Ari had strongly considered arguing for the inclusion of a gas mask as part of her flower-girl attire. Knowing the Harkonnen-Wolfe power duo, she suspected the entertainment would go well beyond spiked punch. She would have bet good money on some sort of psychotropic addition to the battle fog.
In the end, she contented herself with a surreptitious spell filtering the air in her immediate vicinity, something that owed less to magical theory than to her understanding of Cyteen's precip stations and the atmospheric manipulations allowing humans to breathe on the planet. This, and abstinence from the refreshments on offer, should keep her well under her own control.
She hadn't thought to shield herself from sound waves.
Dethklok's music assaulted her ears. It would be no exaggeration to say that Ariane Emory had never heard anything like it. Immediately, her thoughts turned to advertisement. This music makes me want to drink coffee, she realized. On the heels of that realization, informed by the heightened self-awareness of a Reseune-trained psychmaster, came the further judgement: There's huge potential for re-education using this music as a vehicle. What've I taken in, unknowing?
And, because she was under the influence of said music: Who cares?
She'd care later, maybe. For now, she grinned and cast a brief Lumos to hold up her wand like a cigarette lighter. The sobering example of Dumbledore (in her direct line of vision) kept her from temptation to venture into the realm of metal-inspired dancelike movements. She stayed seated, sipping from a glass of vodka-and-orange that a house elf had made fresh for her.
Happily, her forethought had shielded her from what would turn out to be hallucinogenic pixie dust. Anyone who approached her for conversation would get to talk with a more-or-less lucid Ari.
no subject
In the end, she contented herself with a surreptitious spell filtering the air in her immediate vicinity, something that owed less to magical theory than to her understanding of Cyteen's precip stations and the atmospheric manipulations allowing humans to breathe on the planet. This, and abstinence from the refreshments on offer, should keep her well under her own control.
She hadn't thought to shield herself from sound waves.
Dethklok's music assaulted her ears. It would be no exaggeration to say that Ariane Emory had never heard anything like it. Immediately, her thoughts turned to advertisement. This music makes me want to drink coffee, she realized. On the heels of that realization, informed by the heightened self-awareness of a Reseune-trained psychmaster, came the further judgement: There's huge potential for re-education using this music as a vehicle. What've I taken in, unknowing?
And, because she was under the influence of said music: Who cares?
She'd care later, maybe. For now, she grinned and cast a brief Lumos to hold up her wand like a cigarette lighter. The sobering example of Dumbledore (in her direct line of vision) kept her from temptation to venture into the realm of metal-inspired dancelike movements. She stayed seated, sipping from a glass of vodka-and-orange that a house elf had made fresh for her.
Happily, her forethought had shielded her from what would turn out to be hallucinogenic pixie dust. Anyone who approached her for conversation would get to talk with a more-or-less lucid Ari.