[color=fff79a][center][h2]Sondra[/h2][/center][/color]

At Table 7, a woman in her mid twenties quietly looked around at the venue's decorations, either unaware or uncaring about several pairs of eyes that chose to fall on her rather than their own respective dates. Her serene, expressionless face was further veiled by a pair of large dark sunglasses. Silky honey blonde hair fell in gorgeous waves to frame her high cheekbones, her full brick red lips, her delicately tapered chin. 

The woman's attire seemed an unexpected mismatch to her polished and flirty face. She chose a high collared full length dress, colored to match her lips. The material was somewhat thick and ribbed like a light sweater, but stretchy enough to allow a glorious hint at her smooth hourglass figure. The strangest thing about the fabric, though, was that it looked threadbare. Like the dress had been passed down for generations and was on its last legs. Bits of thread unraveled from small holes in the hem and back, and one of the long sleeves looked like it had been shoddily sewn back on. Perhaps, if the men looking on were lucky, a stiff breeze could blow this conservative dress r i g h t  o f f.

When the woman heard footsteps approach, she stopped looking around at the scenery and turned to her apparent date with a slight warm smile.

[color=fff79a]"Hellllo,"[/color] she addressed Grok in a crooning alto voice. [color=fff79a]"Are you number seven? I'm Sondra, it's lovely to meet you."[/color]

[@Sleeth]