Usually Sophia loved the chance to be a spectator of the performing arts, and usually, she loved the opera. But tonight's evening at the opera was far from anything usual, and the ballerina was in a royally foul mood about it.

A brief, chance encounter in the lobby during intermission turned her entire night on its head. On one hand, it was a good thing for them to run into each other and create some sort of closure. Sophia's guilt gnawed at her mind, and she was relieved to have made her feelings known. On the other, she was shocked by how bitter she felt when he accepted her terms and made a swift departure. She thought this was what she wanted. She reminded herself that this was what she wanted, even as she fought back a hot sting in her eyes that suggested otherwise. Being upset over this man is out of the question, she reminded herself. This feeling should ebb away as she returned to the intoxicating haze of the performance.

Although the woman ended up having a very hard time focusing on much of the rest of the opera. Stubbornly, she stuck it out on principle. Even as her mind turned over the exchange that had just occurred, and how she felt about it. It didn't matter much that his departure was the right or reasonable thing to do when they were both here with their respective dates. It didn't matter the ironic humor in the fact that she was finally the one between the both of them left stranded (not that they were keeping score, but that makes them 2 to 1 now). It didn't matter at all becauseshe's the one who initiated the end of something that never even started, and yet...

Once the opera ended, Sophia made a point to leave her companion as soon as it was remotely close to appropriate. The brunette had little desire to seen by Oz again, and veritably fled down the London streets with her heels clicking sharply on cobblestones. By the time post-show patrons flooded the street, she rounded the corner and was long gone.

A few short blocks ultimately brought her here, to True Hart Music Hall. She wanted somewhere that would accept her, and ideally where she could be left alone. Though she felt a few curious eyes on her person -- a diminutive and graceful beauty, dressed in her prettiest evening dress, albeit still in mourning black -- her hunch proved to be true. Even if anyone did recognize her for who she was, they wouldn't bother her, not with such a strong signal of distress as she swiftly moved to a seat at the bar and plainly addressed the man across from her.

"Pardon me. Do you have wine? If so I would love a glass of white." Though her request was bright and pleasant, her tone rang with the smallest twinge of angst.

---

---

Rose had spotted the lady as soon as she had entered. She wasn't the usual sort of clientele they hosted, not this late in the evening at least. She didn't recognise her, but like Rose herself, the lady did not belong here. She was as dark as Rose was fair, her dark coloured dress compared with Roses's luxurious red one.

The bar tender went to pour the requested glass of wine, moving to pour the only white wine the true hart served - an armormentia laced confection that was closer to vinegar than wine. Rose stepped forward, putting her hand on the bottle and dismissing the handsome faced young man who was behind the bar. 'I think we might be able to do better than that, if you'd mine joining me upstairs?' she indicated a small veranda that was only accessible through her office, and remove the lady from the floor for 2 reasons - she was being leached on by some of the patrons and it would make her more comffortable to be off the floor, and she was being leached on by some of the patrons and her girls would fare better if the lady was removed.

'I've a fine Vine de santo that I has been unopened for too long.'

---

Sophia was under no delusion that asking for good wine in this sort of establishment was a tall order, but she wasn’t here for the taste. Her mouth was half-open in starting her request that the bartender simply leave her with the full bottle, when the soothing voice of another woman interjected.

The ballerina turned towards her, a lady who looked far too pretty to just be working here. Hearing her speak with authority to the barkeep in a curious American twang satisfied Sophia’s hunch; this woman must be the owner, at least in part, of the establishment. The first twitch of a smile tonight came across Soph’s lips. A small part of her wondered, of course, if the woman made her bid to move her somewhere more private because Soph was so obviously out of place here – though at least she didn’t boot her out to the street entirely (thank Merlin too, because Soph was in a state where she’d rather try and retain at least some of her dignity). Even if that were true, the brunette quickly resolved that it didn’t matter, given the offer would lead to her desired outcome all the same.

“A vin santo, you say? I haven’t had one of those in years. I cannot say no to such a tempting invitation,” she agreed, moving to stand up smoothly from her seat with a pleasant enough smile, even if it did not meet her eyes. “I would be happy to join you, Madam…?”

---

Rose smiled catlike, as the lady acquiesced. 'Hart, Rose Hart' she completed the ladies dangling introduction.'and this is my place' she indicated the painted plasterwork over the stage that matched the one on the outside that declared it the True Hart. She held her hand out, indicating the path the lady should take through the floor, navigating the crowded and mostly full tables of gentlemen smoking cigars and enjoying the whiskey, while Anita sand passably on the stage in a costume that was little more than a corset.

Rose led the way up a set of stairs to the second floor, through her office and out onto the little veranda, it was her watching spot, a place where she could keep an eye on things, ensure her bar tenders and bar backs didn't cheat her and ensure that the guests didn't take liberties with the girls. It wasn't uncommon, as the night progressed for a stinging hex to be whipped from the balcony to a liberty taking gent, after which he would be thrown out onto the streets to lick his wounds.

'What brings you to the True Hart Tonight Miss? You'll forgive me for noting that you are not our usual clientele?' she laughed, as one of the girls brought the bottle and two fine crystal glasses. Everything about Rose, from her accent, her dress, and her tastes spoke of the class she had fallen from, not the one in which she existed in, and her business successful enough to support the expensive tastes she retained. She opened the bottle and poured two generous glasses.

---

“Ms Rose Hart,” the ballerina echoed pleasantly, swiftly taking her reticule from the bar seat beside her. “I am Sophia Voss. It’s a pleasure to visit your place and make your acquaintance,” she added, tone rather bright and genuine even as they navigated the crowded tables of men who took clear interest in the two of them navigating through. Men like this were no bother to Sophia, who learned to handle herself with aplomb as a teen on the world stage. The brunette cast an appreciative glance to the singer who belted her little heart out as they passed. Personally, she was accustomed to seeing the human figure in various stages of undress – the life of a performer, however famous, what not for the prude or faint of heart.

The woman paused at the top of the second floor and gazed around the space around them, noting through a few subtle cues that this Rose woman was truly quite fascinating. Sophia gravitated naturally towards the exotic, and something of her visage and accent gave away that sense. It made her intrigued enough that she didn’t mind this exclusive detour in her random venture for the night. The woman smiled appreciatively as she took a seaton the veranda.

Soph smirked alongside Rose’s laugh, nodding in full acknowledgement of what she pointed out. “A coincidence brought me here. I was up the street earlier, watching the opera,” she waved vaguely in that general direction as she watched the golden liquid pour into fine crystal glasses. “I did not wish to linger there, though I did not feel prepared to return home either. I wished to escape to a place where I may fade into the background for a moment and have a think.” The idea of Soph fading into the background anywhere was, of course, laughable. Her very existence demanded a spectacle.

Ordinarily Soph wouldn’t mind letting loose her frustrations, though she couldn’t quite put her tongue on what it was that bothered her anyway. It’s not as though they had a disagreement, necessarily. “I don’t mind your usual clientele, if that is your worry,” she volunteered as a redirect in their conversation. “I am a performer myself and familiar with the ilk.”

---

'Well you've chosen a strange place for that' Rose chuckled, sipping on her own thick sweet glass, the tannins pleasing to him. She was however sure, that however used the lady might be the type who fancied girls from the stage, she had not encountered the types who might take the liberties of their hands the way that some of her patrons did. She was host to more Stags and Bucks than she was genteel evening for well dressed ladies in boxes spying on each other with their opera glasses, and her girls had no illusions about being 'stars' - they ate, slept and were well cared for but they were kept women and they knew it. Even if they had the deniability of their station. There were a few who sang and gave company but nothing more, but they were rare. Most eventually, out of loneliness or desire, met a gent that came to an arrangement with them. 'Patrons' they were called, but everyone involved knew the truth.

'what is your trade then?' Rose enquired, her brow furrowed, 'Not the bawdy ditties of my girls no doubt.' she asked, her girls had pretensions of higher standards of performance, some even managed the odd tune in Italian, but it was hardly the Opera Populaire, even if that had been her original hope for the place. If she was honest though this venture was likely more profitable than the average London Opera performance.

---

Sophia returned her comment with a faint smile, but had no interest in explaining herself. How trapped she felt: too embedded in fine culture to ever really escape anyone’s attention in finer establishments, too well bred and groomed her entire life for precisely these society ventures to assimilate in typical working class watering holes. It would seem everyone but Sophia and her family forgot her swift drop into disgrace for the simple desire to follow her true loves: dance, and Jacob. While she hemorrhaged from the effects of her downfall, the ton moved on like a disease, ready to consume other lives with judgement and ire.

The woman drained her glass rather quickly, letting its sweet thick honey taste linger on her palette for a moment before she swallowed. Soph set it on the table, waiting for Rose to fill top them off again. This was exactly why she wished to be alone, to spare herself the unsolicited assessments, and get properly drunk.

“I am the prima ballerina at the Enchanted Ballet of London,” she supplied, eyes settling on the woman warbling down below them. Her skirts had fallen off, baring long lean legs to rancorous applause. “And part investor, on the dance company board. You are quite lucky that this place is entirely your own. In my humble experience, I’ve found that men can be useful partners for anything besides business.”

---

Rose laughed and gave a mock salute at the other lady, downing her own glass, before topping them both off again. She had seen the enchanted ballet once, a long time ago, while still a girl really. In her life before London, her life before the True Hart, she had been one of the girls observing the ballet with critical appraisal, sure they could do just as well as the girl on the stage, although that was surely before this dancers time.

She did not of course tell the lady that in order to buy her business she had sold her husbnds things, stolen money and fled the country. Rose had some pride left in her yet. 'It is rare to find another lady of business, especially one in the arts.' she smiled. 'Our little corner is less...gentele than the ballet, we cater to a much more common company here.' she laughed, 'Gentlemen looking to appreciate a pretty face more than gents looking to appreciate the arts.' It should be obvious by the looks of her girls, and the quality of their singing that they were chosen for the former. 'My girls rely rather more on their patrons than their talents' she told the other, sure she would understand this particular nuance that permeated both of their worlds. Her father had had a ballerina mistress for a time, a creature with less talent than beauty, unlikely to be much of a success on the stage -her fathers worst kept secret.

---

Sophia turned her attention to Madam Hart, expression colored with intrigue as the woman explained some of the specifics of her business. It wasn’t as though Soph was blind, anyone could see the sort of operation run here. Already she noticed a stag party down below, with a man led off by a pretty redhead to some indeterminate location. Despite working towards different ends, however, the brunette could appreciate Rose’s candor and corresponding hustle.

“Sex sells,” she offered with a shrug, knowing eroticism was as significant a part of an artistic piece as the music or ambiance. “Ballet is as much a show of physical strength as it is a celebration of the body’s exquisite natural form, so we embrace this in our own way. After all, we would be poor businesswomen to not recognize the opportunity in front of us.” In more polite company, a socialite may have fainted at this discussion. So it pleased Sophia to find someone likeminded, especially now that she felt a pleasant rush from her first drink. It wouldn’t be long until she was completely numb to the wound from earlier; she bowed her head appreciatively as Rose seemed to read her mind and poured up their second glasses.

“I hope you’re not worried about my sensibilities, Madam Hart. I assure you that as a young girl touring world stages, I’ve encountered a fair share of men with more of an appetite for pretty faces than art – from tsars to sailors.” She punctuated the fact with a mischievous smile, shaking her head at thought. It was a disgusting, but predictable cliche that made men think ballet dancers were destined to please in more ways than one. Years of practice made her adept at robbing them of this notion.

Leaning close to Rose conspiratorially, “On one occasion, I delivered a sailor such a ferocious kick that I learned he died a few days later.*” she smirked. “I would hazard a guess that the only differences between our patrons are superficial ones. My genteel patrons might be missed at a funeral a bit more than some of yours. But stripped to the skin, these men all want the same thing – uncomplicated adoration, even if just for a few minutes.”

---

'Call me Rose please' she afforded the other the benefit of familiarity. 'I can toast to that man's end Miss Voss' she acknowledged with a laugh. None of her girls had ever killed a man with her feet, or any other part as far as Rose knew, but then her girls were effectively signing up to lecherous intentions of the men, and most encouraged it - it usually meant better money. But Rose and her 'bouncers' were more than able to intervene if matters seemed to be getting out of hand, and the private rooms were warded to sound alarms if things were progressing in a fashion that the girls didn't want.

'And as we are talking with honestly Miss Voss' Rose asked, 'do you care to tell me what you were hoping to hide from in the True Hart?' she took a deep drink of her glass before refilling both of their glasses again. 'I'm not complaining, you're better company than most of my girls, and it was a fine excuse to open a nice bottle that had gone unmolested for too long, but I cannot imagine this is how you'd imagine you would end your evening.' Rose gestured to her little domain, and the crowded tables of drinking men enjoying the warbling ballad of the latest singer.

---

“Then you must call me Sophia,” she warmed easily to the American woman’s company, with her melodic accent and bright blue eyes. The two of them laughed together and clinked their glasses in toast; anyone who might’ve noticed them would think them old friends.

The idea of hiding here, however, granted an internal grimace from the implication that she lost her nerve and ran away. It was unlike her to shrink back from a challenge. This made her wonder if she ought to have fought harder… but then, it was likely not the time, or place, and would have done more damage than good.

“I’m not hiding so much as I’m taking a short intermission,” she finally replied, eyes appraising the lady’s soft features thoughtfully. “Why, finding your company and enjoying this fine wine has been the most enjoyable outcome of the day, Rose Hart.” She wore the woman’s name slowly on her lips, with a smile turned a touch coquettish. What a silky smooth name, Rose Hart. It sounded like a performance name, which made Soph wonder at the type of talents Rose had.

“Hmm,” To allow the moment to linger, she took a sip of the rich vintage vin santo. It also served to fortify her resolve to get into things, a topic she didn't wish to hack out before but perhaps with current company it might be more productive.

“The story starts a few weeks back. I had a misunderstanding with… a former flame,” it was a bit difficult to wrangle the right term to describe Ozymandias now, but the word former tasted bitter on her tongue in spite of the sweet wine. “We have not seen each other since. He wrote me a letter – begging for his dignity, really.” The idea of it made her smirk. “Though the matter was my fault to begin with, I couldn’t bring myself to respond or apologize… until by chance, we ran into one another at the opera tonight. The magnetism between us was palatable,” she sighed, looking a bit distant as she clutched her wineglass in her lap. “But it seems we have each arrived separately to the same conclusion. We mustn’t continue to see each other… our combination is a caustic one...” By the sound of it, she was trying to convince herself as much as Rose. "And so I left, as quickly as my feet could carry me. I'd rather forget about him for tonight, hence my visit to your fine establishment."

---

Rose listened, her brows knitted, it sounded like the sort of love affair that operas were written about. She did note that the she did not say that they were courting, and indeed Rose could infer from the rest of their conversation that this was the more socially acceptable format of the relationship that her girls enjoyed, with the exception that Sophia was likely attended by a long term patron, rather than by the hour - as was the case for the ladies of the True Hart. Rose had never slept with a man for money, a fact she was incredibly snobby about, her accent and manners spoke of a lady much beyond the girls she 'ran' as the owner of the True Hart. This was not the life she was destined to live, but here she was.

'Well on one hand the man is a fool for allowing you to leave him, but on the other hand, it has been very much to my benefit.' she offered with a catlike smile, even as she wondered as to the nature of the 'caustic' relationship, she couldn't imagine a gentleman who dared to be physical, to raise his hand, with the lady sitting opposite her. That thought set her hackles off, she was known to extract a painful revenge from any man who raised a hand to any of her girls. Her first 'marriage' had seen alcohol play a part in violence in her own relationship, and in the time since she had taken control of her own destiny and vowed no man would ever hurt a woman in her sphere again. 'But we do not need to discuss it, just know that I can entirely commiserate, and likely do understand, and inspite of our short acquaintance I can assure you I will understand.' she placed a hand on Sophia's arm tenderly, her blonde curls, tumbling loose about her face.

---

The wine seemed to be flowing through her veins fairly well now, giving Sophia a pleasant warmth in her cheeks and a fuzzy appreciation for the rhythm of Rose’s voice. The ballerina drained what was left of her second glass while Rose spoke, and set it on the table between them daintily. Better to let the blonde catch up before she indulged further.

And this blonde really was quite pretty. Sophia leveled her a slightly amused look as she called Ozymandias a fool, deciding then that she had a good point. This Rose Hart was a mysterious woman, and seemed full of tantalizing secrets that lent her a great deal of wisdom. More importantly, she was a lady business owner with sympathy for the plight of needing to manage and influence stupid men.

“I appreciate you listening. I think now that I’ve gotten it all off my chest I feel much better and can forget all about it... at least for tonight.” Sophia leaned into the tender touch of her arm with her own smile, and if her expression was a touch mischievous she didn’t mean for it to be. She kept her arm where Rose placed her hand, but reached her free hand to play idly with a blond tress that framed the lady’s face. It was an impulsive action, one the brunette might have thought twice about were it not for the pleasant effects of the wine. But she didn’t mind what this insinuated. Maybe Rose didn’t mind either. This was a little test.

“I think you understand me spectacularly, Rose,” she ventured, blue eyes seeking out the woman to see how she felt. “I feel quite lucky to have by chance stumbled on your premises tonight.”

---

Rose wouldn't admit that she was pleased that the other was over speaking about a rather foolish gentleman. Not when there was the potential for other delightful distractions in the air. As the other lady idly reached up to play with her hair Rose didn't back away, indeed she met the others gaze, Roses' eyes drifting to her pink lips, causing her tongue to glance over her own in response. Her fingers moving in gentle circles over her arm, as a warm flush coloured the lady's porcelain cheeks.

She drained her own glass, and without breaking her gaze she drained the bottle into their glasses. The wine a convenient excuse for the feeling coursing through her veins.

She set the now empty bottle aside, and mirrored the other's action, but instead, she pulled the Sophia's hair loose from it's elegant coiffure, giving the affect of a delightfully ruffeled bed head, the affect on her appearance was as full of as much promise as anything else, and Rose bit her own lower lip, her blue eyes falling on the others tantalizing mouth.

She breathed huskily, her lips parting. Rose's fingers slipped through Sophia's chocolate locks to cup the back of her head and pulled Sophia towards her, pressing her lips to hers, a warmth spreading through her body as she ensured the other could be in no doubt of Rose's current intentions.

---

Sometimes things aren’t said explicitly, but communicated in the static electric charge that changes the vibrations in the air. The most subtle change in the current. Imperceptible to those who didn’t pay attention.

Sophia guessed at what that change was, fingertips lingering in Rose’s hair a tentative test of her hunch. So as the woman responded in kind, Soph’s soft smile turned to a grin that promised something devilish. Her gaze languished on the subtle cues Rose drew on her lower lip, and Sophia perched expectantly on her seat as the woman poured out the rest of the bottle. What’s happening here, she thought delightedly as Rose drew out her hairpin to release her hair (Sophia gave it a good shake for fuller dramatic effect). And then her question was answered as their lips found each other’s.

One of Sophia’s hands found the side of Rose’s upper thigh, giving her leg a gentle squeeze as she leaned in closer from her seat. Soph’s other hand went to hook her index finger under the woman’s chin, pressing her thumb gently under Rose’s lower lip to coax her mouth open. The ballerina hummed happily into her mouth, eager to explore what a gorgeous American tastes like.

This turn of events was surprising, but no less enthralling. Their respective professions likely already made them quite liberal with this sort of behavior, and it wasn’t as if the idea of a woman bedding another woman was unheard of. Though in truth, this was the first time Sophia had engaged in the activity with so much intimacy (a far cry from the chaste or giggly kisses shared at parties). The smell and feel of Rose filled her center with warmth as intoxicating as the wine, however. This was Sophia’s first indication that things would be just fine here.

So when Sophia finally disengaged, she looked a little disappointed to do so. But she glanced demurely at the crowd downstairs before returning her gaze to the blonde. “Ah. Are we being too much a distraction from the show?”

---

Just as the kiss felt to be deepening, Sophia's mouth intoxicating against her own, the kiss broke all too soon.

Rose was no prude, but most of her lovers had been male, but she knew shew as far from done with Miss Voss. She pursed her own lips, redistributing her lipstick in the motion. She swept a lock of Sophia's hair behind her ear, not yet prepared to give up the intimacy of their moment just yet. The moment giving her a second to control her own impassioned breathing.

The hoots and hollers from below confirmed to Rose, the veracity of Miss Voss' statement. Rose glanced down at the floor below and the tables which were toasting the pair. 'I've never been entirely adverse to an audience' Rose purred in her ear, 'But I think you might be right.' she teased, her fingers running along the neckline of her dress, flirting with the milk pale skin, and the tantalising promise of what Miss Voss' delightful opera gown might be concealing. 'although I'd certainly like a private performance', she pressed another soft, teasing kiss to the others lips, a tantalizing promise of more.

She took Sophia's hand and guiding her hand to Roses' own hip, maintaining the physical connection between them, 'That is, unless you have other plans for this evening?' she purred.

---