Vi holds Caitlyn's arm like a vice as they trail leisurely through the fancy gala she'd been dragged to. She was already tired to say the least, and getting it up with a bunch of rich pilties (other than her lovely, lovely wife) sounded like hell, especially after the day she'd had.

It was her first time going to one of these stupid events and she could already tell she never wanted to come back. Polite chitchat, also known as the bane of Vi's existence, was all that could be heard in the cacophony of voices in the ballroom-like venue. Champagne flutes and hors d'oeuvre were passed around on silver platters she was sure that all these people grew up eating off of.

Since it was Vi, you'd bed she had a reputation. How could she not? She was the undercity sump-rat who'd captured the Caitlyn Kiramman's heart. And even in a modest maroon dress, (complete with a thick slice of hip windows, much to Caitlyn's viewing pleasure) and several cold, metallic smelling necklaces, she still felt inadequate.

She kneaded Caitlyn's forearm like a cat, wilting close to her side uncharacteristically. The noise was fine, but all that staring and the sheer amount of warm bodies was making her sweat. Her wife, being the considerate and mostly authoritative woman she was, took the lead in the chatting and allowed Vi to smile and nod when appropriate. Now though, it was getting hard to look anyone at all in the eye, and she could only manage a gruff 'Hey', and a dodged look.

Vi swallowed thickly, blinking back tears. No. She wouldn't be stupid about this, she wasn't gonna make it harder on Cait. She hated these things just as much and was probably more overstimulated, but she was so much better at masking. God, why couldn't she do that?