→ take me to wonderland.

[thedominatrix]

Who: Irene & guests.
What: Birthday drinks.
Where: Syriac Well.
When: 24th Shadri.
Notes: An outfit.

Birthdays are busy when you maintain a variety of different social circles. There's the enormous, lavish, exclusive party she throws, where she stays stone cold sober and pushes drinks on everyone else, to fascinating results- there are numerous private one on one dinners for the people who all need to feel like they're her favourite, like they're getting the special treatment, poor things, and that's almost fun just because of how dishonest it is except the boredom tends to negate that. But then there's this, which is play and not work, Irene inviting people because she likes them rather than because they need to feel invited, and because when she likes people she has to insert herself into their lives and demand as much of their attention as possible.

The surroundings are incredibly sumptuous, of course, stirred by a slight breeze from the open balcony doors. The atmosphere is intimate, private, slightly heady and unreal, urged on by some excellent wine (far from the only thing on offer, of course, but particularly notable) and Irene's languid charm, her usual society persona toned down ever so slightly as if to say well, you all know the truth, which is a very insidious sort of lie that she can still have fun telling. She's being very attentive to her guests- an uncharitable observer might suggest, in fact, that she pounces on them as they arrive.

But they wouldn't get an invite.

Comments

[thedominatrix]

"Love it," Irene assures her- true. There isn't a type of cake Irene doesn't approve of, really. And even if she didn't like it, she'd enjoy the fact that Vanessza-Benevenuta made it- whether that's sentimentality or ego is entirely up for debate. "I don't think anyone's made me a cake before- though I promise you've already made an impression."

A wicked grin and, as if to say for example-- "Nice necklace."

[asklepios]

It's true that cake does tend to go down well on birthdays, after all; she'd been relatively sure she couldn't go wrong there, if only because of the slim likelihood that anyone else would be baking for Irene Adler.

“I thought you'd like that, too,” she says, with a brief laugh, touching the edge of the pendant in question.

[thedominatrix]

Benevenuta was right in recalling how Irene likes to see her wearing her things; it's being possessive, and half a kind of secret understanding between the two of them, with only them knowing the story behind the pendant- relatively harmless and relatively frivolous, not like her other secrets, but thrilling all the same.

"Rather a lot. So; are you spoiling me or being calculating?" she asks archly, hands on her hips and a grin on her face. "Or both, of course."

[asklepios]

“Yes,” she says, tartly, laughing - baking for Irene is a bit of a joke, a bit something intimate, something that no one else would do, but it's also just the sort of that the Benevenuta does. She's a bit somebody's mother, in that way; she makes preserves and birthday cakes and feeds people when they come to visit her and does all her tellings-off in the kitchen. It makes a funny sort of contrast in her own mind, at least, of her gift and their secrets - the sort that she enjoys.

Benevenuta does have so many secrets.

“Happy birthday, hm?”

[thedominatrix]

Irene laughs too, leaning in to give Benevenuta a very quick kiss, so as not to smear either lipstick nor the boundaries of being friends with benefits; "Thank you."

Another considering glance towards the cake, and she adds, extremely seriously, "I can hardly dig in now without all my other guests wondering where on earth I've vanished to, but if by some mysterious chance you end up being last to leave, I might find it within me to share later on. Of course, it's my birthday and my present, so naturally I call the shoe."

[asklepios]

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” Benevenuta promises, touching her hand lightly to Irene's elbow as they both straighten away from each other again, smiling; there are moments with Irene where she feels more like herself, and it's something she thinks of as a little bit dangerous because Irene more than because Benevenuta, and she thinks very briefly that she wouldn't have thought in a kitchen, of all places.

It makes her smile, though. Happy birthday indeed.