Rivethira swirls the minimally alchoholic drink in her hand, and tries not to glance towards the eastern set of windows. She's unaccustomed to being so close to the Howling Mountain, and it's putting her on edge. Sneaking peaks at it through the curtains would only persuade her to upgrade to one of the less fruity drinks available, and if she is going to get blackout drunk, this party is certainly not the place for it. She has to mingle a little while longer, make the most of her time here in the capital. The whole trip's been mostly a waste, but giving up on it entirely solidifies it as one, and she's still holding out hopes that she can salvage it. Maybe.
Everyone seems to have grown bored of her novelty by now, at least. Good. Maybe they can stop with the flowery poetry about her - what was that one man's verse? Something about fiery orange hair and emerald green eyes, followed by three verses of what he thought was clever innuendo about what was under her dress. The entire thing rather made her want to finish wrapping up her business that week and go home. To quiet forests, modest towns, slightly temperamental weather, and intelligent conversation. Instead of competing stanzas attempting to find the most poetic ways to describe the green of her eyes, made more and more ridiculous by how her eyes are hazel. Perfectly common, even here, far away from her home.
She wonders if she did something to make them think she'd enjoy what essentially amounts to bold faced lies. Do they think that incorrectly telling her about physical characteristics she's had all her life will win her heart? The prospect seems absurd. Is anyone actually persuaded by such misaimed and shallow compliments? Surely there has to be someone here that's not so, so - this. Somewhere. She just needs to figure out how to find and talk to them, and maybe she'll stop quietly hating this city.