[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/KeAjc2u.png[/img][/center]
[center][sup]The Dollhouse[/sup][/center]

Mariah didn't want to go.  

Though it was never a stated thing, it was clear that certain places were aimed at certain individuals.
Every place had an audience. Hooters was for sad office workers that were dissatisfied with their wives at home, sports bars were for sad office workers that were dissatisfied with their wives at home, and the Dollhouse? Well, this place was for sad office workers that were dissatisfied with their wives at [i]home[/i]. Said sad office worker was a very specific type of person, right down to their stereotypical appearance. They were a white straight, cis, male, and not a single thing that Mariah is. 

She knew that going into here meant that she would be out of place. There wasn't going to be any blending in for her. She was probably going to get clocked and she was going to stand out no matter what she wore. So, when it came time to actually do her wardrobe, fix her make up, and walk out the door? Mariah didn't really try to tone down anything. 

Yeah, it set something fluttering into her stomach-- her heart was practically pounding in her ears-- but when wasn't it? As far as she was concerned, most of the time when she left her apartment, she was already on stage. She had to perform for herself-- to prove to herself that she could be who she wanted to be-- so the world was her damn audience. That warm electrical feeling of power spread through her, reassuring her that this was when she was at her strongest. And so Mariah walked into this club, dressed to the nines, tens, [i]and[/i] elevens, practically fucking glowing in her outfit and with her confidence-- that fearful form of courage that asserted the presence of the self.

 So tonight, she was wearing an outfit that said very up front and just from a glance, [i]'I am not here to dance I am not here for your pleasure I'm just here to look good, for my damn self, to slay, because I am definitely dressed for a funeral.'[/i] This look walked straight out of the 50s Vogue Magazine.

 Her long black dress sways as she walks, shimmering tastefully with sewn in silver thread. Atop her head is a wide brimmed black hat being an impractical but fitting crown for a Queen. Beneath her hat, a self-styled wig of gently cascading auburn curls, which end at her shoulders. Silver jeweled chain and earrings twinkle as stars in the night, even if they're bought from Wal-Mart. Those black gloves on her hands are [i]dramatic[/i]-- plainly stating that whatever she's touching is [i]too dirty[/i] for her bare supple skin to brush against.  Of course, as if she wasn't tall enough, she wore some heels that elevated her past Amazon. To complete the look, her makeup was clearly done with the word sharp in mind, and her lips are blood red. She holds her fan in her hand-- along with a shimmering silver clutch purse that looks damn good for being dollar store clearance-- and she looks well prepared to fan herself, if she were to suddenly 'catch the vapors'.

 When she drew attention, she was not caught by surprise. When there were sneers or some looks up-and-down, she completely expected them. Mariah was quiet but not tense as they stood in the club. Truthfully, she was still foggy headed from being [b]BONK[/b]ed by a horse hoof. Applying makeup, getting her outfit together, and meeting these people on time had used most of her mental energy, so she let herself go on cruise control, as it were. They went up the the VIP section and she followed, not entirely certain how they managed to get up here. 

The dude said some stuff. Some guy. Man bun, bro.

Deeply sighing, Mariah stepped off to the side, choosing to stay standing next to the sofa Claudette plonked down on, and began fanning herself dramatically, looking every bit of the bored widow at her husband's funeral from his expected-- but [i]surely[/i]-- unfortunate death. Hell, she wasn't even paying attention to anyone else in the room or anything in general. Wait? Was she supposed to introduce herself? Confused, she looks between Lyss and Claudette a few times, but doesn't say anything.