Some would be nearly falling over themselves to make way for her – not fear of upsetting her per se, but fear of being poorly judged by everyone else. Sometimes it was even fear that she didn’t know what she was doing, that she’d roll over their toes or their dresses, as if she had no sense of what she could and could not do. The woman in white offered her a scant amount of room but it was room enough for Gwen. Whether she was being purposefully being unhelpful or having extreme faith in her ability to maneuver, Gwen wasn’t sure, but it made the woman interesting enough for a second glance.
While she was picking up her dress Gwen studied her, her own tendency to observe only increased tenfold after her years of having Quinn, an expert in reading body language herself, as her constant companion. The woman had a grace to her, even with such simple movements. For some it was from the party itself, feeling loose and languid having been to so many parties like this, used to being in dresses like that. But even from here she could see it was the body itself – her own skin, not the dress at all – that she was most comfortable in. Before she could examine her anymore, the moment was gone. The space was cleared. It was her turn.
She offered the dark haired woman a smile, small and tight, and ever so polite. “Thank you,” she offered, sincerely, but quietly. It wasn’t a grand gesture that required grand thanks but she did appreciate it nonetheless. As she passed she spared her another look, a quick moment to take a closer look at her face. And then to make it casual she looked upon her dress, not even having to pretend to be impressed by it. “Gorgeous dress, by the way.” A simple and honest compliment, nothing out of the ordinary at all.