Where: The Conclave

The was fidgeting uncomfortably when Charlotte spotted them across the room. Charlotte knew a lot about feeling like they didn’t belong in the space they occupied and tonight was about getting out there and what better place to do so then in the corner with someone else who didn’t quite fit in.

So she went and positioned herself conspiratorially next to the boy on the wall. “Charlotte.” She said as she signed indicating herself.

‘It’s nice to meet you.’ She continued to sign and then indicated the other party.

She had a pad in a hidden pocket of her shawl but she never wanted to assume someone would immediately need it. She would wait for the other to introduce themselves and see where they could strike an accord.

Leo has never been good about watching where she goes -- there’s no point having survival instinct when you’ll survive anything. Consequently, it’s not unusual for Leo to walk right into trouble; but in this case she’ll argue it’s not strictly her fault. The car came out of nowhere as she tried to cross the road, going way faster than it ought to, and Leo goes straight under the wheels.

From here to the VA building, it’s exactly eleven minutes at his normal pace. August does not know what the timing would be at a leisurely stroll: he’s never taken a stroll in his entire life, and even with his injured hip that day will never come (much to his physio’s dismay). That left him with an hour and… three minutes to kill.  It’s the only reason he even goes into O’Donahues this early. He will be there later, some of the guys from the meeting like to grab drinks after. He will try to be there later.

The crowded bar has his hands buried further into his hoodie pocket. The relief of someone saying he can sit is indescribable (one less decision to make). Even better when he sees she looks familiar. It takes a second before he smiles, pulls a hand out to point at her.

“You live at Belcourt, don’t you?” A beat pauses, he shakes his head, “Sorry. I live there too, think I’ve seen you round. I’m August.” His hand disappears once more, not wanting to shake hands. August hooks the toe of his boot under the bar stool, dragging it back so he can sit himself down without touching it.

Tiffany is pretty flattered to be recognised. As a bit of a shrinking violet, she assumes most people look through her rather than at her, so the fact that he remembers her from passing in the corridors is nice. It’s a little passing thing that just makes her think, she can still have her own life. Be her own person, do her own things. It isn’t the things her parents hoped for her, but it could still happen.

For a mortifying second she thinks he’s going to try and shake her hand, and she’s going to have to do some really rapid work with a napkin because she’s got hot sauce all over her hands, but then his hands are back in his pockets. Thank god.

Nodding in response to his question, she says, “August--” (repeating a name always helps her remember it) “I’m Tiffany. Do you want a drink? We’re celebrating, um... consistency.”

Cora had many methods when it came to passing on information to the Unseelie King and Queen knowing that it would decrease her chances of being caught. Most of the time it was too risky to pass on messages or do anything inside the Seelie territory and it was too risky to go to the Unseelie territory leaving the wildlands as Cora’s safest option. If Cora asked the Queen it was likely that would be granted permission to enter them but there were only so many reasons why someone in her position would have the need to visit the wildlands alone. It raised less questions for her to sneak out. 

Over the past 300 or so years, Cora had perfected the art of sneaking in and out of Wisteria via the Backwoods. She always wore a simple grey hooded cloak that along with a glamour meant she went unnoticed and having memorised their schedule it was easy to avoid the guards. After already sneaking out and leaving a coded message Cora was returning to the Seelie territory when something caught her eye. It would have gone unnoticed by most but to her trained eye, it was almost unmissable. 

It wasn’t unusual to see courtiers wander the Backwoods adorned in various jewels so a flash silver was not all that uncommon. These courtiers, however, wore such finery with pride and vanity not like the man who had caught Cora’s eye. She couldn’t see his face clearly but she could see the glimmer of silver he was trying to hide from view; the shift of fabric as he walked occasionally revealing the treasure he had shrouded from view. Wanting to see what it was Cora made sure to accidentally bump into the man, hoping he’d drop the object. “Oh, I’m ever said so sorry.” She said politely, her own face still hidden by her hood. 

Location: Bradford Springs Convention Center

Bowie has seen him several times throughout the night now, her eyes naturally drifting towards him each time he is in her vicinity. Next time, she’s going up to him. The decision comes after she had looked at him a beat too long during their most recent crossing of paths. Now that the opportunity presents itself once again, Bowie takes her champagne with her and approaches him.  “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to stare at you, and I don’t wanna waste your time or bother you or nothing – but I do have a question. Are you single?” She asks plainly, quickly shaking her head when she catches herself. “Not for me, baby. I’m good. I do have a friend around here somewhere, though. Cute as a button. She likes ‘em pretty,” Bowie teases, shrugging a little. 

Location: Near the silent disco; Bradford Springs Convention Center

“Do you think it’s like – gimmicky?” Angel directs the question to the man standing nearest to her. The natural aversion she carries for these sorts of things is trumped by a weed blamed curiosity. What the hell is a silent disco? Like how does it work? She has to admit, everyone looks pretty stupid with their glowing headphones, dancing in the comical quiet that exists outside of said headphones. Are they actually enjoying themselves? Angel’s can’t imagine how. It just doesn’t make sense to her. Isn’t that the whole point of going out dancing or to a concert or to literally anywhere involving a group of people and music? To enjoy the experience as a collective with others? How is that possible when everyone’s doing their own thing? “Have you ever done it? The whole silent disco thing?” She asks, genuinely interested in his thoughts on the phenomenon.