[ Gideon shows up in her best black t-shirt and jeans, the sleeves of the shirt oh-so-expertly cut off. She's even bothered to throw on a little paint, for Harrow's sake, but it really is the bare minimum -- mostly some black rings around her eyes and a few slashes at her lips that make her look like she has no clue how to use eyeliner. Which isn't wrong, to be fair.

Her time in Trench has taught Gideon that she's a heavyweight, but the tequila still makes her feel even more sociable than normal, which is a good thing. She'll approach pretty much anyone at the party, and offer to dance, arm wrestle, or take another shot. The party rockers really ARE in the house tonight. ]

[ Gideon takes the spice, because she'll try anything once. By the end of the night, it leaves her sprawled-out on the couch, her paint well and truly smudged and her grin lopsided.

You might find her alone, in which case, she'll wave you over, and with a slurred sort of urgency in her voice, say: ]

Hey. Hey c'mere, I got a question for you.

[ Or you might find her with someone else smaller, sporting darker hair and even more face paint. She's curled up against Gideon, who in turn runs her fingers through her black hair every so often. When Gideon smiles up at you, it's gentler, without any of her usual bravado. ]

'Sup. Nice party, huh?