[ Good music, lots of wine. There's enough of a distraction in the Down to pull her thoughts away from darker things. Things emanating from the now passed Tumenalia. Whilst she doesn't laugh and dance as the others do here, she does remain near the bar, seeking refills of her wine whenever needed. Apparently, with Tyrion not by her side, she's stepped up to the task of trying to empty the wine caskets, tonight.
Donning a dress with a collar reminiscent of the slave collars she'd broken, she's twisted part of her hair back tonight; the rest tumbles down her back, her natural curls loose. There is no Submissive mark on her, for she would never be one. Nor would she ever--
--Someone's voice interrupts her thoughts. A hand appears in her periphery, and she looks up to meet the owner's eyes. A vibrant blue-green color. A smile which reminds her somewhat of Daario's if only for its mischievousness. ]
That depends entirely on whether you'll step on my feet or not.
key to hearts
Donning a dress with a collar reminiscent of the slave collars she'd broken, she's twisted part of her hair back tonight; the rest tumbles down her back, her natural curls loose. There is no Submissive mark on her, for she would never be one. Nor would she ever--
--Someone's voice interrupts her thoughts. A hand appears in her periphery, and she looks up to meet the owner's eyes. A vibrant blue-green color. A smile which reminds her somewhat of Daario's if only for its mischievousness. ]
That depends entirely on whether you'll step on my feet or not.