[hr][hr] [center][h1][color=#e31e1e]Constance Monroe[/color][/h1] [img]https://i.imgur.com/voFe7CA.png[/img] [hr] [color=#e31e1e]Location[/color]: [color=#1C402E]The Evergreen Room[/color] [color=#e31e1e]Skills[/color]: N/A [/center] [hr][hr] Constance walked over to the vanity in her room and then sat down and sighed. She looked at herself in the mirror and frowned a bit at that point, and tugged over her makeup case. She opened it and started applying makeup around her eyes to hide the fact she had been crying recently. Even in these moments she couldn't let any of the others see her as anything less than perfect. Yes, Tony had seen her fall to pieces, but well, he had also seen her in some other more [i]intimate[/i] moments a few hours earlier. She started applying her eyeliner as she thought of what would be their next steps. She would approach the magician for sure, and try to strike up a conversations. She just hoped she would be receptive. If only she could also remember her name. It began with a "M" right? Drat. She had been so focused on the conversations on her end of the table and flirting with Tony that the name was escaping her. However, how was she suppose to know that there was going to be a murder and the conversation of the strange events was about to become more relevant come the morning? Bringing up the topic of blackmail was going to be much trickier. Working together with Tony on that was going to be imperative. He was the only person she trusted at the moment, because she fully [i]knew[/i] he wasn't responsible for the murder or the blackmail. She finished applying her make up and closed up the little bag and zipped it up. She then walked over to her wardrobe and opened it and fished out a casual outfit for the day. It seemed that they were going to be stuck inside, which felt like such a horrible cliche to her. Trapped on an island, in the middle of a storm, and a murder? Did Agatha Christie have a hand in planning this whole weekend? Constance had never been terribly fond of murder mystery books growing up, but now it seemed she was trapped in one. She tugged on her outfit for the day, and zipped up the side of the skirt and decided to step in the lounge. Even if she wasn't terribly hungry at the moment, that was where everyone else was gathering. Where else would be a better place to start?