At another one of her mother’s elaborate parties, Iona was drunk but for once at an acceptable time of the day, her hand perfectly shaped around her glass, a small dredge of neat whisky swirling as she watched over the room of people.

There’s a small, tipsy, sway to her step but it’s so common for her it could just be brushed aside for her normal gait by now. Her eyes fall to you, moving over your outfit as her gaze narrows down.

“I haven’t seen you here before.”

She saunters closer, falling to rest on the arm of the couch you’re sitting on. There’s a look in her eyes beside the intoxicated glaze, a twitch to the corner of her mouth. She was bored, you looked entertaining to say the least.