Irene Adler (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thedominatrix) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
multiversallogs2012-06-24 05:58 pm
thedominatrix) wrote in multiversallogs2012-06-24 05:58 pm
→ take me to wonderland.
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.
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.
no subject
As for answering the question himself, it proves more difficult than he'd anticipated. Two months ago—before his brother disappeared, before Sol and his daughter moved to Queensgate, before Alan and Ilde ate tartufo together, before Irene Adler jumped out of a moving carriage and met him for drinks the next day—the answer would have been much simpler. Before, when he felt more certain of which world was real and which was the dream. He's not so confident, now. About anything.
“I think I would also keep a key,” he says, after a time.