WHO: @ofwaneoft WHERE: conclave & gala
Romy was mid-pivot, doing the world’s most graceful social escape loop — a slow, casual circle from the bar to a quieter corner table that still had a direct line of sight to Avi, just in case things got weird (they always got weird). She had her drink in one hand, her bag in the other like it might shield her from eye contact, and exactly zero intention of actually talking to anyone. Which, of course, meant she immediately bumped into someone.
“Shit —sorry! I wasn’t—” Her apology tripped out of her mouth before her brain caught up. She looked up, and froze. The brunette was pretty in a way that made Romy feel like she’d been caught in the act of something — familiar, too familiar, in a grainy-memory kind of way. Like the image of someone stepping out of Colt’s barn in the middle of a don’t-ask-don’t-tell moment. She blinked, clutching her glass like it might explain the silence. “Uh… sorry. Again. My spatial awareness’s just out there taking a smoke break.”
