Security, Rogue decides, is a boring job when there’s no active or expected threat. Perhaps she should have thought about that before she signed up, but oh well. She’ll see it through to the end, even if it does just mean floating around the opulent party looking for signs of nonexistent trouble.
As terrible as she is at small talk, there’s not much other way to pass the time. There’s a lady in a smart white suit next to the refreshment table; Rogue makes her way over to her, grabbing a cup of punch on the way (someone has undoubtedly spiked it, but this will not be nearly enough to get her drunk).
“Uh, hey there,” Rogue greets the well-dressed woman. “How are you? Enjoying the party?”