( Honestly, formal events had always been the best missions at The Agency. For one thing, there's a bar. And snacks. And the threats were often genuine. Which, really, was the best part of it all. A guilt free night of dancing, where a difference was made to the safety of people.

And she always enjoyed dancing. There's something relaxing, different about the movements of a waltz compared to the hectic sprinting and bounding from rooftop to rooftop with which she fills most of her days. All in all, they're far more enjoyable than Kate initially gave them credit for, way back in the day when she was first dragged on assignment to one.

Admittedly, there's a stark difference between those nights and this. Several. Such as the fact that The Agency isn't in any sort of position to continue sending her on such missions, they haven't been for a long time. Or the fact that Kate let herself be talked into a simple blue dress for the occasion (it was probably Faith's doing), out of trousers and standing distinctly still as she sips a glass of wine, as if she's not entirely sure of herself, or how to move in a dress. (It's been just that long, and even now she feels something in the base of her spine twitch to alertness, as though she might just have to spring to action at some point.

Old habits, etc.) And lastly? Well, it's the fact that it's her own hair - shocking pink as it is - piled on top of her head and done up, rather than a wig. No glasses, either. No need to analyse anyone's powers, to identify a threat.

So instead, she drinks, and if someone passes by, she might even offer them a nod of greeting, and a; ) Enjoying yourself?

Edited 2017-01-17 12:54 am (UTC)

[The bright shock of pink is probably the biggest draw of attention-- while dyed hair isn't unheard of or even uncommon, it's not typical to see such vibrant, extreme colours in lavish affairs like this- ones so typically mired in darker neutrals, or any daring attempts of colour kept to an article of clothing or accessory, as opposed to any part of the person's physical self. So of course it's enough to draw attention, causing him to pause while retrieving a drink of his own, the eyes behind those lenses flickering over her as though trying to get a read- and failing.

(And isn't that interesting in and of itself?)

The pause is just long enough her to voice the question, and he meets it with a simple, neutral nod.]

Indeed. The hosts are quite gracious. [Thinly gloved fingers curl easily around the stem of his wine glass, but he doesn't move to take a drink from it just yet.]

And yourself, miss...?

( The hair stays. Really, she could have stopped colouring it years ago, let it fade back to bleach blonde and then to brunette, but old habits dye hard, as the saying almost goes. She's not even sure if she remembers what she looks like with brown hair.

(Partial lie. There's photos, but you don't look the same at 11 as you do at 30. Problems.)

But, more to the point. She gets to keep her hair out because it's Alicia's contacts that got them in this place, because - for once - she doesn't have to blend in. So she doesn't. Wigs get stifling after a while. )

Galloway. ( And punctuated with a toss of her head. She likes a lot about these nights, but the formalities-

Well, she doesn't have to abide by those any more, really. ) Call me Kate. And you're...?

( These ballrooms are spacious, like clearings without a surrounding of trees or a floor of grass. The lights twinkle like stars, like planets, like the sun itself, but they're not.

Suffice to say, the young woman who has known nothing but forests and nature for her life is fascinated, whirling around the dancefloor as she takes it all in, from the people (she's never seen this many people at one time, even in the pictures in her books), to the foods and decor. Her dress fans out behind her, twists with each turn she makes.

Really, she should calm down before she... well. No, too late. She's definitely tripping into someone. )

Oh-! I do apologise.

( Right. Get a grip, Kandara. You're supposed to be better than this. )

( For some reason - and no one's really sure why - there's a small, pink haired teenager at this event. Small like barely-cracking-five-feet-with-those-heels-on small. But at least she's somewhat dressed for the occasion, and seems to be having quite the time trying a bit of everything that's available to eat.

(She's also drinking, but that's just lemonade in a wine glass so she doesn't feel quite as young as she actually is. What a sweet waiter, really.)

Anyone who approaches, or hell, just passes her by? Probably gonna get treated to an earful about the food. )

Have you, like, tried those little pastry packages? Feta and spinach. Ohmygod, so good, I could die. I really could.

( She can't, but that's besides the point. )

[-And in his effort to be a good representative of the Citadel's Staff, as well as the Crown itself, by the time it's halfway through the night, Ignis feels as though he's accepted a dance from damn near every woman here. At first it had been fine- a casual offer, him polite enough to accept, more than content to participate in one of the waltzes...

Then that one had led into the next three after her, and then an overly eager girl who knew how to swing dance- which while fun, is exhausting in its own right- and then the first had returned dragging along a shy friend....

And as his duty, he's just smiled and accepted politely each time, serving as the courteous royal retainer and letting himself be pulled away from actually trying to get somewhere or find a damned drink. There's never a thought given to making some sort of excuse or declining any of the guests, because in a way: isn't that his duty? Again, to serve as a representative here and to do whatever was in his power to ensure the success of the event.

He finds his way to the corner Gladio had been skulking in long after he'd originally meant to get there- and by now, his clothes are at least a little rustled from all the movement, the faint sheen of perspiration visible at his hairline. Slender, gloved fingers come up to tuck into his own collar as he sighs out a breath, trying to find a bit more air underneath the tight knot of his tie.]

Bloody hell, that took forever, [His voice is low and resigned, those pale eyes closing behind his glasses for a moment. A swallow, and he's glancing up to the guardsman.] You might have cut in and rescued me, you know.

[And then, you know. You could have danced. With Him.

Instead of just being off brooding like a huge rugged wallflower.]

( he doesn't exactly do … formal. but things that have a tendency to come with the title of being a member of the crownsguard are, unfortunately, formal in nature. and it isn't that he doesn't know how to behave, or lacks the capacity for social interactions –

or that he doesn't know how to clean up, because damn, does he –

it's more a matter of feeling just a bit out of place in such a formal setting, the lines of his own suit feeling a bit too cloying, the collar of his shirt just short of suffocating; but this comes, of course, from one so unaccustomed to dressing like a normal human being and, as such, would find himself feeling like the proverbial fish out of water, even if he had found some measure of amusement in watching ignis being dragged, near literally, into dance after dance after dance.

( and of course, that isn't to say there hadn't been the tiniest bit of possessive jealousy playing along the lines of his expression as he'd maintained his place in his corner, arms folded over his chest, gaze following every single move the other man had made, each step – and he has to admit, really, that the swing part of it might have been the most interesting, if only for the intensity of it. )

when the other finally manages to meander over, gladio takes a small moment to appreciate the look of him, so sharp and crisp even with the beading perpsiration from the exertion of catering to so many dance partners, and he huffs out a small, almost inaudible chuckle at the admonishment, giving a slow roll of his shoulders that equates a shrug.

( you leave this rugged wallflower alone. ) ) A gentleman doesn't cut in. ( there's a curve to the line of his mouth, almost a smirk, but not quite. ) Besides, dancin' really isn't my thing. I'm just here to keep up appearances.

( and watch you be hot in a suit. dem coattails, tho. )

[Even if Gladio's expression never quite reaches a smirk, Ignis's certainly does. Those lips curl up easily, thin brows lifting just slightly above the frames of his glasses.]

I can assure you, there's not a soul here who expects you to be a gentleman, Gladio.

[Sorry, but them's the breaks. Even if Gladio looks the part- hair neat, wearing an entire set of clothing for once, rather than running around in little more than pants and an open shirt... the discomfort is practically evident on him. (Or perhaps it's only noticeable to one who's known him for so long.) As always, he still cuts the figure of an imposing guard, especially keeping back from the crowds and to himself-

But he can't help but feel it's wasting an opportunity.

Still, he'll take another step, lightly tapping his knuckles against Gladio's shoulder as he begins walking again, a playful indication that he should be followed.]

Suit yourself. But at least come with me to get some air. [Because he needs to get outside for at least a few minutes, pull a bit farther from the crowds himself.] I think there's enough guards who are actually on duty to cover you in the interim.

Nah? The hell am I even tryin' for, then? ( wow, what a little shit. you just keep right on smirking, there, sir. he's got your number.

but to his credit, he had put some effort into looking the part of, at the very least, a man capable of buttoning a button every now and again; his suit is simple, clean-cut and dark, and even if it makes him look damn near presentable he would have been lying to himself and the whole of everyone if he tried to get away with saying that it didn't feel like his tie was too tight, that there were too many damned buttons actually put through their holes and that he wasn't mildly concerned he was close to suffocating. all because of a shirt collar.

yeah, okay, so he's occasionally ridiculous. sue him.

he still isn't quite smirking when he moves to follow ignis outside, but almost, especially with the sound of the chuckle that comes next. ) Fiiinally need a break from all the attention? Looked like you were enjoyin' it from where I was standin'. ( there's nothing in him right now but the urge to tease, because there's no denying that the other looks like he's been run through the ringer, like he wouldn't have managed a moment's rest if he hadn't snuck away when he did.

and who knows, he might not have. )