WHO: [OPEN] WHERE: the Brandt Banquet Hall WHEN: Sunday March 29 WARNINGS: B| SUMMARY: the superhero formal. Will things explode? FORMAT: whatever you feel like
Pretend I bothered with a nice icon.notyetwrittenMarch 29 2009, 23:50:40 UTC
The second party in a week. Well...
Fakir was dressed in a fairly old-fashioned dress-coat, Victorian style, complete with a dark green cravat and a lapel pin in the shape of an oak leaf. This was far more his sort of gathering. He helped himself to a Shirley temple, then found himself a back corner from which to observe the rest of the room.
Ah, but there was no hiding forever, Fakir. Especially not from nosy princesses who are set on having a good time and are making rounds of the room. Amelia's gown did not seem to be from any particular era -- certainly not the modern one, with its full skirt, and yet not a particular previous one, shoulders exposed and the sleeves long. It must also be noted that the dress was pink.
Pausing before Fakir, she beamed at him. "Enjoying yourself?"
Not completely irritating -- now there was a compliment one could take to the bank. Hopefully Amelia wouldn't completely alter that perception by the end of the conversation.
Fakir shrugged again. "That, and I don't care for crowds. I'd prefer just to observe."
He sipped his Shirley temple.
"... do I know you?" he asked. It was so hard to remember; so many people talked to him on the comms and most were expressed only by their numbered IDs. He never knew if he was talking to someone he'd talked to before.
That was the difficult part, yes. "I'm not sure," she said with a laugh. "I think maybe they should have pictures sometimes on the communicator too. I'm Amelia, though."
She considered this a moment. "Ballet and fencing . . . are they anything like each other? Sometimes people who use swords describe fencing like a dance. Or is that just rumor?"
Fakir was dressed in a fairly old-fashioned dress-coat, Victorian style, complete with a dark green cravat and a lapel pin in the shape of an oak leaf. This was far more his sort of gathering. He helped himself to a Shirley temple, then found himself a back corner from which to observe the rest of the room.
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Pausing before Fakir, she beamed at him. "Enjoying yourself?"
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"More or less," he said. "The person I wanted to go with couldn't come."
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"Is that why you're sitting back here?"
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He sipped his Shirley temple.
"... do I know you?" he asked. It was so hard to remember; so many people talked to him on the comms and most were expressed only by their numbered IDs. He never knew if he was talking to someone he'd talked to before.
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This was followed by an awkward silence. Fakir was terrible at small talk.
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"What do you do now?"
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"I... work at the library and go to school, mostly," he said. "And in my spare time I study ballet and fencing. Nothing exciting..."
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