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maskormenacelogs2017-04-16 01:20 pm
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Entry tags:
- † cassian andor | fulcrum,
- † daenerys targaryen | khaleesi,
- † frederick chilton | chief of staff!!,
- † gwen wynne-york | n/a,
- † haen hithiel | chatterbug,
- † han solo | n/a,
- † hazel lockwood | n/a,
- † herian amsel | the paladin,
- † james patrick march | the master,
- † jon snow | lord snow,
- † petyr baelish | littlefinger,
- † raina | n/a,
- † sansa stark | little bird
open.
WHO: Daenerys Targaryen and anyone who enjoys looking pretty and open bars.
WHERE: Venice Theater House, Heropa.
WHEN: April 14.
WHAT: The fashion label launch of STORMBORN X MARQ: a show, a drink, and some dancing. While some invites were dispersed amongst acquaintances to ensure imPort presence (and, frankly, moral support), the doors are open free of charge to any imPort dressed to impress, and word is quick to travel. You are most invited to make an appearance!
WARNINGS: n/a
It's here, the fashion event of the season! Local Floridian designer who exclusively goes by De Marq has teamed up with imPort Daenerys Targaryen to bring you the most exciting luxury transdimensional fashion label that America has yet seen! Or so the promotional material may tell you. Hosted at the Venice Theater House, the venue is glitzy, buzzy with excitement, and plagued with natives who are probably only somewhat understanding of the fact a lot of you are probably recovering from or are still in the middle of a dream sickness!
Whoops. But the show must go on.
And if you need an excuse to participate, the luxury tokens and vouchers gifted each model might win you over. It is, after all, for a good cause! The good cause being Through The Glass, which Daenerys explains in a brief speech in the show's conclusion, before passing the mic to a spokesperson.
But never mind all that. The free champagne is just outside.
Dancing is permissable but most people seem more inclined to chatter, despite Dany's hopes and dreams. There is a lot of group selfie-taking, giving the impression that this is a specifically influential social media event, and a lot of conversation revolves around what everyone is wearing, the fashion staples of other worlds, and critique and commentary on the event itself.
The afterparty is also a silent auction, set up on tables out of the way, security guards presiding over the items on display, from necklaces to perfumes, from fashion show tickets to expensive dinners in New York City, or an exclusive fitting with De Marq himself, and of course, some items from the collection. All proceeds go to Through The Glass. Every now and then, someone raises a glass to an especially generous donation, and polite applause breaks up the conversations.
WHERE: Venice Theater House, Heropa.
WHEN: April 14.
WHAT: The fashion label launch of STORMBORN X MARQ: a show, a drink, and some dancing. While some invites were dispersed amongst acquaintances to ensure imPort presence (and, frankly, moral support), the doors are open free of charge to any imPort dressed to impress, and word is quick to travel. You are most invited to make an appearance!
WARNINGS: n/a
It's here, the fashion event of the season! Local Floridian designer who exclusively goes by De Marq has teamed up with imPort Daenerys Targaryen to bring you the most exciting luxury transdimensional fashion label that America has yet seen! Or so the promotional material may tell you. Hosted at the Venice Theater House, the venue is glitzy, buzzy with excitement, and plagued with natives who are probably only somewhat understanding of the fact a lot of you are probably recovering from or are still in the middle of a dream sickness!
Whoops. But the show must go on.
THE SHOW;After a little preliminary mingling, guests are invited into the showroom and seated onto elevated rows where you may find yourself in conversation with aloof designers, prying journalists, and fellow imPorts alike. The stage is glossy white and silver, and becomes the single lightsource (save for the glittery pop of cameras). Most of the women who walk are models, professional and sleek and six foot tall. Among them, however, are also imPorts -- any imPort lady who wished to volunteer her time and grace ahead of time will find herself squeezed into the most likely dress and directed down the catwalk. The cameras tend to frenzy whenever a more familiar face marches down the stage, and Daenerys among them to finish the show, her stride practiced and her smile only a little ironic. The clothing is sleek, in colours of black, white, and metallics, and sheer illusions and patterns. It ranges from evening gown to business attire (allegedly), and the heels tend towards tall.
And if you need an excuse to participate, the luxury tokens and vouchers gifted each model might win you over. It is, after all, for a good cause! The good cause being Through The Glass, which Daenerys explains in a brief speech in the show's conclusion, before passing the mic to a spokesperson.
But never mind all that. The free champagne is just outside.
THE AFTERPARTY;A wide open space hosts the muddle of media and party goers, although much of the press is ushered out after the first half an hour so that networking opportunity can transform into celebration. The champagne, as mentioned, is free, offered in tall glasses on serving platters, but a bar for anything more particular is set up towards the back of the room. Food is bite-sized and adventurous, mostly vegetarian, seafood, or dessert. A live DJ ensures that all awkward pauses are underscored by pulsing music. You still know where you are, though, with curtain banners erected displaying the relevant brand of STORMBORN X MARQ, some with Daenerys herself photographed, others with ambient art backdrops of storms and lightning and other expected aesthetics. Models mingle, wearing cocktail dresses from the collection.
Dancing is permissable but most people seem more inclined to chatter, despite Dany's hopes and dreams. There is a lot of group selfie-taking, giving the impression that this is a specifically influential social media event, and a lot of conversation revolves around what everyone is wearing, the fashion staples of other worlds, and critique and commentary on the event itself.
The afterparty is also a silent auction, set up on tables out of the way, security guards presiding over the items on display, from necklaces to perfumes, from fashion show tickets to expensive dinners in New York City, or an exclusive fitting with De Marq himself, and of course, some items from the collection. All proceeds go to Through The Glass. Every now and then, someone raises a glass to an especially generous donation, and polite applause breaks up the conversations.
AND BEYOND;And if you need an escape for all this glamour, empty balconies, a courtyard, and the side alley where smokers huddle might be your speed. All of the signage inside, too, make for quick little escapes if you need to step aside, make a call, or duck out of the way of a particularly determined gossip columnist.
daenerys targaryen. ota.
She wears the dress she wore on the catwalk, with the cape now detached, leaving her a little more free to move despite the best efforts of her trailing hem and heels. Her silver hair is out and down in shining waves, but decorated with small braided intricacies of her own design. Her makeup is simple, silvers and rosy blushes, touched up here and there throughout the night. Her smile is gracious and ready.
The glass in her hand is the same one she's had for some time, disinclined to drink very much with so many eyes and recordable devices on her. She mingles and has brief but meaningful chats, tries to shift the conversation to the charity they're sponsoring whenever she can, and moves on. She pauses for photo opportunities, professional and amateur alike, and seems to know which side is her good side when she does.
Occasionally, she ducks behind some signage to have a moment, to finish her champagne in a hurry. She might latch on to someone she knows better and use them as a sort of shield against random approaches.
But every now and then, her smile appears more crooked than perfect, and her laugh crinkles in her eyes. You might even accuse her of enjoying herself. ]
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He's alive. Jyn's alive. They have a chance to be alive together.
Which means… being in life. Participating in it. Committing to it. And the prerequisite to that, for him: learning about it.
This is not the sort of thing he's done voluntarily before. He's attended ceremonies for others. (He'd have ducked out of them for himself—but it rarely came up. In Intelligence, one's accomplishments tend not to have fanfare.) His main event-going moments in [last] life were all when he was embedded undercover as "Joreth Sward", aide to Imperial Admiral Grendreef. His job was supposed to be handling the Admiral's paperwork. Instead, it turned out to be a lot of keeping Grendreef's children diverted away from meetings, intercepting Grendreef's wife in the gut-twisting Imperial politics of trying to keep "women" secondary to "work" (such artificial, self-sabotaging subdivisions, no wonder Imperial minds seemed all so stunted and distorted), and accompanying them all to official functions. Like this. Mon Mothma and Bail Organa had even taught him Core ballroom dancing—which he'd then had to put into practice, with Grendreef's wife and kids, in turns.
It's extremely strange being at an event like this… as himself.
But because of his experiences as Sward, he knows how much one can learn at events like these.
The clothes he's acquired for the purpose aren't quite up to the standard of most of the congregations', but the outfit is well adorned, if not transmuted, by his immaculately straight-backed posture and high-held head. (Not here under an alias, but falling back into Sward's physical affect on reflex.)
He'd wanted to stop being the spy… but he's not ready to commit himself to the organization that brought him here without further vetting. So… some same techniques may apply.
…This may also be testing himself. See if he can reconcile those techniques with… —without lying.
It's its own kind of tiring, being at a party like this; even mainly as an observer. Though the point is to absorb as much information as he can—whether or not he processes it all consciously now, it'll be there, in his technique-enhanced memories, to run through and analyze later; nonetheless, he finally decides to cut himself a break. And ducks behind a barrier for a moment alone, to gives his eyes a break, quiet his mind, catch his breath.
He nearly bumps into a woman who seems to have had the same idea, just managing not to knock the champagne into her hand all over her dress.
…Her long white dress, which, even without the collared cape that had made it look so strikingly like Mon Mothma's on the runway, is still instantly identifiable. As well as her silver hair.]
I'm so sorry—please pardon me…
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I may have threatened one of your models a little bit.
( Don't You Know Who I'm Friends With, I Can Absolutely Have You Out Of Here If I Want, etcetera. gwen wynne-york, never afraid to play the rich girl knows the who's who of ruining your life card when irritated. she's still flying high from the adrenaline of the - very successful - catwalk, delivers this information breezily as anything. it's totally fine. )
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[ This is the first time they've spoken since the ordeal with Jaime Lannister. But it's a charity. It's a charity run by someone from his world of high standing, so of course, Baelish had to be there. And while he's not dressed in a modern tuxedo, his clothing is stylishly Westeros in its gold threaded embellishments and black velvet patterns. He stands out, but not in a bad way necessarily.
He's donated, of course. And very generously to the cause. If there's one thing Baelish can freely throw around, it's money. ]
I must say, this designer has captured the essence of your style.
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[It is later in the night, like, actually late. And Darlene, with a hold up hold up hold up hand half-raised, turns now from where she's standing beside the bar waiting to be served. By the power of this gesture, she will be able to stop Daenerys from walking past her. No hard feelings: Darlene is a little more done up than usual, in a strappy black sequined mini dress that hits at her upper thigh. Her chunkier boots have been temporarily traded for boots with a more slender heel.]
Yo, glamazon, belly up to the bar, stat. I want to lodge a complaint with the woman of the hour or whatever. Is that the shit people say?
[Her drink arrives just then and she grabs it up, something dark in a rocks glass. She takes a quick swig before she holds the glass out toward Daenerys. The ice clinks against the side of the glass.]
First I want you to snap a pic of this and hashtag it with your best hashtag.
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Jon Snow | OTA
Jon had been cleaned up and handed something nice to wear. Enough that he wouldn't offend the sensibilities of others in attendance by the smell from his Westerosi clothes. Between the clothes and the crowds, he was not in his element and far from comfortable. Still, he tried to smile and be social.
After a glass of champagne, it at least felt a bit easier to try. It didn't stop him from standing to the side and watching others. He had eyed the silent auction briefly, but with his funds so low, he couldn't take part. (Not that he would know what to do with any of the prizes up for bid, save give them to Sansa and Lucy.) All he could do instead was eye the exit and contemplate escape, but really...how far could he get before someone stopped him?]
idk idk at some point as the party's winding down??
He feels incredibly underdressed at this party, which is why he hasn't exactly tried to be social—after all, he's just here to get a free dinner, though he does eye the silent auction with interest until he realizes he can't afford any of it. So instead what he does is drift closer to one of the people who also looks more than a little bit out of place.
Which means that there's a guy in an outfit that is completely outside of the party's theme moving up closer to Jon.]
If you want, [he whispers conspiratorially] we can ditch this party for a bit, eat on the balcony. [He offers up the dish he's been using to pile his food up on.] Might've gotten a little more than I can eat.
Sounds good
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There's a small hand at his elbow, only gripping long enough to pause any gathered moment and turn his attention. Daenerys is making it a point to see all those she personally invited, and even those she did not. ]
Should I be begging your forgiveness, [ she says, with the sort of half-smile that indicates she will be doing no such thing, regardless as to his answer ] or have you managed to have any sort of fun, while you've been here?
[ She gestures with her own champagne glass, half full. ]
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I saw that you didn't have a drink anymore, so I got one for you while I was getting another for myself. [ See, Jon? She is a very nice sister, so you can't be grumpy with her for getting dragged out or looking nice. ]
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gwen wynne-york. ota.
her cape gets left with the coats and some champagne claimed instead; she is still optimistic about dancing, for all that it doesn't seem to be the hit hoped for, but in the meantime she mingles, joins in obligingly with the selfie-takers - although she only posts beforehand - and keeps a weather eye out for anyone she knows and/or thinks can be relied on for intelligent conversation. or at least one that'll pass the time without making her feel as if she's become slightly stupider by any means other than the champagne.
it's not really her natural habitat, but a glance mightn't tell you that. a lingering one, though, or one that tracks how often she isn't holding a glass, the way she very slightly squares her shoulders - maybe. )
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So when he spots the teeny tiny lady with the enormously mysterious aura, he can't look away. In fact, he smiles and leans forward so much someone near him asks if he likes the model or the dress more. Or is it the combination?
Naturally, he gives her room after. He's not a true gentleman by any stretch of the imagination, not really, but even he understands that she'll need some time to unwind, likely won't appreciate a strange man being right there when she's just gotten off the catwalk. Helpful he doesn't have to keep too much of an eye on her. She stands out like a sore thumb oozing purple glitter. Goodness.
She's just about out of champagne when he appears out of almost fucking nowhere, extending a fresh one her way. It's all bubbly, still, and a waitress passes by with only one missing.]
Almost out there, aren't you? Here. [Just bein' earnest and helpful, what a swell roarin' twenties weirdo.] Was that your first time on of those walks? Aphrodite born upon a shell, you were. Absolutely stunning!
[He...might be close. But it's less of a creeping invasion and more enthusiastic small animal since he, too, is a wee person who makes up for it with a "whoa nelly" aura.]
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He had been mingling when someone catches his eye: a girl in a blue velvet dress who just gives him an odd feeling. Not an odd feeling in the sense that wow, she's pretty, but an odd feeling akin to a feeling he gets whenever he does magic. Strange's magical perception isn't that great--there's plenty of people who are better at these sort of things than he is. But even he can spot some trace of magic amidst Gwen's glamor and other mass of 'lookit me, I'm a normal human' spells.
So, walking up towards Gwen, he gives her a slight nod. ] Might I have a word in private? Or, at least, further away from some of these people?
[ because oh my god karen, you can't just ASK someone why they're enchanted. ]
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[ Petyr reaches out to touch her elbow lightly, planting a light kiss on both of her cheeks in greeting. ]
And I have to admire your talent for never failing to look as though you are right where you belong.
[ Gwen is a chameleon, shifting and blending into her environments. He has no doubt she will do just the same at his library's opening. ]
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To that end, she grabs another glass of champagne from a passing waitress and gulps a mouthful like she's doing shots instead of sipping on bubbly. She has a good excuse: champagne tastes like carbonated asshole. Excuse number two, this dude that is determined to chat her up. Standing beside her in a tux, like a tool, he has been totally ignoring Darlene's very obvious no signals, up to and including her--]
Dude, shut the hell up.
[Blatant, but apparently not blatant enough, because he apologizes--but keeps talking. Annoyed, Darlene goes for tactic two.
She walks away from him. Slouches over to one of the twiggy model girls, the one with less selfie preoccupation. Probably still a bitch, but so is Darlene, so whatever. At least she won't end up tagged on freaking Insta.]
Hey. [Tight can-you-believe-this smile. Like they know each other.] Look at this guy behind me and bust up laughing. Now.
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Haen Hithiel . ota
Haen had volunteered when news of the show had come up originally. She'd briefly forgotten about it in light of whatever sleep affliction was hitting everyone, but had broken loose of its effects two days earlier. Upon arriving at the Theater House, there'd been some searching for an outfit she could wear-- at less than five and a half feet tall, she was considerably shorter than most of the models these collection pieces had been designed for.
But eventually a striking chevron piece is located and fitted, a couple inches add with the help of an elegant pair of heels, and Haen is clearly enjoying the pampering. She can be found either at the makeup stations or waiting behind the curtain for her turn on the catwalk.
( party )
The redhead has taken to socialite mingling with alacrity, considering the world she'd originally come from where such things were far out of reach except for the highest-Codexed members of society. She's hardly shy about whom she strikes up a conversation with, is able to carry on intelligently on a great number of topics, poses graciously for photos and accepts drinks freely. Assuming she doesn't get off on one of her many multi-tangential ramblings, you'd think she specialized in this sort of thing. If she's the one steering the conversation, she'll be quick to praise the charity efforts of the gala's central figures, the efforts made by imPorts like Daenerys to mutually benefit their cities and peoples, as well as the good done by those in Ambassador positions, among others.
( outside )
As the evening winds down, Haen finds a spot of fresh air in the courtyard, finding a stone bench to sit on and set the nearly-empty flute of champagne down beside her. She might be loathe to give up this beautiful gown at the end of the night, she thinks, but these heels she won't miss at all. "Perhaps I should have just Perked myself taller and gone with something less spiked..." she muses to herself.
outside.
Dany's voice comes clearer than the white noise of the party still going on inside, and the clip-clop of her own heels as she approaches. Unshy, she takes a seat next to Haen, hooking an ankle up onto her knee so that she might take her own tall heel off. Stockinged toes wiggle in new found freedom, and she does the same with the other shoe. The silver-embellished hemline of her white dress falls at the high slit, cool air on legs clad in nude stocking.
She crosses her legs, resting silver heels on the ground next to her. "I overheard you a little, in there," she says. "You were very gracious, all night."
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Party!
Leaning inward, his lips brushed against her cheek. "You were striking up there on stage, my lady." A glass of champagne he had gotten for her was offered over into her awaiting hands. "Hear anything interesting backstage?"
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Raina | OTA
With filming underway for That's So Raina, a reality TV show all about modeling -- it was no surprise that she had managed to wedge her way into this fashion show. Her film crew was there as well, hovering around her backstage to catch all of the bluster and drama of catty models as they got ready. The attire was not so much to Raina's liking. But they did manage to find something floral for her to wear that fit both the theme of the line and her own personal theme. Although, one rather Amazonian-sized goddess pitched a fit because she had much better legs than Raina and should have been the one to wear it, even going as far as to criticize her for being too short to be a real model. And those cameras kept on rolling because this was the sort of drama those fans were going to eat right up.
Of course, anyone who decided to intervene in this fight will find themselves filmed, too. Because what's better than a catfight? An even larger catfight! And that one model wasn't holding her disdain for imPorts back at all, more than ready to let the insults fly.
But regardless of the drama backstage, none of that translated on stage by the time the show rolled around. And although Raina fit more in line with the shorter models, she proved that her legs did look damn good in that dress.
B; Afterparty
Raina had shed her catwalk attire for a beautiful dress in burgundy. The film crew had stayed on with her for an hour or two while she mingled, but ultimately packed it in because they had only been allotted a certain time to film. Enough to advertise the brand and catch something interesting backstage, but not long enough to capture anything truly incriminating that might happen after the fine guests drink a bit too much alcohol.
Either way, Raina breathes a sigh of relief when they're gone, heading over to get a refill of her drink and mumbling to whoever happened to be nearby. "Now the party can truly begin."
B
Unusually skeptical and sporting a whiskey neat, Chilton wore a suit to echo Raina's own brassy tones. He had been sidelined during her shining moments amidst the celestial hubbub, making his own Milky Way to and from the bartender. But now they had a moment together, now they could talk.
Chilton had been tense ever since his return from that damned dreamscape.
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a.
--speaking of deciding to intervene, Gwen - wrapped in a robe over her knickers, ready to be laced into the equally affronting little dress and coat that make up her own runway look when time gets tighter - is right there with her sharp elbows and a finger jutting directly under the taller woman's chin.
"I don't know if you've been paying attention," in highest form, dripping elegant condescension, "but we're all doing this for charity. Wonderful people, TTLG, supporting women to get work? Why don't you fuck off over there and think about whether or not you want your picture taken supporting their work or needing their help?"
Or, in layman's terms: bitch I will have your arse fired so hard and so fast your extensions will still be here when the rest of you leaves.
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afterparty best party
"I heard you had a bit of a scuffle behind the scenes, my dear." Being a ghost has its benefits. Don't need super hearing to eavesdrop. So blessed, he is. "Would you like me to take care of your clearly jealous offender? I'm sure there is a dumpster nearby with room to spare."
How fortunate Raina is to have a Murder Man at her beck and call.
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sansa stark | open
Dressed in a stunning floral dress and lovely matching heels, Sansa chose to focus on the task of walking the runway and the party afterwards.
Sipping champagne, Sansa never stayed in one spot for very long. She would dance now and then when someone asked her to, mostly because it would be rude to say no, but she also would make it somewhat difficult to stop her in one place for very long. It was a useful skill that she picked up in King's Landing during their parties when she wanted to avoid Joffrey as much as she could. Still, there was a chance to catch her every once in awhile. Mostly when she needed to get herself another glass (don't worry, she is pacing herself) or when she needed to duck out of sight of someone looking for a picture. ]
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hi, sansa, she does this. )
We didn't get a chance to meet properly backstage--
( while gwen was busy threatening someone with a blacklist if she didn't back the fuck down, )
--but you're Jon's Sansa, aren't you? I'm Gwen.
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Jonathan Strange, ota!
Still, he sits through the fashion show and politely applauds when he needs to applaud and pays attention when everybody else is paying attention. The fashion is different than what he's used to and he can't hide his surprise at some of the garments that show off a bit too much cleavage. You can take the man out of the 1800s....
The afterparty is more Strange's speed as he flits from conversation to conversation like a social butterfly, butting into a few conversations where he isn't wanted, happily chatting about whatever's on hand, and deftly dodging any questions about where he works. Again, he knows fuckall about fashion but will gladly smile and nod and chime into the conversation when it turns to something else that isn't clothes. I'm sorry, you wanted to talk about fashion, have a cheery Englishman natter on about magic or the war or about his ideas as to what's causing that terrible sleep epidemic or anything else. Because when Strange wrests control of the conversation, it is 100% not gonna be about clothes.
A glass of champagne seems permanently affixed to Strange's hand and, by the end of the evening, he's had quite a few glasses. He's not drunk, per se, but certainly buzzed and certainly enjoying himself (which is such an odd feeling. When was the last time he enjoyed himself like this?) It's pretty obvious that the lure of free champagne was enough to draw him into the party. ]
barges in here, late
She stands with all the severe posture of one accustomed to always being at attention, shoulders drawn back and head held high - it's debatable whether she knows the meaning of slouching, and while she has managed to find a green gown (that she could still fight in, if she had need) she still seems rather... well. Knightly, to be honest.
Herian is just relieved to find someone who isn't talking about fashion, and she overhears mention of magic. )
Good evening. I apologise - I had no intention of eavesdropping, but I thought I heard you make mention of magic. Is your engagement with it practical, or purely academic?
hey now late still counts
praise be
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Hazel Lockwood | open!!
[this was so completely out of her league.
it was something that Hazel had known when she'd agreed to be Josuke's plus one, and perhaps a little bit of what had spurred her to (with a show of great complaining) accept the invitation in the first place. she needed to start forcing herself out of her comfort zone to prepare for future events, and what better excuse than a good cause?
that had been some jumbled part of her thinking, anyway. it had almost seemed like she'd actually managed to make a good decision during the fashion show, too; seated in the dim light, with the attention completely on the models strutting past, she'd felt almost comfortable. a nonentity, sure, but a fairly content one. the whole thing had actually been pretty fun.
the afterparty brings that tentative confidence crashing down. upright and acutely aware of the photographers lurking in the crowd like sharks, Hazel is acutely aware of how revealing her dress is by her standards. it feels like every inch of her body is exposed to the world - and the tapestry of stitches and scars on them along with it. even her hair was pulled up tonight, held in place by a glittering clip meant to match the telltale ring on her left hand.
god damn her desire to look fancy for once in her stupid unlife. all she'd gone and done was highlight how ill-fitting she was for anything approaching beauty.
although she does quite well to hide the self-inflicted discomfort, it's not difficult for anyone looking a bit closely to suss out that she's not quite at home here. her arms keep crossing and uncrossing, her hands running down her legs under the pretense of checking her heels, anything to cover up even a little more of that hideous flesh. as if no one would take notice if she could only hide a few more inches.
the distractions are few and far between, especially while dodging landing in even the peripheral of the dozens of photos being taken, but Hazel manages to find at least one in the silent auction. the charity had been one of the major reasons for her attendance - and while she might be having a small case of the fashion jitters at present, she had admired some of the pieces in the collection. strictly in black, of course.
her shoulders ease up as she flits from sheet to sheet, a little bit of that underlying tension draining away at least temporarily. there was no way she'd ever have the balls to wear them out, but she puts bids down on a few of the featured collection pieces, just to pretend. her pen wanders to several other items as well, mostly events she thinks it might be fun to do with Josuke. it's always a terrible idea, but she really can't resist spoiling him a little when given the opportunity.
Hazel's income is almost completely disposable, and her sentiments have been roused by the cause - the amounts she puts down are fairly high and certainly large jumps up from the precious bids. although she refrains from placing her name on the lists (only her phone number) her appearance is unfortunately striking. it's not difficult at all for someone to catch her in the act, especially with a little bit of her guard down.]
two;
[even after finding ways to regain the enjoyment she'd felt during the fashion show here at the afterparty, there comes a point where Hazel feels she must duck out or risk combustion. balconies come with the temptation to jump off them and escape back home - a temptation she's not certain she can resist at the moment. it would be much safer to 'hide' somewhere inside...and that's about when she really starts to notice all the enormous signs everywhere.
it's not particularly difficult for her to completely obscure herself behind one, what with the way she's barely scraping five feet. the chatter of the crowd on the other side is pleasant now, the happy white noise of people having a good time without the constant bracing against the look she knows too well when the extent of her scars finally hits someone. it's a welcome breath of fresh air, a few moments away to bolster herself up into finishing the rest of the evening with dignity.
unfortunately, it's also a fantastic way to amuse herself at other people's expense.
the members of the press who've been particularly unrelenting or cruel in their pursuit of a story suddenly find that karma is on the fast track tonight when they wander past the sign that Hazel is taking refuge behind. hands appear out of nowhere to grab or pinch at them, the surprise and humiliation much worse than any actual injuries they incur. this is a well-intentioned event, after all, and she'd never dream of dragging it down by causing a real ruckus just to amuse herself.
those who don't catch her in the act might want to be careful all the same, however. while she's doing her best to harass only people who deserve it, sometimes it's a little difficult to tell from behind a giant sign...]
Rincewind | OTA
Midway through the night he's no longer even walking, instead seated on the Luggage like a man atop a short, ill-tempered pony. Normally the chest doesn't allow this sort of use of its person, but the wizard's been given a pass tonight.
Not from the other Rincewind gets some looks and more than one upturned nose, but he only notices a handful of them, in part because every time he's left alone he keeps nodding out, only to keep waking himself back up with a start. There's just no room for light sleepers at a fashion gala, it seems, which proves particularly unlucky when Rincewind nods out with a nearly-full glass of wine between his fingers. Some distant peal of laughter jerks him back awake, and the contents of his glass fling free in a dangerous arc at whichever body might be passing by.
Hopefully nothing they're wearing is dry-clean only.]
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It's a near miss, anyway. She gasps a little, and Rincewind will come to to find the Queen sort of bracketing his champagne-holding hand with her own hands, having intended to gently take it from him before he'd been startled awake. Gently, with a flutter of a nearly-laugh, she reapplies her grip, and tugs the glass from his fingers with an apologetic half-smile. ]
I thought perhaps a different kind of drink might suit you, [ she explains. ] Do you at all favour expresso?
[ If she's suffering the same when it comes to sleepiness, it's hidden under well-blended layers of makeup, and a smile.
A strained smile, perhaps. Recent dreams linger, fresh in her memory. ]
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