“Hmm. Pitch, what’s your opinion?” Wynne twisted and turned before the mirror, her skirt swishing around her ankles.
“It’s… fine, I guess? I still think we should just show up in full armor.”
“This is a dinner party, not a strategy meeting. And a lot of the dignitaries there still think of ‘adventurer’ as a fancy term for ‘violent brute’. Armor is technically within the dress code, but we need to project a certain image,” said Wynne, adjusting the collar of her suit jacket.
“And the scars aren’t going to be a problem for that?”
“Plenty of them have military careers themselves. They’ll understand as long as we can still clean up.”
“What about the teeth?”
Wynne paused. “…Well, I suppose if we don’t talk much…”
“Why are we so concerned with making ourselves approachable to these people, anyway?” Pitch crossed her arms. “This is supposed to be a meeting of equals. That might not be how they’re treating it, but that’s what they put on the invite. If they come expecting kittens and find themselves facing a coeurl…” She smirked. “That’s their own problem.”
Wynne raised a hand to her mouth in contemplation. “…You know, you make a good point.”
She loosened her collar just enough that it was clearly intentional and fixed her reflection with a gaze she normally reserved for the battlefield – not threatening, but appraising to a degree that unsettled just as much. Like a predator deciding if its audience made worthwhile prey.
Pitch clapped her hands in delight. “Now that’s a look I can get behind! I think I might actually enjoy this!”
Wynne smiled back at her. “Just remember to let me do the talking, alright?”
“As long as you remember to show off the teeth~”
