Re: Guest Tables
As he poured her a glass of water, she hesitated with the slightest amount of surprise. Ever since the prior weekend, she found herself utterly unsure of how to react to anything Mr. Morgenstern did. For a few brief seconds, she had been inside his head, experiencing the waves of desire and loathing that drove him to slice his own foot open on a crest of drunken rage. Though she had several days to process this - while knowing that he, in turn, had experienced her side of their Masquerade kiss - she had yet to come to a conclusion. It was a humiliating sort of failure.
Shelving that thought for the moment, she listened as he dissected the clearly lower class "bad boy" seated at the Press Table aside his glittering date. "I agree," she replied, the words a bit nasty in her mouth because she so hated to contribute nothing but mute agreement. Unfortunately, she believed Mr. Morgenstern to be completely correct. "I venture that he isn't a reporter. The way in which the others regard him suggests that he is utterly foreign to them, and in the social circle of news reporting, knowing your competition is vital. Even if he were new, they would know."
As the silver-clad Max Main stood, offering a dance to the man, Daryl tilted her head slightly to the side. "They aren't engaged," she murmured softly, more to herself than Mr. Morgenstern. However, she wasn't about to let this insight go unspoken. Her gaze shifted to him as she gestured towards the two with a careful hand. "Their body language is entirely disconnected. Though they attended this banquet as a couple, they are not in sync in any fashion. The way she carries herself is opposite to his, and they could just as easily be speaking to anyone else at this function."
She broke her assessment to take a sip of water before returning. "When two people are united or engaged with one another, they mirror each other. Each reflects the other in their posture and facial expression." Just as the words left her mouth, her gaze focused on Mr. Morgenstern. She noticed that he was seated with his left hand on his glass, right hand resting on the table as he turned his lower body towards her. Similarly, she held her glass and turned towards him, shoulders matching his with eerie precision.
Clearing her throat, she shifted her glass into her other hand, using it as a barrier between them as she straightened her hips in the chair. "I...thought it was a worthwhile observation," she said clumsily, looking away with obvious discomfort.