Eddie/Holly: late, near the food
She'd left it long enough that people would be on their second drink at least by now and she stopped just before she went in at the gate just to look. It was fairy-tale pretty and that wasn't Gotham, the twinkle-lights overhead and the green lawn beneath, not her Gotham and not any Gotham at all. She curled her fingers over the fence and she leaned and she looked, all greed for the way people looked at one another, milled around, danced like it was ordinary, like it was done. She let herself look, like a little kid with their nose pressed up against glass of some impossible toy store, and then she jumped the fence, nonchalant and strolled toward the food.
Nobody noticed if they were distracted or if they thought you were meant to be there, and they thought you were meant to be there if you acted like you were. Holly didn't look as much like a wedding guest as she could, she wore black and it was practically discreet, nearly to the knee, but it was tight enough to be in the main part of her closet rather than the back. It showed everything, but she didn't hover over the food picking like a bird like she cared about looking good in a dress.
There was more food in the table than she was sure she'd seen in her life. It was weird colors, but it tasted fine, and she started with a napkin, folding careful things that would keep into her purse, small and strung on cheap gold chain, but capable of holding enough hors d'oeuvres to make breakfast for two whole days.
It was only with practically a pantry closet tucked in with a lipstick and a handful of crumpled bills that she picked out something soft, and squidgy and bright green that didn't look like it would keep smushed up against anything else and bit, with relish.