Helping to organize this little affair with Stephen has been an adventure, to say the least. In a way, it's been nice--it's a good way to get her mind off of the other things going on, it's a good cover for her own covert operations, and it's good to spend some more time with Stephen again, too. She hadn't been lying when she'd said that he'd been missed--his time in party exile had been rather lackluster for the rest of their circle--and it's a good way to pull him out of that downward spiral of his.
Still, the hovering spectre of his older brother has been a particular challenge, because he has a lot of Ideas that Porrim simply doesn't agree with--the Avoxes-come-furniture being the main one. Not to mention, she's probably already on his shit list thanks to fucking nosy Celebrus reporters who can't mind their own damn business. They don't pick up on the Tribute that Porrim had actually been messing around with, but still find a way to sully her name. Classic.
She's dressed simply, herself, in a flowing white gown that's definitely on-theme, her hair braided in shining black coils atop her head with a crown of laurels wound along the nape of her neck. She towers over most of the other women in the room, already tall without the golden leather gladiator heels on her feet. Massive, heavy solid gold bracelets at her wrists complete the look, and most surprisingly, there's not a hint of black in her ensemble.
Cradling a glass of something sweet and golden in one hand, she catches up with Stephen in the District Eight-themed room once she's made the rounds a few times herself, the party in full swing. "Hey, you," she says over his shoulder, coming around to face him properly. "How's the life of the party?"
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Still, the hovering spectre of his older brother has been a particular challenge, because he has a lot of Ideas that Porrim simply doesn't agree with--the Avoxes-come-furniture being the main one. Not to mention, she's probably already on his shit list thanks to fucking nosy Celebrus reporters who can't mind their own damn business. They don't pick up on the Tribute that Porrim had actually been messing around with, but still find a way to sully her name. Classic.
She's dressed simply, herself, in a flowing white gown that's definitely on-theme, her hair braided in shining black coils atop her head with a crown of laurels wound along the nape of her neck. She towers over most of the other women in the room, already tall without the golden leather gladiator heels on her feet. Massive, heavy solid gold bracelets at her wrists complete the look, and most surprisingly, there's not a hint of black in her ensemble.
Cradling a glass of something sweet and golden in one hand, she catches up with Stephen in the District Eight-themed room once she's made the rounds a few times herself, the party in full swing. "Hey, you," she says over his shoulder, coming around to face him properly. "How's the life of the party?"