Thread: Wealth Only Goes So Far (Alvis Alendran & Cerulean Reverie)

Veronica Verheyden, daughter of the famed oil magnate Richard Montebank Verheyden, was currently below decks on her father's superyacht in the galley while the female half of her guests availed themselves of the alcoholic offerings procured especially for this evening. She was giving one of the three crew on staff for this evening a good, old-fashioned verbal evisceration for having the temerity to not only spill 500 champagne, but to do so on a brand new pair of Valentino lace pumps. It was simply unconscionable. She'd most certainly taken her father's instruction in that particular regard especially to heart. Veronica, my love, He often began. You absolutely cannot allow the sheep to run roughshod over you. It is imperative that they, and you, always remember who you are. You are a Verheyden. Blood and bone. Sheep having been appropriately shorn, the lady of the ship paused as she walked past one of the silver trays holding some form of barely touched crudits and summarily dumped the food on the floor for the offending peon to tend to. She used the reflective surface of the tray's back to appraise both her make up and hair, ensuring they were holding up under the unnecessary strain of having to set one of her lessers straight. She set the tray back down and paused beside where the crewman was hurriedly gathering the upended vegetables, crushing a carrot beneath the outsole of her pump. And polish that tray when you're through. Normally, the strike of those heels against a hard surface was as a death knell to whomever was within earshot. The sound of them heading in the opposite direction, however, could be compared to the Hallelujah Chorus for the faithful. Veronica finally made her way along the companionway, headed to the upper decks to rejoin the party, such as it was. They were still waiting on all of their male counterparts who, if they didn't arrive soon, were going to force Veronica to very publicly and very ferociously fucking meltdown. Taking a calming, cleansing breath, her hands smoothed the short, peach-colored bandage dress her shoes had been dyed to match down against her thighs. Fortunately for her, with exceptional breeding came good genes and all of the trappings of wealth that had allowed and otherwise enabled her to grow into an attractive young woman. Thick, raven hair that fell just beneath her shoulders framed a heart-shaped face with elegant features and full lips. Caribbean blue eyes and milk-pale skin completed the strikingly colored picture that was the young heiress. Most fathers would be eager to see a girl with her looks married off rather quickly. Richard Verheyden was another story entirely. He recognized the true value of his female offspring lay in her rapidly developing business acumen bolstered by a ruthless voracity that certainly matched his own. No, she wouldn't simply add to the illusion of another man's value, Veronica wasn't merely a prize, she was the race itself. Alright you bitches... She called out in the same forceful, arresting tone she'd perfected as a competitive cheerleader right into her collegiate career while plucking up a glass of the very same champagne that had nearly sent her into orbit scant moments ago. The girls who'd merited an invitation to the little nautical soire all quickly turned attention to their hostess. ...who's ready to get this party started?! It was less question more war cry of the idle rich kid met with the cacophonous whoops, screeches and cackles of the up and coming female elite, each lifting their respective drinks in the air in unison. Now all they needed was for the stupid boys to show up.