The town hall had been transformed into a ballroom fit for a queen (and/or king. Or multiples thereof). The ceiling was resplendent in ribbons of royal purple, gold and white, and castle murals adorned the walls.
As they entered, tonight's guests were offered their choice of crown or tiara. Over by the photographer who doesn't have a thread
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He now also had a crown jauntily perched on his head.
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Modesty tended to go over better.
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...and every so often, sneeze.
Stupid flowers.
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What it came down to was simply that cooping herself up in her room with this much energy would probably end badly. She'd tried hitting things. That didn't work. She'd tried running. That hadn't worked either. She'd tried cold showers.... There was a pattern developing.
What she hadn't tried was putting on a dress and spending her evening in a glitter filled room. She was well aware that 'pretty' wasn't part of her charm, but she could pull of 'exotic' at times. The effect of aforementioned dress was somewhat ruined by her posture, leaning arms firmly folded, against a wall, while she pondered dousing herself with her own drink to snap out of this.
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It was an area she tended to dominate, and fairly well. Waltz, tango, any formal dances she had to learn under Sadi's patronage, as well as things more suited to the music.
Surreal knew her body, and she knew it well. She could dance almost as well as she could kill, and she found it almost as much fun, too.
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Of course the damn sneezing pretty much ruined any hopes of being stealthy at it.
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She swiveled to face Cara, and held out on hand invitingly. "The music is horrible," she deadpanned, "but at least it's not a funeral dirge."
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