Natasha is a bit unnerved by her outfit herself, though it's hard to tell unless you're particularly perceptive. She's dressed in layers upon layers of thin silk robes, from scarlet red at the inside to a rose pattern printed in black on black at the outside. Even the scents they adorned her with are touched with roses and for her, black roses have meaning. Black roses and ribbons. But there's no way that they could know that, or so she keeps reminding herself.

She knows she shouldn't be drinking, because she has never in her life been able to get drunk, so she can only imagine how it will effect her. But, there's a glass in her hand regardless, even if thus-far she's done little more than pretend to sip at it. On the whole, though, she seems happier, like she's willing to pick up the idea of a party and run with it. The truth is something a little more cagey; something about playing to expectations and smiling because people are watching.

Either way, she checks in with the people she knows, which eventually means she wanders over to York. "Someone cleans up nice. Though I think you're more handsome without the facepaint," she admits. But, well, Natasha's always liked scars. A lesson they'd taught her as a child in the Red Room: cherish your scars because they meant that you lived.