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Post by Genevieve D'aubigne on Jul 21, 2011 22:11:23 GMT -5
The fairy lights twinkled over head, that and the golden globes made Genevieve very glad that she had decided to wear a gown of silk yellow. It was a striking color neither too pale nor to bright as to cause anyone to blink or make her resemble a banana or some other yellow object. The lighting made her gown practically glow and shimmer as she glided around the room. Her mass of chocolate brown curls were artfully styled on the top of her head, stray strands framing her face. Her only piece of jewelery was a silver chain necklace with drops of canary diamonds in the center of the flowers. Tiny seed pearls separated each tiny flower form it's neighbor. It had been one of her sister's ideas to drape it in her hair. A small dainty golden purse with silver trimmings dangled off of a silver chain at her wrist. Her four inch heels bringing her already average frame to five feet nine. The silly shoes did not bother her and she walked as if born in heels. A slight smile resented on her pink lips as she surveyed the room. She knew many of the people in attendance, several people had worked with her parents or supported their politics.
Her mum would have liked the party. An image of her classic mother flashed in her head, dressed for a ball. A dull ache resounded in her heart and she resolutely shoved it away. She was not here to mope about her dead parents. This was her one chance to find a night away from the kids...and make connections. She needed to find more work and more investors in her new business.
First, she needed some fun. A bit of harmless flirting. She feared she was out of practice and if she were to charm new clients she needed to shake off the rust. A tall man with vivid green eyes caught her attention. He wasn't particularly handsome and his face was quite scarred but he seemed nice and probably didn't have the opportunity to flirt. He was engaged in a conversation with a silver haired woman but that didn't mean anything.
Quickly, she made her way across the room, snatching a glass of champagne as she went. She sipped it as she watched him speak. He would do perfectly.
"Excuse me, but would you care to dance?" She asked embolden by the champagne. "I'm terrible at the British waltz, but I believe you can dance no?" She asked, playing up her french accent. "You are these world famous dancer, correct?"
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Post by Curse Kameren on Jul 22, 2011 0:22:56 GMT -5
Curse chuckled with his Head Mistress at her quip, glad to see the rigid woman relaxed for an evening. She was a strange woman, Siara Brightweather. Curse had never quite met a witch like her before. But he could tell that she was good at heart, that she could be trusted, which was more he could say for the last Head of Hogwarts.
With one hand down, he surreptitiously cast a spell across the Atrium. The small puff of smoke would weave quietly through the crowds to keep eyes off of him, before eventually hitting its target: Arianna. It would leave a mark on her palm that would quickly move to form Curse's handwriting in faded blue ink: You look amazing. It was a bit of cheating their agreement to ignore each other, but it would be their secret.
"It's good to see some of our staff here, you included. Do you like big fancy parties like this, or prefer less grand occasions? I'm taking notes for our staff meetings."
The Potions Master shrugged, glancing around at the glittery frivolities of the night. "To be honest, I'd rather be in Hogsmeade, helping rebuild. Or at home with my son." He met her eyes simply; Curse didn't value public reputation and didn't have the time to stomach social occasions with obvious ulterior motives. The Ministry wanted the powerful Wizarding elite on their side, but it would take more than a flute of champagne and lantern-carrying faeries to do that. "I mean, you put the greatest minds of the Wizarding World in one room together, and for what? So they can get drunk and pretentiously declare their superiority." He sighed, arching a brow at the people around him. He did not approve of the actions of his fellow wizards, and was a bit disappointed that the Ministry would attach the Wizengamot's name to something so pointless.
"Unfortunately it's a requirement for Merlin's Order," Curse shrugged; he seemed a bit glum at that, like a child brought along to a party he was dreading. Siara seemed to be enjoying herself, however, and Curse didn't want to bring her down. He let her be off to meet more people, about to turn back into the crowd when he nearly ran over a petite french woman in a long yellow dress.
"Excuse me, but would you care to dance?"
"Umm..." Curse was a bit dumbstruck by the question. Who was this woman? Obviously she wasn't from around here, because Curse had been to occasions like this before with everyone operating on the very true assumption that he couldn't dance. Curse was a coordinated spell-caster and potions-master, but most forms of movement for entertainment evaded him.
"I'm terrible at the British waltz, but I believe you can dance no?" She asked, playing up her french accent. "You are these world famous dancer, correct?"
Curse smiled crookedly, shaking his head to correct the woman. "No, I'm afraid you have the wrong wizard." His American accent thickened slightly as if to take home the fact that, no, he did not dance the British waltz. There was only one woman who got him to waltz, and even then he was terrible. Curse held out a hand to the woman to shake in introduction as he smiled at her. "Curse Kameren. Pleasure to meet you, Ms...?"
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Post by Minister Jack Harkness on Jul 27, 2011 21:16:04 GMT -5
Minister Harkness was in full form this evening. He genuinely enjoyed getting to know people, was interested in what they thought. He knew he wasn’t always a popular minister. Even tonight, there were people who refused to speak civilly, or at all, to him. He hadn’t even attempted talk with Shopkeeper Morton, who had turned a frosty, disapproving look on him from across the room. Jack knew when he wasn’t wanted.
“Hey Dad.” Ryan appeared, glass of water in hand. Jack smiled, helping himself to another cookie from the buffet table. Ryan had never quite acquired a taste for alcohol.
“How’s it going?” He turned his back to the table, watching the crowd with his oldest son.
A shrug. “Not much. Matt didn’t want to dance.” Ryan chuckled, taking a gulp of water to wet his throat. “Guess he’s a little nervous about dancing publicly.”
They watched the dancers move around the dance floor, the band playing a lively melody. Jack ate the last of his cookie.
“Well, his loss.”
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Post by Genevieve D'aubigne on Jul 27, 2011 21:31:04 GMT -5
Strike one, the man obviously could not dance. The blanched look and the startled drawn out verbal filler was a glaring sign. Really, she should have stopped there, but no Gen actually prattled on about how she was horrible at the British Waltz. Really, she wasn't but it always was good to make a man feel like they were better at something than a woman. Manly sensibilities and all that.
"No, I'm afraid you have the wrong wizard."
Opps American. Strike two. Oh well at least she could move the topic away form dance and onto his accent.
"Curse Kameren. Pleasure to meet you, Ms...?"
"Genevieve D'aubigne, and i do beg your pardon. You have the lithe build of a dancer," she complimented as her ice water eyes traveled up and down that form in a quick assessing manner.
"Your accent, is American, no? From where?" She asked smiling slightly as she turned slightly towards him.
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Post by Curse Kameren on Jul 29, 2011 14:22:16 GMT -5
"Genevieve D'aubigne, and i do beg your pardon. You have the lithe build of a dancer," she complimented as her ice water eyes traveled up and down that form in a quick assessing manner.
"Pleasure to meet you, Ms. D'aubigne." It took Curse a moment to realize exactly what Ms. D'aubigne was doing. Merlin, he hadn't been looked at like that in a long time. He suddenly felt a bit uneasy, glancing past his friendly new aqaintance to the woman across the room. What was he supposed to do? He hadn't anticipated this happening, and even when he was open to such a thing he was at best charmingly awkward with women. How could he let this woman know he's not interested without raising a few eyebrows with the rejection?
"Your accent, is American, no? From where?"
Oh, bugger it. Just play along. He smiled warmly, reflecting her kind demeanor back at her. "I was born in New Jersey, but moved here to the UK as a child. I've been here for a while, but for some reason the waltz wasn't part of my citizenship test." He smirked, grabbing a champagne from from one of the trays passing by them. It was just something to hold; though Max was with Amelia for the rest of the summer, he wasn't too keen on the idea of spending tomorrow being sick. He smiled, smooth sarcasm coming out in his voice. "You know, I'm pulling from your accent that you may be a bit of an immigrant yourself..."
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Post by Alex Kameren on Jul 29, 2011 22:52:11 GMT -5
Alex wore formal robes, black, fitted and in fashion. He tugged at his tie uncomfortably. He eyed the man standing before him with trepidation.
“Hmm, perhaps not.” The tie was loosened, and another placed around his neck. This too was discarded.
“No, too rash.” It joined a growing pile. “Red perhaps.”
They stood there a moment, Alex shifting from foot to foot. The silk was replaced with polka dots.
“No, too clownish. And this one’s too stripey. How about… no. House colors? No, we’re not kids anymore… yellow? Definitely not.” And then, finally, with the very last tie, a match was made. Cain clapped Alex on both shoulders-- made easy because the shorter man stood on a stool, the better to choose a tie for his friend.
“Brings out your eyes lad. Now remember, be polite, smile, and don’t eat the press. Offer to get her drinks, and walk her home.”
He dismounted the stool and steered the slightly resisting Alex towards the door. “Compliment her on her dress, and for MERLINS SAKE SMILE. Its not a death sentence. She likes you. You…” He eyed his friend. “Well, you’re her friend. you’d make a great couple” the door opened, Cain thrust a bouquet into Alex’s hand, the door slammed shut with one last shouted reminder.
“SMILE AND BE NICE!”
--
Alex knocked on the door, holding the flowers awkwardly. How did one hold flowers? He at least had them upside right, he knew that much. But they felt incredibly awkward and he felt slightly silly. He was contemplating simply going home and hiding from both Cain and Elle when the door opened. The unexpected sight took his breath away.
“Wow.”
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Post by Theo Bowre on Jul 30, 2011 1:30:25 GMT -5
“Well, his loss.”
Theo had escaped the safety of the Atrium's largest shadow just long enough to stealthily slip in beside his brother and nephew. He held a glass of red wine in his hand but had yet to touch it, finding himself too occupied in avoidance to deal with it.
"Hey." He shook Ryan's hand, motioning with his head towards the other side of the room where a rigid young man watched his nephew carefully. "Does Matt not dance? Must've been the eggnog then at Christmas. You know how Gran makes it. Liquid courage. Totally his loss." Theo was proud of Ryan's sense of self and had supported him when he came out to the family. While he had spent more time with the youngest of Jack's children, he cared deeply for the entire Harkness brood and had tried on many occasions to offer his help if they ever needed it. Ryan was the most difficult to reach.
Theo's eyes crossed over to Jack, who had set the bar for fashion and charisma. Merlin bless him. He had a power unlike any other. Several hundred people in the room, and Jack was the one that everyone was watching. Bowre would stay only long enough to pay his compliments. Jack had too much riding on tonight and he wasn't about to monopolize his time. The Minister reached for a cookie.
"So according to the dear young thing at the door, I'm, like, totally lucky to meet you tonight. Right? You're, like, SO amazing. Damn straight you are. Will you sign my wine glass?"
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Post by Elle Callahan on Jul 30, 2011 17:48:18 GMT -5
Insanity: an instance of extreme folly or a want of sound sense. That definition was the essence of this foolish idea of a date. Or outing or what ever you wanted to call it. Actually, Elle wasn't sure if going to a ball with Alex Kameren constituted a date or not. She wasn't even sure if he even knew what it meant to go on a date. Then again she had heard Curse gleefully tell the story how his girlfriend Arianna had once been set up on a blind date with his babbling buffoon of a brother...As Alex had been on a date but he'd been cohered and this was him asking her to the ball but probably just as friends. After all Alex was required by his work to attend and well it would be better if he had someone to spend time with. So he asked, which nearly killed her, and she said yes. Like she had a choice. Elle had been pinning for such a chance since she'd wore plaid skirts.
It didn't make it any less insane. After Alex had asked her, Elle went into panic mode. What did one wear to a ball? She had never attended the event before and well she wasn't exactly fashionable. She hadn't the time. Sometimes it was all she could do to brush her teeth, pull on clean scrubs and tie her fuzzy messy hair back. Make up was a rarity, even on her days off. Most of the time her outfits were what was clean, usually a loose teeshirt, sweater, jeans, or a dress, which were easy because they didn't need something matching to go with it.
Overwhelmed by the fashion talk at work, she had stumbled into Madam Malkins with fear clogging her throat. This was her one chance to impress Alex Kameren, make him see that she was a woman he'd lust after. The man needed to wake up and she wouldn't nor could she, wait for ever. Ten years of crushing was long enough. Thankfully the madame knew what Elle needed. A lovely youthful but not too much, ball gown that gave the impression of height. It had taken a grand total of four hours and what seemed like a thousand gowns to get the entire outfit. An attendant even volunteered to help Elle with her hair and makeup. She was a sweet, wistful sixteen year old earning money during the summer. Elle, who barely knew what lip gloss was, immediately agreed.
The result of nearly an entire day of primping left Elle a little self conscious. A glance in the mirror revealed a witch she barely knew. The fuzzy brown poof was sleek, shiny, falling down her back in soft curls. Except for a few tendrils, the hair in front of her face was pulled back with a confection of black and blue lacy bows and pearls. Makeup enhanced her large doe eyes, her lips a bold pink. Pearl studs glowed at her ear. It was the dress that was the most startling. Elle liked color but she rarely wore it. Unless, you counted the mint green scrubs that were practically a second skin. The dress was a bold sky blue with a square bodice that fit snugly under her shoulders. A large lace corset with a thick black bow adorned her waist, elongating her short torso. Her wide hips were hidden beneath a layered flared lacy skirt that stopped several inches above her knees.
Ready early, really she was afriad that if she kept Alex waiting he would skip out on her...the man was skittish sometimes, Elle was sitting by the door when she heard footsteps. They seemed to pause on her doorstep and then nothing. Elle magically enhanced her hearing with a spell. Breathing. Alex. If it hadn't been him she wouldn't be so short of breath now would she? Elle jumped up, nearly falling back into the chair as she lost her balance of sky high heels. When the madame learned that her date was over a foot and a half taller than her, she had cohereced Elle into purchasing five inch heels. They were ridiculous but she sort of liked the added height.
Elle pulled open the door, half expecting Alex to be slinking off her mat, trying not to be noticed. Instead he stood tall, flowers clutched into his hand. The man cleaned up very nice. Unable to resist she drank in the sight of him. Never had his eyes looked so bright. The man was full of surprises. She hadn't expected him to look so put together. He'd been unenthusiastic about the whole dance and she had thought he'd try to scrape by with the bare essentials.
“Wow.”
Elle beamed at him, was that appreciation in his eyes. Feeling very girlish, she twirled around to show him how her dress flared. It was not graceful. Halfway around she lost her balance, pitching forward. She tried to right herself but lost her footing again.
"Sorry..." She exclaimed as she grabbed onto him for stability. "I'm not use to these heels...You look very dashing. I love the color, you should wear it more often. Not that you need it...but you..look lovely." She finished, blushing slightly. Her eyes lingured on the flowers and her heart gave a little flip.
"Thank you for bringing flowers, it is very thoughtful. Do we have time to put them in water?" She asked as she took them from him. Elle sniffed the flowers, then took a pink flower and tucked it behind her ear.
"Does it look alright?"
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Post by Alex Kameren on Jul 30, 2011 23:16:47 GMT -5
Alex found himself smiling in response, unable to resist the charming grin she aimed his way. She looked just as changed as he knew he did, the lacy dress was bright blue and looked very good on her. He wasn’t blind, for Merlin’s sake. Then Elle twirled, loosing her balance in the ridiculously high heels she wore. He lunged forward instinctively, catching her as she wobbled again.
"Sorry..." She exclaimed as she grabbed onto him for stability. "I'm not use to these heels...You look very dashing. I love the color, you should wear it more often. Not that you need it...but you..look lovely."
She was small and light in his arms, but her grip was surprisingly strong. Alex’s brow furrowed in confusion. He was dashing and lovely? What did she mean by wear this color more often? He wore black most of the time. His face was slightly pink and he was relieved when she diverted her attention to the flowers. Elle was much closer to his personal space than he was used to. He helped her stand more steadily on her own feet.
“Oh, is that what you do with them?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking. Cain had orchestrated a good deal tonight-- Alex’s outfit, the flowers, he’d even tried to arrange for a carriage. Even though he’d told his friend they didn’t need a carriage, he found himself half-expecting one to show up.
"Does it look alright?"
“It…” The words stuck in his throat and he swore silently. Would he never be done with being tongue-tied? How long would this go on? “I-it looks won… won-der-ful.” He pronounced the word carefully, saying each syllable with care. It was so easy for his tongue to slip and replace what was meant with an entirely different word.
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Post by Genevieve D'aubigne on Jul 31, 2011 20:54:26 GMT -5
"Pleasure to meet you, Ms. D'aubigne." Was it? The look that Curse shot over her shoulder gave the socialite pause to wonder. The man was polite but he obviously wasn’t interested in her flirting. Not really. The man had gave that all to familiar sign of checking to make sure that their significant other would not implode. Genevieve did not want to steal this man away from his lover. All she wanted was a friendly chat, and a bit of silly, flirty banter. Then poof, she’d be gone to speak with another person about the weather and gossip or what not.
"Your accent, is American, no? From where?"
Gen was pleasantly surprised when the man actually responded to her light flirtation. Oh, she knew he wasn’t coming on to her. He was just being polite by joining in the game.
“I was born in New Jersey, but moved here to the UK as a child. I've been here for a while, but for some reason the waltz wasn't part of my citizenship test."
Ahh a traveler like herself A man straddling two cultures. “Must have slipped the teacher’s mind. How dare they.” She teased. “But I daresay, you do know the basic step of the Waltz? One, two three? Perhaps you should ask the lovely lady who has captured your smile to dance. I am sure the mademoiselle will appreciate the attempt, if not the execution.” Maybe the woman would thank her. Or not. But every woman loved a man who asked them to dance. Maybe not love, but it was a weakness.
“You know, I'm pulling from your accent that you may be a bit of an immigrant yourself..." “Actually, I was born here. My Mother was British and my Father French. They were politicians and I spent my childhood traveling the world,” She said mitigating her French accent to a slight hint.
“I went to America once on vacation. My parents were never stationed there, sadly. It is an interesting place.” She said leaning forward, placing her hand briefly on his shoulder in a friendly gesture.
“How is America compared to Europe?”
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Post by Elle Callahan on Aug 2, 2011 21:08:39 GMT -5
It was a dream. It had to be. In no other place would Alex Kameren be holding her, Eloise Grace Callahan in his very strong capable arms. Warmths spread from his hands to her toes, her stomach quivered and dropped. Couldn't you see it on the floor? If he wasn't holding her up she'd have melted to the ground. All because of his hands, merlin. Instinctively, she clutched his arms did he notice the slight tremors or the goose bumps? Merlin, if he asked about them that'd be embarrassing. No polite way to say, oh it's nothing, I'm just madly in love with you and this is what you do to me. Nope. He'd run for hills, probably disappear, rip off the dress robes and huddle in a corner. Okay, maybe not huddle but he would do something.
For several seconds she lingered, gently squeezing his muscles. Unfortunately, she couldn't stand there forever wrapped in his arms, feeling him up. The man would ask questions, he was an auror after all. Eventually, after he had set her on her feet, she reluctantly let go and instead touched the flowers. Much safer.
“Oh, is that what you do with them?”
"Yes, otherwise they die and then they wouldn't be cheery. I'll be just a moment..." She said as she stepped back, conjured up a vase and poured water into it from her wand. She then sent the vase hovering to a small table.
"They look lovely. Thank you."
Elle made sure the flower was secure in her hair and then fished for a compliment, half expecting Alex to say it looked silly. Or ask why she even put it there in the first place. The man was full of surprises that night...or an impostor. Either way it was nice.
“I-it looks won… won-der-ful.”
Elle blushed and stood on her toes, wobbling, to reach his cheek for a very quick peck.
"You're sweet. umm, we should side along apperate...I'm not connected to the floo..."
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Post by Nuriko Elsywth on Aug 2, 2011 21:27:56 GMT -5
"Arianna. Why are you here, enjoying this expensive frivolity ?" She asked curious to know another's perspective. Ariannna was forced.
Reece looked around the room. She saw something different from the scholarly woman beside her. “Its not frivolity.” She said, then frowned. “Ok, a bit of it is.” She motioned at the long mirrors that took up much of the wallspace, especially along the dance floor.
“But consider.” She watched the minister talking to a younger man, as alike as must be his son. “England’s having a hard time of it. Terror and discord run rife in the streets.” She indicated Kendra, in a simple, understated dress, talking to a very important looking couple. “Distrust of your neighbour is more common than it should be.”
“Minister Harkness is showing that there is nothing to be fear. His daughter is charming the old Blood, demonstrating that squibs are not all disruptive, not at all lower life forms. Perhaps there is a bit of extravagance. But the leaders cannot show weakness. They must be humble, but they must show they do not despair.”
“We can rebuild. We will return, not to what we once were. We will become greater, will show that we can band together and overcome, as we have so many times before. And in the meantime… ” Reece swirled the little left in her glass absently.
“I’m sure the Ministry needs the money in those pockets.” Another significant glance was spared for the wealthy, old families as they moved about the ball.
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Post by Curse Kameren on Aug 3, 2011 0:03:51 GMT -5
“But I daresay, you do know the basic step of the Waltz? One, two three? Perhaps you should ask the lovely lady who has captured your smile to dance. I am sure the mademoiselle will appreciate the attempt, if not the execution.”
Curse's eyes fell down towards the floor, the tips of his ears turning a light pink. So she'd caught his glances. She couldn't have seen who they were directed at, though. Hopefully no one else picked up on his apparently less-than-discreet infatuation as well; it would be bothersome trying to explain away his furtive glances at Arianna Blackthorn. Then again, others might just chalk it up to simply a wistful love lost.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," his smile was a bit false through the thin lie, but he wouldn't acknowledge his glances. He couldn't, not tonight. There were too many eyes on him still, even after nearly two years outside the Ministry. He continued the small talk, using it as a filler. “You know, I'm pulling from your accent that you may be a bit of an immigrant yourself..."
“Actually, I was born here. My Mother was British and my Father French. They were politicians and I spent my childhood traveling the world,” She said mitigating her French accent to a slight hint.
"I see," Curse replied with a nod, a genuine interest passing through his eyes. Max had a similar background, having grown up in France with his mum in his early childhood. They were all world travelers, in a way.
“I went to America once on vacation. My parents were never stationed there, sadly. It is an interesting place.”
Curse hardly noticed the hand she's put on his shoulder, though he willfully kept his eyes on her and away from Arianna. "I'd like to make it back over, one day. I haven't been back in the states since I was young." He shrugged simply, taking a small sip of the champagne he'd taken from the tray. Oh, what the Hell. Either way he'd be sickened tomorrow, either by the alcohol or his colleague's pretension.
“How is America compared to Europe?”
Emerald eyes rolled towards the ceiling as Curse tried to recall it. Newark had been a fairly decent-sized city, though not as large as London. He had spent some time in New York as a child as well, though. His perspective were probably a bit warped from age. "It's big, though I suppose that sounds a bit silly. Still seeing it from a child's eye view, I guess." He shrugged with a slight smile, taking another sip of his drink. "What do you do, Miss D'aubigne?"
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Post by Mosrael//Ranna on Aug 4, 2011 4:20:15 GMT -5
A party, and she was invited. It would be too cliche if her invitation had been misplaced, lost or eaten by an owl, and she attended without being invited.
No, the pressed parchment with filigree and fancy writing was handed to the doorman, and he stepped aside.
Little did he know that the pale, beautiful woman that stepped past him was Mistress of Masks, the rising Dark Lady who had scourged Hogsmeade.
Tonight she was Ranna Ashaelyr, upstanding member of the Ministry of Magic. Her pale skin stood out against the black velvet gown she wore, with a dark blue corset embroidered with tiny stars and swirls, long sleek black gloves with strange black designs traced on the fabric, like a dance of runes along the fabric, black fire spreading up her arms.
The doorman blinked at the imagery, then shook his head and returned his attention to the door.
Ranna did not walk as much as she seemed to dance. Light-footed, graceful. Her black hair framed a face lit with a pleasant smile, dark eyes looking at the gathered witches and wizards in all their finery.
Fools. Pawns in her game, with only a few worthy to be more than pawns. Bishops, rooks, knights. Perhaps even queens and kings among them. First she made her greetings to fellow members of her department, then passed by the Minister himself. With a curtsy she greeted him.
"Good evening to you, Minister Harkness." She shook his hand, smiled brightly, and then was gone, making her way, with the aid of small talk and smiles, to the next target.
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Post by Reckony Pike on Aug 4, 2011 19:23:26 GMT -5
Reckony kept his arm around Maebh's waist as they entered the Atrium, a surge of excitement pulling at his stomach, which still groaned longingly for the comfort of the gypsy's home cooking. She had spoiled him with dinner and now the whole night was becoming an award-winning affair: a private party, a pony-drawn carriage, dancing. Perfection. Just like Maebh. How did he get so lucky.
Champagne flutes were delivered to their hands by sharply-dressed attendants, the amber liquid reflecting the faerie lights that flew above. Pleasantries were exchanged with nearby couples. Reckony recognized a few of his white-collared patrons.
"You're the prettiest girl in this room," Pike whispered playfully. "And I'm going to ask you to dance in a few minutes. It's going to make all the other kids jealous." The barkeep took a sip of his drink, his eyes scanning the room for others they might recognize. He was proud to see that the Black Watch had a healthy contingent: Curse, Siara, Reece. He was hoping to approach Elle about her possible involvement and considered both Alex and Arianna, although he wanted brother Curse's opinion on the matter first. It was an entirely different challenge when one worked for the Ministry and he did not wish to put anyone in an awkward place.
But tonight was not about business. It was about Maebh. Pike pulled himself in front of her, placing his forehead on hers and searching her mocha-hued eyes with his blues.
"What would you like to do, my love? A stroll through the trees? Chit-chat with the masses? A waltz?"
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