Abigail looks the part of a Widdowson woman. She's tall, blonde, and pale, dressed in a long black gown whose sleeves are translucent. The only jewellery she wears is a pair of silver earrings that hang down with small diamonds at the bottom. Her make-up highlights the paleness, and her lips are done in a dark, sedated red. She carries a clutch with her, black with silver accents, and moves seamlessly on heels that just slightly click when she walks.
Abigail is there when Slyvia makes her announcement, and she claps politely at all the appropriate parts, though she might be a bit more subdued at the announcement of the expansion of Redbright's influence. She wants to believe it's a good thing, especially with everything else Sylvia has said, but she's heard conflicting stories from her late family and others they were close to.
For now, she has to reserve judgement.
Lecture Theatre
The slideshow captivates Abigail. The array of accomplishments is impressive enough, but what holds her in place are the faces. People among one another, witches learning in unison. Not a girl shut away in a house. When she was very young, she'd begged to be let attend Redbright. Her father had absolutely forbidden it, and she'd refused to speak to him for just over a week.
Now, she's not certain. She's not sure of a lot these days.
But the kids look happy. The instructors look proud. It feels like they're welcome and wanted.
It's foolish, yes, but it makes Abigail linger just a little longer than most would.
Chess
Chess is something Abigail knows. Her mother played, and it was considered a proper game for a young lady to play, intellectual rather than athletic. It taught the mind patterns and other such things he father said would help her learn summoning better. All Abigail had cared about was that it was a way to pass the time, and she was usually allowed to play it on the back lawn, sitting in the sunshine.
That was better than being cooped up inside, learning her lessons.
So, as she's admiring the style of the large pieces, she smiles a little as she seems someone approaching. "Do you play?" she asks, obviously hopeful, as she stands near the line of black pawns.
Marquee
The event isn't about drinking. Abigail wouldn't be here if it were. Still, society rules indicate that when several other people are drinking, the one who's not is the odd one out. Besides, the pinot noir is delicious, and Abigail is happily enjoying a glass of it as she moves amongst the people. Every step is calculated in a way only someone of society would know. It's all a grand dance, once Abigail has been taught since she was born. Some girls are trained hard to be ballerinas; some are trained just as hard to be socialites.
Abigail is the latter and embraces it. She can laugh with one person, turn, comfort another, turn, share gossip with another, turn. On and on, twisting about. Never lying but never being totally honest. An actress on a stage, a mask for every player. She knows the world, at least in theory, though she isn't as practised as she'd like. Still, she can hold her own.
Her latest 'dance' partner is someone she hasn't met yet, so she takes the first step in however long or short a series they choose to make it. She offers her hand with a soft smile.
no subject
Abigail looks the part of a Widdowson woman. She's tall, blonde, and pale, dressed in a long black gown whose sleeves are translucent. The only jewellery she wears is a pair of silver earrings that hang down with small diamonds at the bottom. Her make-up highlights the paleness, and her lips are done in a dark, sedated red. She carries a clutch with her, black with silver accents, and moves seamlessly on heels that just slightly click when she walks.
Abigail is there when Slyvia makes her announcement, and she claps politely at all the appropriate parts, though she might be a bit more subdued at the announcement of the expansion of Redbright's influence. She wants to believe it's a good thing, especially with everything else Sylvia has said, but she's heard conflicting stories from her late family and others they were close to.
For now, she has to reserve judgement.
Lecture Theatre
The slideshow captivates Abigail. The array of accomplishments is impressive enough, but what holds her in place are the faces. People among one another, witches learning in unison. Not a girl shut away in a house. When she was very young, she'd begged to be let attend Redbright. Her father had absolutely forbidden it, and she'd refused to speak to him for just over a week.
Now, she's not certain. She's not sure of a lot these days.
But the kids look happy. The instructors look proud. It feels like they're welcome and wanted.
It's foolish, yes, but it makes Abigail linger just a little longer than most would.
Chess
Chess is something Abigail knows. Her mother played, and it was considered a proper game for a young lady to play, intellectual rather than athletic. It taught the mind patterns and other such things he father said would help her learn summoning better. All Abigail had cared about was that it was a way to pass the time, and she was usually allowed to play it on the back lawn, sitting in the sunshine.
That was better than being cooped up inside, learning her lessons.
So, as she's admiring the style of the large pieces, she smiles a little as she seems someone approaching. "Do you play?" she asks, obviously hopeful, as she stands near the line of black pawns.
Marquee
The event isn't about drinking. Abigail wouldn't be here if it were. Still, society rules indicate that when several other people are drinking, the one who's not is the odd one out. Besides, the pinot noir is delicious, and Abigail is happily enjoying a glass of it as she moves amongst the people. Every step is calculated in a way only someone of society would know. It's all a grand dance, once Abigail has been taught since she was born. Some girls are trained hard to be ballerinas; some are trained just as hard to be socialites.
Abigail is the latter and embraces it. She can laugh with one person, turn, comfort another, turn, share gossip with another, turn. On and on, twisting about. Never lying but never being totally honest. An actress on a stage, a mask for every player. She knows the world, at least in theory, though she isn't as practised as she'd like. Still, she can hold her own.
Her latest 'dance' partner is someone she hasn't met yet, so she takes the first step in however long or short a series they choose to make it. She offers her hand with a soft smile.
"Abigail Widdowson."