[ barty's been to enough galas and fundraisers that they all sort of blend together. rub elbows with a few high rollers, check in with a former client or two, huddle with his colleagues to talk shit on people they don't like - it's a practiced dance. he doesn't much care for whoever this is honor of, some billionaire who wants his ass pat. for people who know about bartholomew rook's extracurriculars, he's well-regarded. for anyone else, he's a professor of archeology, easily able to acknowledge and ignore.
he's definitely not as well-off or as polished as effie is, but barty knows how to clean up well enough: dry-cleaned suit, shoes with minimal marks on them, scruff tidied up so that it looks like an actual choice, and not just that he was lazy about shaving. he's listening to a story about some new discovery in mozambique, champagne flute in hand, when he feels the hand on his arm and the warm presence next to him.
to his credit, he doesn't double take too obviously when he realizes who's speaking. ] Sure. [ an apologetic smile towards the small circle, and he murmurs into effie's ear as he's led away. ]
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he's definitely not as well-off or as polished as effie is, but barty knows how to clean up well enough: dry-cleaned suit, shoes with minimal marks on them, scruff tidied up so that it looks like an actual choice, and not just that he was lazy about shaving. he's listening to a story about some new discovery in mozambique, champagne flute in hand, when he feels the hand on his arm and the warm presence next to him.
to his credit, he doesn't double take too obviously when he realizes who's speaking. ] Sure. [ an apologetic smile towards the small circle, and he murmurs into effie's ear as he's led away. ]
This is a surprise.