“It depends”, Xerra answered cryptically raising a brow. Even on unofficial visits she wouldn’t sully the Empire, verbally or otherwise.

>>spare-a-tercera<<

The average twenty-six year-old woman did not quite so commonly encounter problems when attempting to obtain an alcoholic beverage, perhaps at worst being asked for identification which proved legal age. In Whitlea's case there happened to be two obstacles, the first that she looked nowhere near her age and the second she had no concrete proof that she was indeed twenty-six.

In blatant disregard of the day's standards, she began to down glasses of wine at the punch table, since when else would such an opportunity to procure such fine drink arise again?

Of course, to anyone else this would look like an adolescent girl misappropriating party beverages. She was well aware, someone was staring, probably debating whether to say something or not. Explaining the situation might get tricky, but it was better than being judged.

>>godspapyrus liked your post<<

Wandering again, a wayward eidolon amidst the sepulchers, lost in life and lost upon the living. Ennui and perhaps insouciance, more to say, Whitlea felt a great bout of boredom settling in, feeling socially awkward around the big crowds. Parties weren't quite on her list of favored occasions, being shy and forever alone as she was, but still to make do with the situation at hand she sought a familiar face, however familiar one wearing a mask could get.

A question of fair cordiality formed in mind, Whitlea approached someone from whom she felt good vibes so to speak, and thus set forth inquiry.