This was a very difficult evening for Juno. Firstly, she wasn't used to the attention and the surprise in people's eyes that screamed 'wow, hey, she cleans up nice', and then there was the fact that everybody looked so amazing. She had resorted to focusing on the food, but gotten sort-of stranded on the thing that looked like a rectangular pizza and tasted fucking amazing. Everything else looked various degrees of fancy, but Juno would get there. Meanwhile, and because every person she talked to - which totaled about three or four without counting Lennon, who was now hanging with his other buddies not too far from her at the bar - produced some kind of effect on her, Juno was seriously wondering if booze made that better or worse. She couldn't remember, since she neither felt like that often or really drank all that often either.
Whatever, she was getting a drink. Wine wasn't exactly her thing at all, so Juno went behind the bar and fixed herself a generous glass of rum and coke - easy on the rum...to a point - and tossed a straw into the glass. After that she leaned against the billiard table and resorted to people-watching, drink in one hand while the other felt around for pockets in a dress that had none. Great.
She didn't notice anyone coming in at first, distracted by how awkward she felt to be alone and how frankly hot and bothered she felt, to the point where she had to get her breathing under control and press the icy glass against her face to cool her skin a bit. Except that felt good, which was worse. She finally took a sip of her drink and looked ahead at the bar. And there was Marco.
"Holy fuck." she murmured, straw between her teeth. She wanted to get over there, or call him over, but Juno did neither. She just stared wide eyed as warmth traveled through her, pooling in her lower abdomen and back. She crossed her legs, blinking, and pulled harder on the straw. More drinking was never the solution but fuck if she wasn't all out of options.