"Let's crash a party."
The servants' entrance was less a door and more a hole in the wall designed to shuttle food in and garbage out without the nobles having to smell either. I slipped through just as a harried-looking scullery maid kicked the door open with her hip, balancing a tower of dirty plates.
"Watch it, you lout!" she snapped, not even looking at my face. "More wine for the High Table! Move!"
"Right, wine. On it," I mumbled, ducking my head.
I stepped into the kitchen. It was a chaotic inferno of steam, shouting chefs, and roasting meats. It was perfect. Nobody notices a dirty face when everyone is covered in soot and flour.
I grabbed a clean-ish apron hanging on a hook and tied it over my rough tunic. I smoothed my hair back.
Role: Harried Waiter.
Level: 1.
Skill: Bumping into people strategically.
I grabbed a silver tray loaded with crystal flutes of something bubbly and pink. It smelled like strawberries and money.
