All around her the world was a blur of colour - whimsical prints and clothes cut to be rebellious - a world made for sequins and platform shoes and delightfully horrible fashion choices. The excitement she’d felt for the artistic part of it was rendered to a vague spark somewhere at the back of her mind in the past few days, and now she moved through the crowd with efficiency - attentive enough to smile at passing acquaintances, but not quite willing to stop and chat. She didn’t feel like being all that human tonight. “I was hoping to see you in bell bottoms tonight - you gravely disappoint, Noah dear. And that jacket is an inhumane assault on your wardrobe. That entire decade was, to be fair.”, with the music blasting all around them, she doubted any of the humans would have heard her words as anything more than white noise lost in the clamour, but this had been directed at the Bordeaux only anyway. She came to a halt beside him, leaning forward on one of the ornate fences of the galleries as she held out a hand that held a heavy crystal glass, “Macallan, the way you like it, if I remember right, and a pinch of O negative. Speaking of inhumane assaults...”, she took a sip from her own glass and finally looked at him properly, “I hear you’ve been snacking on the city’s royalty.”, a faint trace of a smile appeared on her lips, as she shook her head with a chuckle and looked down at the crowds below them, a colourful depravity, “You and your expensive taste.”
@noahbordeaux