Raven + Eric
Raven swept her hair over one shoulder as she watched the handler approach. He wasn’t her handler, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t turn her into Holly for the underage drinking. She straightened her back, tilted her chin, put on the airs of someone who was confident in every single thing they were doing; she had always been good at that. That’s what made it easy to grab a chute in the first place without even blinking at the staff stooping by as some lackluster security. The facts that she knew about Hawthorne could barely even fit the nearly-empty chute in her hand, but she knew that this party was of his making and that he didn’t have a reputation around Limbo for being a hard-ass.
So maybe it would be okay.
Her attempt at positivism paid off when he began refilling her chute with more champagne; certainly, better than having it taken away. A slow, somewhat sly grin began spreading across her face as she glanced up into his face. “I have no complaints,” she admitted.
When Eric joined her, Raven pivoted on her seat so that she was facing him a little better. Her training so far as an agent had been minimal, not to say anything of her total lack of field work, but becoming friendlier with one of the facilitators didn’t seem like such a bad ploy to get closer to that goal. It was the only way she could ever prove her abilities to be useful, after all; as something that could help, rather than harm.
“Foam machines weren’t on any brochure I saw,” Raven agreed, still smirking as she took a sip of her champagne. “What are you going to do to top yourself next time? St. Patrick’s Day is only a month away, and after two successes, the people will have expectations now…,”