( xDDD Lulz! I was wondering if you overlooked me. And that's good. Atm, I'm sooo bored...)
"Um, hello there..." the elf (I'm not human. xD) said to the talking chicken. Did this thing come from a "Frankenstein" and "Chicken Little" crossover? She tried to remain calm and continued, "I was just curious about, um, your interesting outfit. Where did you get it?" ^^;
She tried to look away from the chicken lady and find the leprechaun. 'Did he wave, or was I imagining things? Gotta go talk to him!'
The decor was nice, but the dance itself was nothing Dharumis hadn't seen before— couples a bit too "open" about their relationship, heavy drinkers by the bar, attention-seekers dancing by themselves— except for one participant: the literal chicken swaggering about with a cigarette in its gloved hand.
At least it's confident, Dharumis thought, smiling politely lest the being looked his way. No one else seemed quite as conscious about its feelings, however, for at least two people were staring at it with gaping mouths. He was happy it was there, though; it answered his question pertaining to smoking in the room. Taking the silver box out of his pocket, Dharumis retrieved from it a pen knife, a book of matches, and a single cigar. Placing the box on a table, he cut the cigar, placing the knife back into the box. He struck a match, lit it, and put all the goods, except the cigar itself, which was in his mouth, back into the box, which in turn returned to his pocket. He took a deep puff and saw that it was good.
still looking around, Edward notices a table of food, organized as if it was a buffet. The inviting aroma of delicacies and treats and edibles drew him closer. However, it was only an illusion. He frowned and continued to look around.
The lack of charisma and confidence this elf[my bad] had was, to say in the least, disturbing. Was she not comfortable in her own skin, or was it that the very being of her presence was awesome? Eh... Who cares? She would attempt to make conversation with her anyway. Kicking out the right side of her hip, hand still resting on her left, she spoke rather eloquently.
"My dear, this outfit is something that no regular person can get their hands on. It's all designer. I'm afraid you can't recognize me with this mask on, but I am a very important person."
Little did she mention that her VIP status was not valid in the country they were in, but only in South Africa. And nobody gives a s**t about South African celebrities. Chicken Woman wondered if this elf could even validate beforehand that it was a costume, and that she wasn't really a chicken. Perhaps elves are slower minded creatures? This causes her to chuckle placing her opposite hand onto the front of her beak. Maybe if she was lucky, she'd take off her mask. Maybe.