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"It's A Case Of Mistaken Identity I Swear; And I Bet I Can Prove It."

"A girl?" Thistle's voice dropped to nearly a whisper, not wanting to alert her guest if she was already inside the dining room that was just a thin wall away from the kitchen.
She paused, her thoughts racing through her mind faster than she could make use of them. Had they really replaced her that quickly with a new woman? It took her years to reach where she was.. and now, this bitch came in within a few month periods and just.. Took over?
"It's a hoax." Thistle said quietly, re-adjusting her dark sunglasses on her face. "You got the wrong one, Roland!" She hiss at the door, turning away from Vincent and his grip on her shoulders. He was the only thing that stood between her and Roland's immenant death, and the trio all knew it fairly well.
"Shh.." Vincent tried to hush her, but she shoved his hands off her shoulders, popping her neck and cracking her knuckles, standing before the door that stood between her and her prey.
"Hey," Vincent shrugged. "Don't shoot her, okay?"
She nodded her head down to Vincent, snapping, then quickly pointing at Vincent; giving the effect as if she was shooting him.
"I almost shot a five year old girl in a frilly pink dress today because a boy tossed her doll over my fence. I'll shoot who ever the fuck I want." She smirked, turning the handle to open the door into the dining room.

The dining room was extravagant. Giant sitting room parlor chairs with the arching back and plush seats and arm rests stood at each end of a long white clothe draped table. Red heavy fabricated curtains were draped across the two opposite walls from the two doors, giving the illusion that giant windows laid behind them. The wallpaper was darker, playing with greys and blacks in a Victorian-esk trim and horizontal stripes. The flooring was carpeted, a dark brown that would hide nearly any type of stain that befell it. Which was the sole reason that they developed the room around the carpet, because if red was already in the room, who would notice any more in the carpet?

Katrina was seated by the clumsy man, who finally managed to pull the gun away from her and snuck out before she could ask, again for maybe the tenth time since she got onto the property, what the hell he was doing. She was worried now. Someone had hired a stupid goon to come and fetch her? And they were going to possibly even kill her as well?
The brunette's head was spinning, and she put her head in her hands as she began to tense up. She could leave quietly, before anyone noticed and just be gone and move again.
But she couldn't just up and leave like that. She had a job here, and a sister to take care of, and even a steady boyfriend. Everything she wanted and it could be taken away by what her damn brain was conjuring up now.
Past the table and chair across from her, the door creaked open to reveal a woman in a slender black blouse and vest, over black slacks. She wore a black fedora to complete the look, matching her dancing shoes. If the backround hadn't had red in it, she might have blended like a shadow, almost invisible.
Her black glasses tinted in the light as she floated over to the seat across from where Katrina sat. Her eyes were a deep brown, and almost seemed to have no iris in the middle.
She smiled at Katrina.
Her finger traced at the deep, swirling scar that was etched in her neck. It fell from the back of her right ear, creeping across her throat down to her collarbone on her left. The jaggedness of the scar shows that it had been a quick cut, and hadn't had stiches to clean it up.
"It's rude to stare, darling."
Katrina's eyes bounced up back to the woman. "I-I'm sorry."
"You should be." Her eyes narrowed, propping her elbows on the table, her nails nearly digging into the clothe.
"Excuse me?" Katrina asked, sinking back into her seat.
"You heard me." The woman glared daggers at her. "You don't even recognize me, do you? Let me answer that for you, you should. For your saftey, you should. For your life, and your sister's as well."
Katrina's eyes widened, and suddenly she was paying attention, and her plans of escape were out the window.
"P..Phiona?" Katrina studdered.
"That's her name?" The woman mused, not really paying attention, like she had a lapse in personality. "Should I refresh my name for you, since we are getting absolutely nowhere until I can scream at you?"
"E-eh.." Katrina's shoulder's hunched down, and she was avoiding eye contact with the insane woman now.
"Thistle. Repeat." She stated, like a teacher to her students.
"Wh-what?"
"I am Thistle. Thistle." She paused, standing up from her chair, her hands slamming down onto the table. "This damn scar proves that I am stronger than you. And that you have no right to be leader without it. How dare they overthrough me, queen of this shithole, for a fool like you!"
There was a pause. Thistle huffed.
"I don't care what the Tretentios have to say about it, either." She looked over her glasses to squint at Katrina, who now felt like she had just walked into something completely over her head.
Which, was true.
"L-look, Thistle? I uh.. I think I'm at the wrong place here." Katrina began to stand up, but Thistle held her hand up, motioning for her to stop. The two held a staring contest for a moment, which Thistle won by pure intensity of her glare.
"Roland's an idiot, yes I know." Thistle growled. "I'm not though. I can put two and two together."
"I didn't say-"
"But. I'm not above reason." Thistle moved from behind the table to the side, advancing closer to Katrina. "If you can prove to me that you aren't associated with the Tretentios, and are completely innocent," she held up her hands innocently, "I will surrender your sister."
"That's not fa-" Katrina started, but Thistle's glare cut her short.
"Fair? You want to talk to me about fairness? I make the rules here. I'll let your sister go when I feel like it. And not a moment before, get it?"
"Can we t-talk this over?" Katrina mumbled, her head between her shoulders, asking quietly.
"No. Now get out. I'll see you here tomorrow." Thistle flipped her fedora off, revealing a short military style cut under her hat. She handed it to Katrina and winked underneath her sunglasses. "Don't forget about me, now."
With a flick on her heel Thistle was gone in a matter of seconds, leaving Katrina to be numbly escorted out by the same blumbering oaff who had taken her to this bizzare castle in the first place.

Thistle landed herself in the kitchen, laughing and ripping her vest off before tossing it at Vincent. He swiftly grabbed it, tossing it behind him for it to flatten against the wall, falling down against the floor. He'd clean it later.
"Vincent, we're nearly there." She laughed, her hands on her hips, sliding onto a bar stool next to the counter. "Almost there.."
"It's not going to work~" Vincent said offhandedly, putting her dinner infront of her, a grilled salmon plated next to some thyme and caramelized pears.
"Shut up, it will. I know it's got to. She's the stupidest the T's have ever gotten, if we're going to strike, it has to be now!" She stabbed her fish, pushing it around on her plate with her fork.
"I didn't say she was stupid, Roland was watching her the entire time from the green room. I just mean, Tish, what is she's not even involved?" Vincent pulled a pear away from her plate, biting into it.
Thistle stared at his for a moment, pushing her plate away from her and sliding off the stool. She didn't need her subordinate to be against her plan.
"I'm going to the roof to shoot something. If Roland follows, I'll gladly shoot him."