A Colourful Conspiracy

Green watched Purple from across the room as he wrapped up his conversation with Vermilion. Green and Vermilion weren't so much friends but they often spoke. Vermilion was complaining about Mauve.

"She's far too progressive."

Green leaned on his cane and nodded but he wasn't listening, he couldn't take his eyes off Purple. She immaculately dressed and he reeking of old money. Why hadn't they ever made a go of it?

"She's such a fashionista," Vermilion went on.

Green doubted this for he believed Mauve was merely old-fashioned, an aged pigment with a younger hue. She wasn't gaudy like her Aunt Heliotrope. 

Purple at last caught Green's stare and he melted within his smoking jacket. She did nothing but draw on her cigarette and flick ashes to the aggregate. Their eyes exchanged information and, just between Green and Purple, Vermilion had his faults too, in fact, he was poison.