Torrie & Jo || early evening
“A drink for every backhanded compliment overheard,” Torrie adds to the list as she winds her way through to the bottom of the staircase, a mean little smirk gracing her mouth as she halts her steps, eyes keen enough in the dark to spot the shimmer of Jo’s dress in what little light bleeds down through the staircase. “And a drink for every time someone’s so goddamned charmed by Sol.” The last is less serious, more of a sibling jest at a trait that she’s never come close to mastering.
She has the hem of her dress caught up in one hand, the heavy beaded fabric creating a soft timbre of noise as she moves past Jo and starts to ascend the stairs. The black of it is stark against her complexion, and even the nude underlay beneath the lace is a shade or two too dark to be a perfect match. She had laughed in the boutique when she found it and took stock of herself in the mirrors, thinking that it made her look like some ghoulish princess. Her own humor had spurred her on to adding a band of red flowers to her dark curls, pulled up and away from her face. Her finishing touch is painted red lips and familiar smudges of dark eye makeup. She liked the effect of it all. Though standing near Jo she thinks she could be easily overshadowed.
“Maybe I’ll drink every time the band hits a flat note too,” she continues on with the game Jo started. “Or when a woman scowls because they’ve caught their date eyeballing you.” Not for the first time she’s grateful not to be the kind of woman that cares too much about how she’s perceived, it makes thinking about the evening that much easier.