[her mouth curves up faintly, briefly, before the reflection is blurred with her moving inside, back into the noise and movement of the party. she remembers many like them, though none are ever precisely the same. the lifting of her chin is as much a response to the atmosphere as it is necessity to see over dancing figures and survey what she can beyond them: the ever-flowing dance floor is bordered by throngs of bodies or tables...a dense jungle to navigate. one could be terrible and bully themselves through any and everything in the way, but that's so unbecoming, and could also yield some consequence greater than a party foul - fey nonsense is a threat here, after all.
before her foot can even cross the threshold of the dance floor, she turns her head to peer behind her at her lanky, shaggy-haired shadow.]
no subject
before her foot can even cross the threshold of the dance floor, she turns her head to peer behind her at her lanky, shaggy-haired shadow.]
Are you going to cross the gauntlet with me, too?