with a silky, deep ruby cocktail dress currently adorning her five foot figure, joanna’s four inch heels enable her to NOT be completely lost in the sea of people at the gala, black locks gently curled and cascading down her mid-back. in truth, she isn’t fond of these functions — perhaps because of her unfamiliarity with the atmosphere and having to walk in those fucking shoes for much of the night, seeing people with copious amounts of money in one room and knowing she’d only make one tenth of their net worth if she e v e r makes the impact that she desires in her career ( not that she fucking CARES about money that much, but nonetheless ) — though the presence of a bar makes things a little more bearable, which explains why she’s perched on a chair, flipping her hair back and away from her face, while the elder guests exchanges hellos and fellow students seem to follow her lead. for instance, the others beside her who are waiting for their chance to order a drink like herself. “ that poor fuck’s SWAMPED by that herd of profs over there, ” she states, to no one in particular, while scrolling through her instagram to pass the time, “ while the other bartender’s mia, don’t know why they only have one dude serving before all the boring shit starts, but... ” she tsks with a quick tilt of the head, liking someone’s photo of their outfit for the event. it’s not boring overall, of course, but the amount of speeches she’s bound to hear later in the evening could put her to sleep much faster than a couple of strong drinks... something she might not be getting anytime soon, much to her chagrin.
