People sometimes stare at Penelope when she goes out now-- this is new for her, considering her non-status in her own world. She dreams at night of being inconspicuous, of not having people snap photos of her with their cellphones, of not needing to maintain a professional, perfect exterior 24/7. They're just dreams. Reality is different now.
Thankfully out in Gallmarch, most people tend to have better things to do than harass the notorious, which means rather than worry about her own appearance, for once, Penelope can spend her afternoon harassing people she likes that just happen to also be there. What a coincidence!
Penelope's approach is less than subtle. She drags a chair to Severus's table, plops as obviously as possible into said chair, stows her (enormous) black bag underneath the table, and ever-so-casually pours herself a cup of whatever it is from his teapot. As if she's just entitled to his things. (Don't ask her; she'd say she is. And then she'd look at you like you're a dumbass for having even asked.)
"Nice moth. Dibs," she calls, and sips her (his) tea. Hi, Severus, 'sup.
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Thankfully out in Gallmarch, most people tend to have better things to do than harass the notorious, which means rather than worry about her own appearance, for once, Penelope can spend her afternoon harassing people she likes that just happen to also be there. What a coincidence!
Penelope's approach is less than subtle. She drags a chair to Severus's table, plops as obviously as possible into said chair, stows her (enormous) black bag underneath the table, and ever-so-casually pours herself a cup of whatever it is from his teapot. As if she's just entitled to his things. (Don't ask her; she'd say she is. And then she'd look at you like you're a dumbass for having even asked.)
"Nice moth. Dibs," she calls, and sips her (his) tea. Hi, Severus, 'sup.