[ In whatever hellish, heavy thing she's dressed in on this planet, there are, surprisingly, pockets. Pockets. Skirts that come with pockets were the greatest thing ever invented next to strawberries and cream and wine. Who knew some medieval gowns came with them. Not just the pockets but the pouch which kept whatever 'coin' she had— that was none.
Nate was going to end up empty-handed whenever he got around to trying to pickpocket her, not that either of them know about the other. Her hood is up, tucking her hair and face from view. Elena hasn't had much of a chance yet to try the food or drink that's been offered as she's been more interested in walking the crowds of the festivities and seeing who else is here that she would know or recognize. Which is hopefully not Talbot or Marlowe.
Standing off to the side now leaves her back open and vulnerable, perfect for some conniving little thief to come along and try to pilfer her pouch sitting openly at her hip.
God, these sleeves and these skirts are so cumbersome, all the layers underneath. How in the hell did anyone wear this back in the day? She's beginning to miss her camisoles and light button up shirts. Her khakis.
Too distracted by watching the real people mingle and the...humanoid robots...? This is some crazy Ex-Machina shit right here, if she could tell human apart from machine, which she can't. But back to the point— Elena's too busy with her eyes forward that, at first, she doesn't notice that there's someone at her back as the hood obstructs most of her view to the back and her sides unless she fully turns her head. Only when she feels the tug at her side does she look away from the crowds and look down— what the hell? Is someone trying to get their grubby hands on her money pouch? There's no money in there for them to take!
Whatever self-defense lessons she's had, guess it's time to put them to the test while wearing this layered bedsheet combo of fabrics as her elbow crooks and swings back sharply. Maybe she'll catch them in the eye or the head or the face, any one of those areas sounds perfect to stun them for a confrontation because— seriously— who do they think they are trying to steal from her? They obviously don't know who she is— she's Elena Goddamn Fisher™— she's got a mean right hook and goes around punching asshats all the time when they think they can threaten her. Or, in this case, steal from her. ]
cromia, fight me, fists up
Nate was going to end up empty-handed whenever he got around to trying to pickpocket her, not that either of them know about the other. Her hood is up, tucking her hair and face from view. Elena hasn't had much of a chance yet to try the food or drink that's been offered as she's been more interested in walking the crowds of the festivities and seeing who else is here that she would know or recognize. Which is hopefully not Talbot or Marlowe.
Standing off to the side now leaves her back open and vulnerable, perfect for some conniving little thief to come along and try to pilfer her pouch sitting openly at her hip.
God, these sleeves and these skirts are so cumbersome, all the layers underneath. How in the hell did anyone wear this back in the day? She's beginning to miss her camisoles and light button up shirts. Her khakis.
Too distracted by watching the real people mingle and the...humanoid robots...? This is some crazy Ex-Machina shit right here, if she could tell human apart from machine, which she can't. But back to the point— Elena's too busy with her eyes forward that, at first, she doesn't notice that there's someone at her back as the hood obstructs most of her view to the back and her sides unless she fully turns her head. Only when she feels the tug at her side does she look away from the crowds and look down— what the hell? Is someone trying to get their grubby hands on her money pouch? There's no money in there for them to take!
Whatever self-defense lessons she's had, guess it's time to put them to the test while wearing this layered bedsheet combo of fabrics as her elbow crooks and swings back sharply. Maybe she'll catch them in the eye or the head or the face, any one of those areas sounds perfect to stun them for a confrontation because— seriously— who do they think they are trying to steal from her? They obviously don't know who she is— she's Elena Goddamn Fisher™— she's got a mean right hook and goes around punching asshats all the time when they think they can threaten her. Or, in this case, steal from her. ]