Re: The City: Sasha, Jude, Oliver
Jude didn't hate parties. Pretentious or otherwise. He didn't hate people either: people who thought they were above everyone else usually had some perspective where they were and Jude liked multifaceted worlds where there was always a different perspective. This sort of affair was Gatsby to him, Gatsby off the page and living, and if he turned his head and saw the glisten of a girl's shadow, he would not have been surprised.
He turned his chin toward his proffered arm and smiled at Sasha, an unassuming, 'oh this? nothing' kind of smile that was eight parts modesty to one part significant satisfaction and turned that sunshine-smile onto Oliver in equal magnimity. Oliver, Jude knew, would hate the presence of Sasha, but Oliver? Couldn't distract anyone without drawing attention to himself, and yes, Jude had seen the dress.
He laughed, a pleased, low sound in his throat. "Yes, Oliver." Dry. "But don't scare it, or it might run away. It's just a party." A look toward Sasha, slanted sideways, and then at Oliver, meaningfully. Just a party. No heist in sight. Honest.
Jude looked ahead to the door, and to the looming presence of something muscled and suit-clad. Hasty recalculation. "I always like a good garden," steering around toward the back, and a night sky strung with fairy-lights and candles nestled in glasses lining the path. "And this is really good garden." Up ahead, an open set of french doors, trailing chiffon curtains.