The speech itself is decent. Interesting information acquired- the Circle Daybreak and Redbright Institute making a move for territory. Nancy, and the witches of Circle Midnight had absolutely no territory of their own, and she didn't mind it. Let others deal with territories so long as she was free to come and go wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted.
That wasn't how life worked, unfortunately, but she was still, as far as these things go, relatively unknown in the supernatural world of London. Only those who wanted any black-market goods or sought out the fae that had raised her really knew her. Or those who wanted a quick bite.
Nancy hovers near the edges of the event, surveying the crowd.
Dance, dance
A few drinks in her, and Nancy is more than happy to make her way to the dance floor. The music was awful, but what did you expect at a thing like this, where you had so many tastes to try to account for? If the result was awful top-of-the-pop, well, she could deal with it.
You can find her, drink still in hand, tearing it up to whatever awful beat is being pumped through the speaker systems. Shoes still on, the petite woman has no real care who or what she dances with, so long as she's having fun. That's what matters, right? Well, maybe keeping Stiles out of trouble, but sometimes you just wanted to dance.
Drink up
Ah, yes, sweet sweet alcohol. Easily one of Nancy's largest vices, she's hardly too far from the bar at any given moment. A small plate of snacks, and a champagne flute in her hand, she's relaxing a bit more now. Everyone seems to be loosening up some, and purse-strings are looser. It'd be stupid to make a huge scene here. But if someone abandons a purse, she won't say no to it.
But until then, she'll be making small talk with those around her, and making sure her cup never empties.
Maybe it's time to return to the dance floor. Or find someplace a little more quiet for a conversation.
Closed to Stiles
"So what do you think?" She approaches her date mid-way through the night, holding a glass and a bottle. The bottle, she extends to him, the glass already has a lipstick stain around the rim. That one would be hers. "Not at all what you were imagining, is it?" Maybe this was an awful idea, bringing him here. But he'd have found a way in sooner, rather than later. And if he came with her, he was much, much safer.
Stiles was an idiot, sure, a young American, wide-eyed and naive. But he'd wormed his way into Nancy's heart early-on, and she was going to make sure he kept himself safe. This world was terrifying, and dangerous.
"And don't worry about the drink, if that's what you're going to do." A pause. "It's just beer." He was still underage, according to England. Nancy, meanwhile, had been drinking since she was a child, and saw no harm in making sure he drank his fill, too. God knew she was already doing so.
no subject
The speech itself is decent. Interesting information acquired- the Circle Daybreak and Redbright Institute making a move for territory. Nancy, and the witches of Circle Midnight had absolutely no territory of their own, and she didn't mind it. Let others deal with territories so long as she was free to come and go wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted.
That wasn't how life worked, unfortunately, but she was still, as far as these things go, relatively unknown in the supernatural world of London. Only those who wanted any black-market goods or sought out the fae that had raised her really knew her. Or those who wanted a quick bite.
Nancy hovers near the edges of the event, surveying the crowd.
Dance, dance
A few drinks in her, and Nancy is more than happy to make her way to the dance floor. The music was awful, but what did you expect at a thing like this, where you had so many tastes to try to account for? If the result was awful top-of-the-pop, well, she could deal with it.
You can find her, drink still in hand, tearing it up to whatever awful beat is being pumped through the speaker systems. Shoes still on, the petite woman has no real care who or what she dances with, so long as she's having fun. That's what matters, right? Well, maybe keeping Stiles out of trouble, but sometimes you just wanted to dance.
Drink up
Ah, yes, sweet sweet alcohol. Easily one of Nancy's largest vices, she's hardly too far from the bar at any given moment. A small plate of snacks, and a champagne flute in her hand, she's relaxing a bit more now. Everyone seems to be loosening up some, and purse-strings are looser. It'd be stupid to make a huge scene here. But if someone abandons a purse, she won't say no to it.
But until then, she'll be making small talk with those around her, and making sure her cup never empties.
Maybe it's time to return to the dance floor. Or find someplace a little more quiet for a conversation.
Closed to Stiles
"So what do you think?" She approaches her date mid-way through the night, holding a glass and a bottle. The bottle, she extends to him, the glass already has a lipstick stain around the rim. That one would be hers. "Not at all what you were imagining, is it?" Maybe this was an awful idea, bringing him here. But he'd have found a way in sooner, rather than later. And if he came with her, he was much, much safer.
Stiles was an idiot, sure, a young American, wide-eyed and naive. But he'd wormed his way into Nancy's heart early-on, and she was going to make sure he kept himself safe. This world was terrifying, and dangerous.
"And don't worry about the drink, if that's what you're going to do." A pause. "It's just beer." He was still underage, according to England. Nancy, meanwhile, had been drinking since she was a child, and saw no harm in making sure he drank his fill, too. God knew she was already doing so.