@thirdsinned || s.c
For as distressed as they are, Amalie is doing quite the job at keeping everything together. After all, they’ve spent years upon years keeping themselves together, whether that be before a camera or before a judge, eyes alight with determination and posture so aligned that one might mistake them for more of a politician than they actually are. While the position had required election, Amalie had always been prone to different sorts of arguments, and different sorts of images.
Now though, there is no mask and no Phanuel to fall back upon. They’re already mourning the loss of their suit, the fit a small comfort when skulking on night streets. Investigating the closet in their room had revealed a painfully basic wardrobe, their pencil skirt and blazer the nicest thing available in this moment. What a shame that was, what a shame it was that they were somewhere strange, sitting and wondering if they had tables turned on them. Kidnapped instead of the other way around, how ironic for someone that did what they did.
“What a mess this place is.” Amalie is thinking out loud, staring ahead to a large swath of grating, and then down to their heels, tall and thin and perfect for getting caught in this sort of thing. “Excuse me,” waving a subtle hand, Amalie tries to track down another’s attention. “You wouldn’t happen to know if there is, another way around that doesn’t involve me losing my shoe to the sidewalk?”