Well, late doesn't matter.
Ariane wondered, though, where the time went when situations like these pressed in. She broke through her contemplation for a bit, grabbing a person off to the side and asking what was going on in her mildly accented voice, appeased after the answer and letting him go. Some sort of party, she hadn't caught exactly what it was for.
I always end up in places like these at the times of festivity, she thought wryly. It wasn't as if it mattered, anyway. A party might serve to get a few people abnormally drunk, make things a bit louder, whirl a bit of music about the stage and perhaps from the tabletops. It would be fun, she thouht, to join in sometime. It wasn't as if anyone was near enough to give her that painfully amused and all too patronizing look for being immature. Dancing had been fun... as a child.
But it was later afternoon. Ariane finally sat down with a bowl of some sort of beefy-like stew, an early supper for her. It was warm, at any rate, and smelt like some sort of domestic meat rather than the unknown outcroppings from some creatures that made you simply eat it with mental fingers crossed. The type of food you didn't want to ask what it contained.
It tasted tolerable. She wrinkled her nose. Perhaps a bit more salt... And innerly laughed. Who was she to speak—or even think. She thought she might be able to burn a salad if she tried.
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