(Untitled)

[outsidethelaw]

The dinner party is lavish, extravagant, the kind of affair that attracts portly men who drink too much and have young ladies (fingers conspicuously free of rings) hanging off their arms. Irene isn't entirely sure she counts as a young lady, anymore, but she feels certain that she can pass for one. She looks the part, anyhow, her dress all wine-

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[not_lugosi]

Now that is an outfit.

Bela eyes the woman, taking note of the dangling necklace and the surprised look on her face. Huh. This looks a little familiar.

"Hi. Not expecting this place, yeah?"

[outsidethelaw]

Irene recovers herself quickly, perhaps the only evidence that she's still utterly thrown the high colour in her cheeks. Bela get something like a strained smile, even as she tucks the necklace into the clutch, shutting it neatly, doing her best not to draw attention to the act.

"I was unaware," she offers after a moment, hands folded at her waist, "that Lord McLaren had invested in a tavern."

A pause.

"And in such a peculiar location."

[not_lugosi]

Her eyes flicker down to the purse, and her smile slips into a smirk. She's done that before when caught out.

"It's Milliways, the bar at the end of the universe. It has nothing to do with Lord McLaren, and everything to do with-"

She shrugs. "Magic? Insanity? Your first drink is on the house."

[outsidethelaw]

Irene understands all these words, perfectly. She simply doesn't understand the order in which they have been put together. Still, her mask doesn't slip one bit as she sweeps her way to a chair, sitting in the practiced manner of one who has become accustomed to lugging around several pounds of spring-loaded dress behind her.

"I'm afraid you'll have to humor me," she admits, flicking a fan from her sleeve and unfolding it with a neat snap. Behind her, her eyes take in everything, every strange and peculiar detail.

It's getting more difficult to hold onto her compuse. She feels very sure that she is going to need a glass of wine to settle her nerves.

Is that window...

Perhaps several glasses.

"I'm still a touch confused. I was at a dinner party, you understand, and then..." She waves at her surroundings with the fan.

"Here."

[nevercomplains]

A bowler hat slowly dips beneath the top of a copy of The Times.

Perhaps, if Watson is very lucky and sits quite still behind the newspaper for several seconds, that vision in silk damask will turn out to have been an hallucination.

(Unluckily, the typeface and design of the page will be familiar, seeing as it is from 1890.)

[outsidethelaw]

Possibly Irene latches onto this, a vision of normality in this otherwise utterly peculiar place. She takes several quick steps forward, tucking away the necklace and resting her hand momentarily on the stiletto hidden up a delicate sleeve.

"Excuse me," she calls, and perhaps she sounds a trifle more rattled than usual but Irene Adler has not made it this far by being easily shaken, one must remember. "I find myself at something of a disadvantage. Might I ask for some assistance?"

[nevercomplains]

Oh, hell.

Watson momentarily considers the option of pretending that he did not hear the query, but he has never been able to resist aiding a lady who requires assistance.

Even if that damsel is one Miss Irene Adler, who never does seem to be in any particular distress (unless, of course, it suits her plans).

He knows Miss Adler quite well, or as well as any man -- apart from Holmes -- can claim to, and has had some experience with her determination. That last little affair taught him that she is not one to rest until she acquires what she seeks. Unfortunately, in this case, that item is Watson's attention.

He slowly lowers the newspaper.

[outsidethelaw]

Oh.

Oh, well. Irene's face settles into a smile that poor Watson has seen before; pleased and self-confident, radiating poise. Perhaps it doesn't entirely reflect her internal feelings at the moment, but she has never let that stand in her way.

"My dear Doctor," she says, no, purrs, dipping a low curtsy without bothering to break eye contact. "How perfectly fortunate to find you here."

[hawkeyed_riza]

Oh hey, somebody who looks even more disconcerted than Hawkeye feels!

...And somebody who also looks like she's just stepped out of the 1830s.* Well, okay.

The woman in the military uniform -- bloused trousers, coattails and cropped jacket and 1st Lieutenants' stars, blonde hair clipped up, and a pistol on the back of her belt -- steps a little further aside, to make room for the new entrant. The small dog at her feet hasn't noticed the woman yet; he's too busy trying to watch all the rest of the room at once, and figure out which of it to make friends with.

*The narration wishes to point out for the record that Hawkeye's country is similar, but not identical, to Europe. This includes dating systems and fashion.

[outsidethelaw]

The uniform looks somewhat familiar. Irene feels sure that has seen it before, albeit on men. Not that she's one to judge - situations arise, one finds, when men's clothing is the only suitable alternative - but she does feel rather strongly that this woman, whoever she is, could try slightly harder. It is quite obvious, after all, that she's no boy.

Irene's not going to say anything about that, though. Rather, she turns to the woman, hands folded tightly across her midsection, and offers a smile. A somewhat nervous one, but a smile nonetheless.

"Pardon me, sir?"

[hawkeyed_riza]

It's true, Riza Hawkeye is not a convincing man. Not that she's trying to be, of course, but the narration is pretty sure she wouldn't manage it well if she tried.

She glances at the woman -- eyebrows slightly raised at the address. Sir is both familiar and proper from a subordinate, but from this civilian woman it's kind of odd. Nonetheless, her voice is polite as she says, "Yes?"

[outsidethelaw]

And the voice, too. If one is to make a convincing man, one must deepen the voice, add modulations that could be seen from someone whose voice has only just changed (since she knows she could never get the proper pitch for a true adult). For the first time, there is a niggling doubt that perhaps this woman in uniform is simply supposed to be in uniform.

She puts the thought out of her mind, sweeping closer as she safely stores the necklace away in the clutch. Better not to draw attention to it. "I've found myself at a loss, I'm afraid. I was at a party, and...."

She hesitates. It seems strange, to say it out loud.

"The door - I was expecting the hallway."