Peggy & Open
Honestly, she’d only stepped away for a moment, relatively certain that Steve would continue to hover nearby. He didn’t like to mingle at these events, and she couldn’t think that he would’ve suddenly found the urge to take a tour or go outside to pose for photos with some of the holographic displays and eager admirers. Peggy could hope he’d retired to his complimentary room for the evening, or perhaps gone in search of water, but she had a sneaking suspicion that those were more likely to be pipe dreams than reality.
It was fine. Steve was a grown man and fully capable of managing himself. It was just… he did it so poorly in a crowd like this one. Give him a group of his peers- familiar, from the Districts, the kind of men and women he’d seen every day of his life until his Games- and he was fine. Throwing him to a bunch of Capitolites, however, was like tossing a hapless rabbit in amongst wolves.
If the rabbit were as big as the wolves, anyway. And the wolves wore a completely unfortunate amount of sequins.
Her metaphors were terrible, but she was worried. Peggy handled worry as she handled most things, which was to say she’d stepped away from a small number of her fellow escorts and headed in search of her missing friend. If she couldn’t find Steve, she’d settle for someone else who might go looking as well- discreetly, of course, because the trick to managing anything like a pointed hunt in a crowd like this was to make it a social occasion. Stop. Smile. Share a drink, mention the person you were looking for offhand, and see what happened. Then redirect, make up a ready excuse, and step away. Rinse. Repeat.
Turning, a drink that looked something like a sunset contained in a champagne flute in hand, Peggy very nearly collided with another guest. She froze, free hand outstretched and eyes wide, and offered a hasty, “I am so terribly sorry. Are you all right?” Clumsy of her. She was usually much more graceful than this.