Jenny: Drop Dead

Observing from a distance the usual progression on the meal, Gwenhywfar sighed wearily. Domitia was a good girl, perhaps too good for her own well-being. She watched experimentally as the girl left to fetch her more wine and, as she had predicted, was discovered through the yellow haze of the lamps. By now many of the maids had left, retiring to quieter quarters. The men with families or interests in good nights of sleep had left as well, leaving the rough loners behind. With another resigned sigh Gwenhywfar slipped to her feet and strode down the length of the tables to Domitia. Without a word she pulled back her hand, the heel of her palm projected forward, and gave the drunken fellow a smart blow to the temple. With an obedient smile he rolled away and dropped senseless onto the floor.

Turning to Domitia, Gwenhywfar took the vessel out of her hands, drained it, and tossed it onto the table. The men looked on, all their heads to one side in blurry curiosity. With that she left, trailing Domitia in her wake.