[In spite of appearances - most of which might suggest that Evelyn is an overly-prim, no-nonsense sort of person - she takes immense pleasure in parties that employ the most invigorating of themes. A historian at her core she could no more pass up the opportunity to partake in Roman revelry than an actual Roman might, donning appropriate garb and wielding a terrible tolerance for drink.*
The evening of the feast progresses steadily in spite of the desire to overindulge in decadence, as Evelyn knows full well that wine's effect tends to come on much slower than hard liquor. However, as it grows later she grows tipsier, far more likely to tell terribly bawdy ancient jokes in a loud, declamatory fashion, or employ an abhorrent stage whisper whilst reaching for another amphora of wine.
(Evelyn will later regret imbibing so much, as ardour turns to drowsiness, and drowsiness turns to hangovers.)
She is handsy, and affectionate, and eager to breathe easy with something resembling hope in sight.
*Said tolerance is mildly amusing at best and abominable at its worst, as all it usually takes for a diminutive archaeologist to be drawn out of her wits is a single glass. There is no precedent for Evelyn's reasonable, rational state of being lasting beyond a second (or God forbid, third) tipple.]
OPEN - Any time during Saturnalia
The evening of the feast progresses steadily in spite of the desire to overindulge in decadence, as Evelyn knows full well that wine's effect tends to come on much slower than hard liquor. However, as it grows later she grows tipsier, far more likely to tell terribly bawdy ancient jokes in a loud, declamatory fashion, or employ an abhorrent stage whisper whilst reaching for another amphora of wine.
(Evelyn will later regret imbibing so much, as ardour turns to drowsiness, and drowsiness turns to hangovers.)
She is handsy, and affectionate, and eager to breathe easy with something resembling hope in sight.
*Said tolerance is mildly amusing at best and abominable at its worst, as all it usually takes for a diminutive archaeologist to be drawn out of her wits is a single glass. There is no precedent for Evelyn's reasonable, rational state of being lasting beyond a second (or God forbid, third) tipple.]