The gentleman who's arm she was paid to be on escorted her through the throng of merrymakers with a beaming smile upon his wrinkled, bewhiskered face. He was a man with a shiny, bald head and tufts of hair around the sides and backs that gave him the look of someone who stuck his finger in a light socket. He wore heavy mutton chops on face, and a monocle was in his gloved hand as he held it up to his eye, speaking to his friends with his long, drawn out words that clearly stated he was of the highest class in the area... A Widower named Mister Johnson? Jackson? She didn't care... She was simply dreading what would happen that night when he was ready to sweep her to some shadow and do what he paid for.

She wasn't just paid to be his companion, she was supposed to be a quiet observer, flirting for information because information was currency in the underworld.

Sonia wore a beautiful gown of fine, red silk... Only the most fashionable was to be expected of her, and everything she wore enhanced assets... The neckline was almost too low cut, her waist was cinched tight enough that a man could almost measure it with one hand, her blonde hair was piled up on her head and arranged artfully by her maid with black ribbons, and she wore real jewels... After all, her clients liked her well enough to give her trinkets and such as if to reward her. And she liked it to a point.

"Sonia, dearest, let me waltz you around the room so I can give that bastard, Carrington (the patriarch of the Carrington family) a nice eye full of what he's missing out on by being faithful to his shrew of a wife." And so, surprisingly light on his feet, the old putz did just that.