Tara, Lennon, open
Tara shrugged. "More after the fact. I didn't have time to notice anything ... during. I was ... heading down the aisle and then I woke up here." But yes ... after the fact it had been profoundly disturbing. That someone had made it from ... wherever, across the fields, or up the driveway, and swiped her with no one any wiser. She assumed. For all she knew, they'd massacred everyone at home and torched the place. Though that was a horrible, horrifying thought, and she tried to push it away.
She watched his antics with the phone, a little bemused at the end selfie. She'd mostly taken pictures of the animals, or her family, when she thought to take pictures at all, but ... she wasn't much into social media. She had a Facebook and a Twitter but rarely used them except to post some of the more interesting pictures and to follow what her long-distance friends were up to.
"Well, it worked," she murmured. Her eyes drifted over the room again, noticing it had started to fill up a little more. But she'd seen most of these people at the party, so she at least had a reasonable feel for how populated the place was.
Shaking her head, she lapsed into silence as she set about opening the large, flat present which proved to be a painting. All the horse-themed stuff was making her that strange happy-sad. She liked it, and it was lovely, but oh dear lord did it make her miss her real horses at home. Pressing her lips together and biting down, she stared upward for a few seconds until she thought she had a better handle on her emotions. It was Christmas (sort of) and supposed to be happy. But she was also supposed to be home with her family, having Christmas with them. "Do ..." She began before she cleared her throat. "Do they have ... nails or picture hooks or something?" She asked him. "So I can hang this up?" Maybe there was some sort of tool shop or junk drawer or something she could rummage through.