Where the hell did she get pants? I didn't get pants when I showed up.
This is not, by any means, the most important thing Teddy could be thinking about right now. This is not even the most important thing she could, probably, be thinking about the young woman (probably) she's half-noticed from her periphery.
She is new, though. Teddy's already noticed a few new faces. Interesting. No one, they think, who wasn't here in December showed up in the middle of January, for all of that mess. The month turned over -- weird shit again. Though, a little more subtly creepy. Maybe. They can't tell if it is, really, or if they're just getting used to it. Point is, now, a party at Marjorie's, and at it, new people.
Teddy's going to have to scribble that down in a minute. New people - party. But right now, wearing -- to be fair, a much less discomfiting dress than she was at the Christmas party, less ...foof and longer sleeves; a slimmer but not tight skirt, kind of like a swishy trenchcoat -- the pants seem relevant. Or at least relevantly indignance-causing. What they're given is probably random but the fact that it's Teddy's special hell to not have doesn't escape her.
Neither, of course, does the fact that people are doing the pointed-side-eye thing Teddy hates more than life. That's probably down to the outfit, they think, but now that they've taken notice of her, they see her sign, tentatively, at someone who'd been looking, getting a blankly polite smile that doesn't reach their eyes in response.
Where is she from that she assumes people will sign? It doesn't matter except as a data point, though. She's annoyed at the murmuring, and finds upon gentle prodding that the vague protective-grouchy feeling she's getting has nothing to do with the fact that the young woman's, y'know, kind of pretty and also clearly someone who prioritizes the right things in life (comfortable clothing: seconds on cake); nor is it the general simmering dislike of the town in general. It's specifically that her signing is drawing some of the stares, the same way that she gets irritated just thinking about having to ask for accommodations for testing at school.
Teddy gives her a nod, as she reaches the hors d'ouevres: that kind of subtle upward head jerk of I see you they'd usually have given someone back home -- well, at and around school, moreso -- who was radiating queer or some other overlap, even if they didn't ever speak to them. It's served them in noisy bars before: here it gives them a chance to sign, hello.
They don't sign, she advises. Then adds with a little bit of a thoughtful face. ...A few. Mostly -- she shakes her head.
You're new here?
[OOC: Teddy uses she/they OR rotating pronouns (if someone will mix them, they are totally happy to accept as many pronoun sets as the speaker wants to try on them). I alternate she/they by paragraph to make it both feel accurate and legible, but you can use whatever you want; and of course Chell isn't expected to know this at all!]
iii
This is not, by any means, the most important thing Teddy could be thinking about right now. This is not even the most important thing she could, probably, be thinking about the young woman (probably) she's half-noticed from her periphery.
She is new, though. Teddy's already noticed a few new faces. Interesting. No one, they think, who wasn't here in December showed up in the middle of January, for all of that mess. The month turned over -- weird shit again. Though, a little more subtly creepy. Maybe. They can't tell if it is, really, or if they're just getting used to it. Point is, now, a party at Marjorie's, and at it, new people.
Teddy's going to have to scribble that down in a minute. New people - party.
But right now, wearing -- to be fair, a much less discomfiting dress than she was at the Christmas party, less ...foof and longer sleeves; a slimmer but not tight skirt, kind of like a swishy trenchcoat -- the pants seem relevant. Or at least relevantly indignance-causing. What they're given is probably random but the fact that it's Teddy's special hell to not have doesn't escape her.
Neither, of course, does the fact that people are doing the pointed-side-eye thing Teddy hates more than life. That's probably down to the outfit, they think, but now that they've taken notice of her, they see her sign, tentatively, at someone who'd been looking, getting a blankly polite smile that doesn't reach their eyes in response.
Where is she from that she assumes people will sign?
It doesn't matter except as a data point, though. She's annoyed at the murmuring, and finds upon gentle prodding that the vague protective-grouchy feeling she's getting has nothing to do with the fact that the young woman's, y'know, kind of pretty and also clearly someone who prioritizes the right things in life (comfortable clothing: seconds on cake); nor is it the general simmering dislike of the town in general. It's specifically that her signing is drawing some of the stares, the same way that she gets irritated just thinking about having to ask for accommodations for testing at school.
Teddy gives her a nod, as she reaches the hors d'ouevres: that kind of subtle upward head jerk of I see you they'd usually have given someone back home -- well, at and around school, moreso -- who was radiating queer or some other overlap, even if they didn't ever speak to them. It's served them in noisy bars before: here it gives them a chance to sign, hello.
They don't sign, she advises. Then adds with a little bit of a thoughtful face. ...A few. Mostly -- she shakes her head.
You're new here?
[OOC: Teddy uses she/they OR rotating pronouns (if someone will mix them, they are totally happy to accept as many pronoun sets as the speaker wants to try on them). I alternate she/they by paragraph to make it both feel accurate and legible, but you can use whatever you want; and of course Chell isn't expected to know this at all!]