"My Lady!"
A tall man approached me just as I was being led to the back to pay for my purchases. He was wearing a black suit and matching mask with silver detailing.
"Ah, you're finally here," I greeted him, and he looked so pleased I thought he might faint.
"You are Participant Twenty-Five," he remarked. "But can I ask w-"
"Greetings, My Lady, and may I show you backstage?" the attendant asked, effectively cutting the man off, as the person in front of me was whisked away to finalize their purchase.
"Yes, please," I replied, letting just the tiniest bit of annoyance show that I had been forced to wait (a power move on my part—something to make the attendant rushed and sloppy). "This man is my escort," I added, wrapping my arm around my masked companion's.
Again joy radiated from his face at my gesture. But I would have much preferred him to look like a poised assistant and less like an ecstatic puppy. Oh well, I supposed his money was really all that mattered anyway.
