Sarah Silverton arrives fashionably late, and holding a cat.
There's a smattering of applause as she walks in, having changed into a black dress that glitters in a way that suits her. She looks like an old fashioned model who has aged gracefully, right down to the slightly wild hair and carefully manicured nails. The black cat she carries seems as much a prop as a companion, and unconcerned by the crowd. Presumably it has suffered this indignity many a time before.
"Thank you," she says in answer to the applause. "You're all too kind. Some water for lunar, please?"
Presumably the cat. One of the attendants circling with a tray of champagne nods and vanishes away, while Sarah begins to mingle in with crowds -- chatting to people politely. She seems to have a tendency to touch people by the hand, something that -- with how long her red nails are -- almost feels like being secured in place by her claws if you're unwilling.
Part of being a professional psychic, of course, is being able to read people. Guinevere's discomfort is readable a mile off as he begins to tire. Sarah approaches after a moment, lunar cradled in her arm like a tired child, and offers her a thoughtful frown of concern. She knows the names of everyone on her guest list, obviously, as much to add to the magic of her knowing as so she can make sure they're not investigative reporters out to cause her trouble.
"Guinevere, you seem tired. I hope tonight was not too draining for you?"
Shows can be a little emotionally taxing, after all. She knows, because they're meant to be.
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There's a smattering of applause as she walks in, having changed into a black dress that glitters in a way that suits her. She looks like an old fashioned model who has aged gracefully, right down to the slightly wild hair and carefully manicured nails. The black cat she carries seems as much a prop as a companion, and unconcerned by the crowd. Presumably it has suffered this indignity many a time before.
"Thank you," she says in answer to the applause. "You're all too kind. Some water for lunar, please?"
Presumably the cat. One of the attendants circling with a tray of champagne nods and vanishes away, while Sarah begins to mingle in with crowds -- chatting to people politely. She seems to have a tendency to touch people by the hand, something that -- with how long her red nails are -- almost feels like being secured in place by her claws if you're unwilling.
Part of being a professional psychic, of course, is being able to read people. Guinevere's discomfort is readable a mile off as he begins to tire. Sarah approaches after a moment, lunar cradled in her arm like a tired child, and offers her a thoughtful frown of concern. She knows the names of everyone on her guest list, obviously, as much to add to the magic of her knowing as so she can make sure they're not investigative reporters out to cause her trouble.
"Guinevere, you seem tired. I hope tonight was not too draining for you?"
Shows can be a little emotionally taxing, after all. She knows, because they're meant to be.