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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...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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"Being covered in glitter doesn't qualify." It seemed like the stuff was magnetic.
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"You enjoying playing dress-up for the night?"
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"You know as a politician you should really get used to the monkey suit," she reminded him. It was the way these things went.
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"So is there someone around you're planning on showering with heart shaped things and candy?" That was the theme of the holiday, after all.
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Also, it allowed him to ignore the odd extra energy he seemed to have in the past day.
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