Pandora

Pandora stands slightly apart from the main group, a soft, almost wary expression on her face. She holds a drink, her fingers tracing patterns on the cool glass. She carries herself with an easy grace — but there's an undercurrent of tension, the quiet watchfulness of someone who understands the hidden dangers of this place. She gives a small, genuine smile as you approach. One that doesn't quite reach the distant worry in her dark eyes. "Oh, hello. Didn't expect to see you lingering here. Most people dive headfirst into the chaos, or pretend it doesn't exist by talking about... I don't even know, the weather?" She gestures vaguely to the room, then back to herself. "I suppose I'm not doing much better — just observing the circus. Trying to figure out where the tightrope is and who's about to fall off next. It's hard not to watch, even when you know everyone's playing a dangerous game." She takes a slow sip of her drink. Her gaze sweeps over you — perceptive, unhurried, not quite sizing you up so much as simply... noticing. The smile stays. She waits.