11-27-2018, 11:40 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; color;"]Agathe didn't drink. Ever.
She had denied alcohol her entire life, turning her nose up at the substance (and its horrific smell and taste) for as long as she could remember. In the past, the woman had watched as "friends" of hers had been reduced to nothing but blubbering messes who caused trouble and possessed no self control, absolutely loathing the idea of joining them in that state of incompetent stupidity and, god forbid, encouraged disorientation. So she drank water at every event like this, her glass perpetually clasped between two, pale hands and kept close eye on no matter where she went. People in this world were nasty, she had determined a long time ago, and Agathe hardly enjoyed taking chances.
Cautious, golden eyes would watch as Tommy, and, to her surprise, Atticus and Sybil talked, red-painted lips twisting into a frown as she realized that she, too, couldn't deal with hearing another rendition of 'My Heart Will Go On'. The original was terrible enough and if the girl on the stage thought she was doing the song any justice, she was horribly wrong. But it was apparent that both of her stoic friends seemed a little more talkative under the influence of alcohol and it took all of Agathe's willpower to not cringe. Instead, the woman merely shook her head, hand rising to brush a long strand of platinum-white hair out of her face. "You really trust that Atticus is a better singer than her?" She'd inquire, arms crossing over her chest. After hearing the first performance, she did not have high hopes for anyone, let alone Atticus, that was for sure. "But I suppose anything would send nice to you lot in that..." She paused, lips pursing, "addled state."
She had denied alcohol her entire life, turning her nose up at the substance (and its horrific smell and taste) for as long as she could remember. In the past, the woman had watched as "friends" of hers had been reduced to nothing but blubbering messes who caused trouble and possessed no self control, absolutely loathing the idea of joining them in that state of incompetent stupidity and, god forbid, encouraged disorientation. So she drank water at every event like this, her glass perpetually clasped between two, pale hands and kept close eye on no matter where she went. People in this world were nasty, she had determined a long time ago, and Agathe hardly enjoyed taking chances.
Cautious, golden eyes would watch as Tommy, and, to her surprise, Atticus and Sybil talked, red-painted lips twisting into a frown as she realized that she, too, couldn't deal with hearing another rendition of 'My Heart Will Go On'. The original was terrible enough and if the girl on the stage thought she was doing the song any justice, she was horribly wrong. But it was apparent that both of her stoic friends seemed a little more talkative under the influence of alcohol and it took all of Agathe's willpower to not cringe. Instead, the woman merely shook her head, hand rising to brush a long strand of platinum-white hair out of her face. "You really trust that Atticus is a better singer than her?" She'd inquire, arms crossing over her chest. After hearing the first performance, she did not have high hopes for anyone, let alone Atticus, that was for sure. "But I suppose anything would send nice to you lot in that..." She paused, lips pursing, "addled state."
[font=arial][color=#510205][size=16pt]WATCH IT [i]GROW[/i], CHILD OF WAR
[align=center][div style="margin-top: -9px; font-size: 10pt"][color=black][font=helvetica]agathe ashyver | the ascendants | astral seraph | tags