Who: Katherine and Enjorlas Where: Through the portal What: Infiltrating the enemy When: After their conversation on the network Status: Ongoing/unfinished
Poverty had always been a strange concept for Katherine. Money had never been an issue. As long as you played your part, you would get fed, had shelter and could rely on the protection of people more gifted and skilled than you. Misery had always arrived from a different source, not a lack of resources. No. The resources were here. It was a lack of sharing. Greed that had corrupted everyone who was wealthy. For a brief second, she wondered if her family had been that way in Asgard. If poverty had impacted the lives of the less fortune there too and the Royal family had shut its gates in front of their pleas. With her grandfather's reputation, she wouldn't be surprised.
Katherine forced the thought away as she let her gaze slide over the masses to find Enjorlas. Her hair was a loose mess. She wore a simple dress made out of cotton. It was a little too short, cleavage a little too wide open. The dress was real, the dirt and grim added with illusions. She wanted to be mistaken for a prostitute. Defending herself against those who thought they could mistreat her for what they saw in her brought a certain satisfaction with her. It soothed the beast that hadn't stopped growling since Rhysand had vanished. She would be lying if she said she only did it to teach them a lesson.
At the moment, those thoughts and what they made her lay forgotten however. The image of Enjorlas' rather basic attempt at a disguise made it easy to push away. "A master of disguise already, I see," Katherine said as she approached him from the side. The English should ensure not to blow his cover she hoped. "I don't know what you could possibly need an illusionist for." The humour in her tone made the sarcasm flow light and easy. Yes, he needed, quite dearly in her opinion.