narrative
It had been ages since Violet had been out at such a festivity and yet there she was, floating effortlessly through the crowd. She was dressed in stark, black clothing and stood out, an old matron in a sea of the young at heart. Violet regarded the people around her with a mild sort of curiosity; it was, if nothing else, interesting to watch the people come and go. At times, she found herself aching for her younger days when her eyes fell across young couples in love. But this was a quiet pain that she could ignore easily enough.
So as to not completely stand out, Violet did drink. She had one large lidded stein in hand that she sipped from time to time. The beer was good, better, even, than she remembered because she denied herself such little pleasures in her day-to-day. At times she would sit in corners, or wander into the center of the room, or chat up familiar faces with polite conversation. The night wore on slowly, but it was as good a way to pass the time as any.
The reason she'd come was for her men. Rictor, specifically, but also Raol to an extent. She'd come to observe and to ensure they didn't do anything overly stupid. At one point in the night, she made brief eye contact with her young Korporal. He squinted at her in annoyance and she stared back, utterly unimpressed, and that was all before her attention was drawn away elsewhere. The boy might think himself a little lion, but Violet certainly knew better. And the only way to gain his respect, it seemed, was to best him at his own game. If that meant she'd have to be petty, so be it.
Turning, Violet hid a mean smirk of satisfaction at Rictor's annoyance.
It would be dark and the streets rowdy before she finally decided she'd had enough. And then, as quiet and unnoticeable as she'd arrived, she all but disappeared from the crowd.