Chapter Text
Martha doesn’t even want to be here. Not really.
But it’s the sort of formality she hadn’t been able to squeeze out of. Her attendance is an obligation, pressed in her too-stiff skirt suit, mingling among high class society like she belongs here when in reality she knows the better half of these guests would scoff if they knew she raised herself up from dirt. The only thing that keeps their judgment at bay is the uniform.
She isn’t even old enough to drink- not that she’d share that. Anyone who asks, trying to shove a wine glass into her hand, buys the excuse that she’s too straightlaced without much of a fuss.
“You’re military?” Vera asks sweetly, if not a bit thin, something anxious strained behind her smile as she fidgets.
“Ex,” Martha clarifies. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Oh. Good.” She only sounds a little soothed. But it must be enough to lower her guard, because Vera’s wary gaze finally slides off of her and around the room, looking about almost dazed, before she flutters her hands and brings herself back to the present. “What brings you here?”
Martha doesn’t miss the implied meaning. Who invited you?
“Meeting new folks,” networking. “New opportunities,” new employment. “Mister Marshall insisted I attend. Said I might like to be acquainted with the lady of the house, which I presume you are?”
“Mister Marshall,” Vera acknowledges with a nod, and that spurs her into a step. Martha’s eyes widen slightly in surprise as her company begins down the hall, weaving through the thin of the crowd. Wordlessly, she plucks an ornate vase from someone’s hands and places it back down onto its display surface. “Right. He’s father’s good friend.”
The poor thing is so ditzy and she seems lost- in her train of thought, at least, and the distant lilt of her tone suggests to Martha that she is not entirely sober. It makes sense, given what is likely the girl’s already anxious disposition combined with the mass of people swarming her house.
“He’s always trying to get me to make friends. After my sister- well. He wants the business to do well. Wants me to succeed, I know he does.”
“Right,” Martha nods. “About your sister, I’m sorry to hear-”
“Oh,” Vera casts her gaze over her shoulder, smiling with her lips pulled too tight over her teeth. “You heard about that. It’s alright. I’d rather not dwell on it, if you don’t mind.”
Right. Right.
“Of course.”
“So what branch of the military were you,” Vera asks, rather abruptly. Martha recognizes the question for what it is, a topic change, rather than genuine interest, and she’s not so keen on talking about herself. But the least she can do is humor the poor girl in penance for bringing up her dead twin. “Navy? Army?”
“Airforce,” Martha clarifies, still, still following Vera down the seemingly never ending halls, decorated in fancy tapestries and chandeliers.
“Oh.” It’s as light and airy as all her other ‘ohs,’ but sounds slightly more pleased. “Are you… looking for- work then?”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to finish this conversation in private.”