"You mind moving? I'm trying to see which of my disappointment children are going to die next."
The Cornucopia parties tend to be Jason's least favorite of any of the social events an Escort is obligated to go to, and tonight's no different. Feeling out of place in an outfit that's clearly been worn far too many times for fashion or facade, navigating his way around Citizens who are stinking of alcohol, and all the while waiting impatiently for the ten-or-more hours of work he'll have to do overnight, he's simmering with resentment. It would burn off the last of his social graces if he didn't know that there were some people here willing to throw assi at his charges.
That's why his voice is just shy of rude when he talks to Clara. The frazzled expression he wears turns to one of surprise recognition when he sees her face. He remembers her. Her father, Severo, was an aspiring politician who occasionally came to parties or functions that the Compsons and the Reagans and that ilk put on. The Del Valles weren't prominent enough to come to all or even most of them, but when, as his mother had put it, the doors were open to the raggedy ones, that social climber father and his massive brood of children were in tow.
Jason had been a child or a teenager at all of these, stiff and sullen even then but not hammered into the hard form he is now.
"You're-"
Which one is she? He remembers the green-haired one, but not any of the names.
oh hey, hope some assumed CR is okay
The Cornucopia parties tend to be Jason's least favorite of any of the social events an Escort is obligated to go to, and tonight's no different. Feeling out of place in an outfit that's clearly been worn far too many times for fashion or facade, navigating his way around Citizens who are stinking of alcohol, and all the while waiting impatiently for the ten-or-more hours of work he'll have to do overnight, he's simmering with resentment. It would burn off the last of his social graces if he didn't know that there were some people here willing to throw assi at his charges.
That's why his voice is just shy of rude when he talks to Clara. The frazzled expression he wears turns to one of surprise recognition when he sees her face. He remembers her. Her father, Severo, was an aspiring politician who occasionally came to parties or functions that the Compsons and the Reagans and that ilk put on. The Del Valles weren't prominent enough to come to all or even most of them, but when, as his mother had put it, the doors were open to the raggedy ones, that social climber father and his massive brood of children were in tow.
Jason had been a child or a teenager at all of these, stiff and sullen even then but not hammered into the hard form he is now.
"You're-"
Which one is she? He remembers the green-haired one, but not any of the names.
"Del Valle. The youngest one, right?"