the young clown when Abigail spoke up with genuine sincerity.

“I'd actually like that… and a popcorn machine. A small taste of home.” She looked between Beckett who had stopped mid yell and Trixie who was already recoiling from what Beckett was about to say to her. She reached out and out her hands on top of the other two women's, sharing a smile that could melt anyone's heart. Well, almost anyone. While Trixie was moved to tears, Beckett composed herself far too well to shed a tear unless it was in the service of a score.

“Then impress the young man. He has a whole mansion full of pretty faces. Give him a reason to remember yours.” Beckett spoke slowly and cooly, leaving both of the other girls to nod slowly in compliance. Trixie got a dirty glance from the redhead though, for all intents and purposes she was not involved tonight past tagging along. Once she was sure all of them were on the same page, the former circus star stretched an arm back and gently tapped her knuckles to the mirrored glass separating them from the driver. A few moments later the side door opened and the women stepped out into the night air to the surprise and disappointment of many of the onlookers.

Beckett, Abigail and Trixie:

Despite being unknown though, the way in which they carried themselves was interesting in its own right. Beckett had looped arms with Abigail, wearing her like a prom date as she slipped along the outside of the roped off line to make her way to the front of the bottleneck. Did she know they had people waiting for them? No. She wore a sense of importance as easily as her coat, making it feel like she belonged in that mansion, invite or not. Once she caught the bouncer's attention, and possibly his ire, she stopped and spoke up.

“Le Grande and company. We are expected.” Beckett held her head high and spoke clearly. Abigail remained quiet, but visibly stood straighter and puffed herself up a bit, trying to look as grand as Beckett was presenting them. Other both women's shoulders Trixie held up two hands, one a thumb and finger in the form of a circle, the other her pointer finger sliding in and out of the circle. She gave the bouncer a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows and a wink.

“That's me. Always save the best for last.” Trixie interjected with a playful tone at the mention of the clown face, adjusting her bowtie tug at both ends,  reminiscent of someone preparing for a high-stakes interview.

Beckett's gaze shifted to the approaching bunny girls, her smile warm and welcoming, as if they were old friends. With a gesture, she guided the younger girls to follow their guides as if she did this every day.

"Thanks, Mike," Trixie said, breezing past the bouncer at the group's tail, her hand darting out to give his nose a playful poke before dancing just out of reach with a mischievous "Boop!" She glanced back with a playful gesture of a phone to her ear, mouthing "call me" as she jogged backward with her companions.

"Pleasure to meet you, Louise, Sandy," Beckett greeted the two women with a nod, her eyes taking in the grandeur of House Vander with a practiced nonchalance.

Within the opulent halls, each of them found something to captivate their attention. Beckett was drawn to the people, the celebrities, socialites, and powerful figures. Tonight was about networking, and she intended to leave no opportunity untapped. Trixie, on the other hand, found herself enamored with the art, portraits, statues, and abstract pieces all caught her eye, mentally cataloged for future admiration and definitely no other reason. Abigail's gaze lingered on the stuffed animals scattered throughout the rooms, a frown tugging at her lips. As someone who had spent her life working with exotic animals, she couldn't help but feel uneasy at their presentation as mere decorations.

Where she came from, exotic animals were friends and family so seeing them on display like this made her stomach knot up. The young rookie kept her feelings close to her chest on the matter though, opting not to speak up while in the company of the two bunny girls and her guardian. After all, she was in a unique position where she would be placed in the same room as the possible perpetrator of these things, in a sanctioned fight for that matter. She would get to the bottom of it all soon enough and be in a perfect place to dole out justice were it warranted.

Beckett reached for one of the offered passes, only to have Trixie deftly snatch it away with a laugh, disappearing into the crowd like a child let loose in a playground. With a soft sigh, Beckett accepted the other pass, giving Abigail a reassuring hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Make a good impression.” She whispered as a reminder before also departing into the ocean of partygoers.

Before Abigail had time to wallow in being left alone, the women at her flank hooked her arms and quickly ushered her away. Blinking, she did all she could to keep up as they were led through tight halls and around corners like a maze, unsure of the path they had taken to get there by the time she had been set free. She rubbed at her hands when she was let loose, following both women quietly before inquiring curiously. “So… this Vander guy… What's he like?”

The question had appeared straightforward at first, but much like her interactions with Trixie and Beckett, it seemed that simple inquiries were often met with evasion. Sandy's lack of response prompted a grimace from Abigail, who was on the verge of refining her question when Louise intervened, drowning the inquiry in a flood of vague information. Before Abigail could interject, they reached their destination, and the expectation was placed on her to proceed. Both women scrutinized her as the door swung open, granting her a glimpse into the space where she would spend some time, at least until she defeated the master of the house. She had wanted to press for more information, but as her gaze swept into the room, she was struck by a subtle sense of awe.

It was easy to overlook the grandeur of the vaulted ceilings and crowded rooms elsewhere in the manor, where everything seemed to exist without purpose. Just rooms with stuff. But here, in this place, she understood its intended significance, and its grandeur resonated with her in a way the opulent decorations of the manor had not. Taking a few hesitant steps inside, she absorbed the tranquil ambiance, reminiscent of an island getaway advertisement or a romantic movie scene. She felt underdressed, her smart formal attire paling in comparison to Beckett's flowing gowns when presented with such a scene.

"Yeah..." Abigail murmured to the young man who appeared before her, responding to a question that really had needed no answer. She instinctively stepped back as he approached, only to find the door behind her already closed, the soft click of the lock the only evidence of her guides' fading existence. She found herself blushing at Kurt's words and tone, despite an inquisitive voice in the back of her head yearning to probe the gaps in his statement. She found herself at a loss for words though and simply reached up to delicately take the glass he offered without even realizing she had done it.

She hadn't thought to inspect her drink, but her gaze drifted to the deep red liquid nonetheless when the joke was made. As Kurt raised his glass in a toast, Abigail peeled herself away from the door, refusing to be cornered against the wall. Taking a few quick strides for distance, she turned back to Kurt with a coy smile, attempting to pass off her sudden apprehension as exuberance. With a nervous chuckle, she lifted her glass without moving closer for a toast. "Abigail LeGrande... but you already knew that, thanks to the guards and... the maids, or were they models? The bunny girls."