Sacha LaRue, tall as a crane but painted like the most decadent petit four cake, all dipped in white paint and perfect luscious curled hair as fluffy as merengue. A true diva, always dressed like a King and with the attitude of a Queen, Sacha wasn't someone who liked to be talked about but adored talking about others. Such a gossip! But he made it look classy by spilling such juicy tittle-tattle over tea.

There was hardly a chance he'd be caught dead prattling on without his hands moving, gesturing wildly like he performed a dance. Perhaps in another life where he wasn't fabulously wealthy and couldn't leisurely enjoy the bosh of high society, he'd have been a peacocking jester. Thankfully, he was draped in jewels since babehood and peacefully delighted in the drivel all his life.

However, dare not speak a word he found so gauche! Oh how he'd put on such a theatrical display of offense. Of course, most knew not to challenge his pride, since it was a rather large but fragile mask of porcelain.