all my armor comes from you :: [ denali + oliver ]

"Have you seen one of those trays of tiny shrimp-puff-food-of-the-gods-things walk by recently? At least that’s what I think they were... puffs... besides, you know, being — oh my Ripred — so delicious. Like wow," Denali enthuses at the bartender refilling her drink. The glass is filled with something else she can’t fully identify, but definitely approves of: bubbly and pale lavender in color with a sprig of mint added for no discernible purpose other than her joy at how delightful it looks, some pulverized fruit of one kind or another swirled in, and a precious little rosebud dotted with gold leaf floating on top. When the drink is held out to her, she claps in excitement for a moment before taking it. So pretty! "This is art." She’s not yet tipsy enough as to cause concern to anyone keeping an eye on her, but her guard is definitely lower than when she first arrived, a fact not overlooked by a certain Capitolite gossip queen who has seemed quite content to spend the evening prying for details about Denali and Lex’s friendship. It’s kind of nice for someone to be so interested, but it’s also a little confusing. It’s not as if there’s some big secret hiding there or whatever.

"I bet Ex knows where the shrimp puffs disappeared to," Denali mutters to herself, pulling herself up on tiptoes in an attempt to peer over the crowd in search of the petite blonde. "She seems like she knows basically everything." For the first time tonight she’s nowhere to be seen and Denali is left sipping her drink unaccompanied. "Maybe she got bored of me..." Whatever answers Ex was looking for to her questions, Denali didn’t seem to be getting them correct. It’s like Ex was saying one thing and Denali was hearing another, both of them repeating their comments as if saying things twice would bring clarity. Kinda weird, honestly. Still, she and Stella have been super nice all night and they’re both so ridiculously cool and good-looking and interesting that Denali doesn’t really care why they deigned to talk to her, she just wants to be instant-friends because suddenly her new dream in life is to be just like them. If only she knew how.

"Oh! Hey, hey, hey! I want what you have there, pretty please!" Denali practically hurls herself at the server carrying a tray of the puffs she’s been searching for like a madwoman. Her hand shoots out too quickly to put much thought into things like other people who might also be reaching for this thing, hands colliding awkwardly in a moment of single-minded gluttony. It’s only the sudden surprise of near-handholding that causes her to pay attention to her surroundings once more. When she looks up, as if blinking away a temporary fog, Oliver Wren looks back at her. "Uhhhh," she drawls in a moment of pure eloquence, "you, um, right. Yeah. Here. Of course. I’m... here... too. Cool. I, uh, yup, totally know stuff. That stuff. Exactly. Wow. So, that’s, like —" It’s a failed sentence that she didn’t know how to start, much less finish, and so Denali impulsively stuffs half a dozen shrimp puffs into her mouth as quickly as is humanly possible in order to cut her own stammering nonsense off. It’s definitely not the smoothest move of her life and she very nearly chokes on a deadly combination of hors d'oeuvre, panic, and embarrassment.

It requires a lot of unflattering coughing to save herself, as well as some insistent handwaving and a few pained smiles that beg please don't try to help me or I'll die for real, but — don't worry — I've got this. I'm... oh geez, I'm pretty sure I've got this. Fidgeting with the cuff of her embroidered velvet suit jacket, Denali clears her throat and winces at her own accidental dramatics. "Sooo..." She rasps meekly, hoarse and trying to sip her drink as if nothing out of the ordinary just occurred — as if it isn't painfully obvious that this is an encounter she was completely unprepared for. "I haven't seen you since —" Since that time we were trying to murder each other and you told me I deserved it and then somebody's head exploded and I had a really cute mental breakdown while you ran off to get killed by something even more wicked than me. Ah, memories. "— that one time," she chickens out, uninterested in throwing a gauntlet down again like she did back then when rage and frustration unleashed her honesty with reckless abandon. "Hi, I guess." This is punctuated with finger guns, accentuating just how not-casual this attempt at small talk actually sounds, regardless of her attempts to keep her tone of voice lighthearted and playful. "Watch out for... the shrimp puffs. They'll getcha." Again.