[ As for the hostess herself? Well, she's at the piano a great deal of the night, playing somberly at first, but becoming increasingly upbeat the longer she keeps at it into the night. Perhaps a little bit of defiance, but maybe she's just frustrated at herself. She's going at it with a gusto which can only really be born out of stubborn frustration.
But she's smiling as a result, even if it a little grim.
That's acceptable too, right? After that, well, she'll be carrying a goblet with blood in it (fuck her worries, no one seems to mind) and floating around the tables. She's mostly here to play at being proper host, but she might sometimes ask: ]
So what's that stuff even taste like?
[ But if you want her alone?
... She doesn't want to go back to her room, perhaps as usual. She'll be in the Foyer well, well past the night bell as people start to float out of the ballroom to sleep. She's there idly spinning a pen in her hand, watching the clock. She has a notepad open before her, but she doesn't seem to have settled on doing any one thing. ]
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But she's smiling as a result, even if it a little grim.
That's acceptable too, right? After that, well, she'll be carrying a goblet with blood in it (fuck her worries, no one seems to mind) and floating around the tables. She's mostly here to play at being proper host, but she might sometimes ask: ]
So what's that stuff even taste like?
[ But if you want her alone?
... She doesn't want to go back to her room, perhaps as usual. She'll be in the Foyer well, well past the night bell as people start to float out of the ballroom to sleep. She's there idly spinning a pen in her hand, watching the clock. She has a notepad open before her, but she doesn't seem to have settled on doing any one thing. ]