[This sort of thing isn't entirely new to her necessarily. Food, and noise, and dancing, and revelry, and everything else is surprising only in the fact it has been so long since Dunwall had anything remotely similar--aside from a party she remembers hearing about which she couldn't attend.
The fairies hold her attention for a long time; they are fantastical and everything she's always talked about when her head was in stories, but even they get tired of answering her endless questions, so she's left to wander the feast and pester others.
Probably you, too.
She stares blatantly at everyone, sizing them, exploring them, memorizing them. Everyone is so different. A few, she tugs on the bottom end of their things, as high as she's able to reach, to get the full attention she requires.]
Hello, I'm Emily. [Because poo on all that silly royalty business. She has no one here to chastise her about being a "lady" anyway.]
That Not-Train Station
[Being dropped in The Station should be the biggest cultural shock, but it really isn't for Emily. She's too curious, too adventurous. Nothing is like Dunwall at all. There's no plagued and dirty streets, no crumbling buildings, no stench-filled air, no gloom-and-doom. Not Dunwall at all.
So there is definitely a white-garbed little girl running around like she's consumed too much sugar. Nothing is being left un-touched, or un-sat, or un-walked upon.
Currently, she's meandering about the mobile phone shop. The telephones aren't like the locket she's played with, and she's never seen something that fits in your hand with buttons and a screen that will let you talk to others not in the room. It's like... a weird magic mirror, or perhaps a curled sailor's horn that can shout long distances into the fog.
At least she can enjoy pretending to have a conversation with it up to her ear, even if she's not actually calling anyone else at all.]
Emily Kaldwin b/c why the hell not | Dishonored | Seelie probs
[This sort of thing isn't entirely new to her necessarily. Food, and noise, and dancing, and revelry, and everything else is surprising only in the fact it has been so long since Dunwall had anything remotely similar--aside from a party she remembers hearing about which she couldn't attend.
The fairies hold her attention for a long time; they are fantastical and everything she's always talked about when her head was in stories, but even they get tired of answering her endless questions, so she's left to wander the feast and pester others.
Probably you, too.
She stares blatantly at everyone, sizing them, exploring them, memorizing them. Everyone is so different. A few, she tugs on the bottom end of their things, as high as she's able to reach, to get the full attention she requires.]
Hello, I'm Emily. [Because poo on all that silly royalty business. She has no one here to chastise her about being a "lady" anyway.]
That Not-Train Station
[Being dropped in The Station should be the biggest cultural shock, but it really isn't for Emily. She's too curious, too adventurous. Nothing is like Dunwall at all. There's no plagued and dirty streets, no crumbling buildings, no stench-filled air, no gloom-and-doom. Not Dunwall at all.
So there is definitely a white-garbed little girl running around like she's consumed too much sugar. Nothing is being left un-touched, or un-sat, or un-walked upon.
Currently, she's meandering about the mobile phone shop. The telephones aren't like the locket she's played with, and she's never seen something that fits in your hand with buttons and a screen that will let you talk to others not in the room. It's like... a weird magic mirror, or perhaps a curled sailor's horn that can shout long distances into the fog.
At least she can enjoy pretending to have a conversation with it up to her ear, even if she's not actually calling anyone else at all.]