Post by Sylvie Robards on Jan 5, 2013 20:38:11 GMT -5
OOC-- outfit!
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Sylvie slipped out of the conservatory door into the fresh air outside, tucking her coat over her shoulders as she did so: as bracing as the Winter evening may have been, it was also bloody freezing. She stepped around the corner a little, out of sight should anyone happen to look out into the darkness.
It wasn't that she didn't like Lavinia and George's little pre-Christmas get-together's- no, that was a lie. She completely hated them with a passion. She detested how everyone pretended to get on, how everyone tried to make everyone else believe that everyone was just fine with each other, when any idiot could see that 364 days out of 365 that was not the case. The Hewers hated the Robards, and likewise in general, and for the life of her Sylvie had no idea why. Normally, it was okay and she could have a glass of wine and hide in the corner with Leighton all night, but Leighton had become engrossed in a conversation with an uncle and seemed unlikely to stop discussing art for at least the next two and a quarter hours.
And so she'd escaped , unable to withstand another "Oh, but darling, you must meet..." or a "You're the elder sister? Not married then yet? Hawhawhaw", both of which seemed to come more frequently than at other times during the festive season. She leant her head back against the wall, exhaling. Her breath rose as coiling water vapour into the cool air. She breathed in. And then out again and then in, until her sheer frustration at the horrid pointlessness of the entire evening had ebbed away slightly.
Fumbling in her clutch, Sylvie took out a cigarette. She didn't smoke, not normally, but it had become kind of a tradition at her little sister's horrid Christmas soirées: flee the scene for the length it took to inexpertly smoke a cigarette, and the whole thing seemed a little less arduous. Her fingers closed around a muggle lighter, and she sparked the flame. It seemed to linger in the darkness, and when she blinked she could see the brightness on the inside of her eyelids. She'd raised the cigarette to her lipsticked lips and closed her eyes when she heard a noise a little to her left, further away from the door of the party.
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Sylvie slipped out of the conservatory door into the fresh air outside, tucking her coat over her shoulders as she did so: as bracing as the Winter evening may have been, it was also bloody freezing. She stepped around the corner a little, out of sight should anyone happen to look out into the darkness.
It wasn't that she didn't like Lavinia and George's little pre-Christmas get-together's- no, that was a lie. She completely hated them with a passion. She detested how everyone pretended to get on, how everyone tried to make everyone else believe that everyone was just fine with each other, when any idiot could see that 364 days out of 365 that was not the case. The Hewers hated the Robards, and likewise in general, and for the life of her Sylvie had no idea why. Normally, it was okay and she could have a glass of wine and hide in the corner with Leighton all night, but Leighton had become engrossed in a conversation with an uncle and seemed unlikely to stop discussing art for at least the next two and a quarter hours.
And so she'd escaped , unable to withstand another "Oh, but darling, you must meet..." or a "You're the elder sister? Not married then yet? Hawhawhaw", both of which seemed to come more frequently than at other times during the festive season. She leant her head back against the wall, exhaling. Her breath rose as coiling water vapour into the cool air. She breathed in. And then out again and then in, until her sheer frustration at the horrid pointlessness of the entire evening had ebbed away slightly.
Fumbling in her clutch, Sylvie took out a cigarette. She didn't smoke, not normally, but it had become kind of a tradition at her little sister's horrid Christmas soirées: flee the scene for the length it took to inexpertly smoke a cigarette, and the whole thing seemed a little less arduous. Her fingers closed around a muggle lighter, and she sparked the flame. It seemed to linger in the darkness, and when she blinked she could see the brightness on the inside of her eyelids. She'd raised the cigarette to her lipsticked lips and closed her eyes when she heard a noise a little to her left, further away from the door of the party.
