Welcome to TB, an all levels Harry Potter roleplay with no word count. Our purpose is to go through the books with one exception: the addition of original characters and what changes that makes.
We accept all beings and creatures in the Harry Potter verse including ghosts, veela, muggles and even centaur.
We have many active events ongoing for both students and adults and many characters and locations around the world.
Come join us and discover how your character can grow and evolve in the world of Harry Potter.
Post by OLIVIA MULCIBER on Jul 18, 2024 1:15:49 GMT -5
Olivia could not, in fact, recognise anyone yet. The hall was filled with people, but many of them were adults. Of the student-aged and younger guests that she noticed, none looked familiar. She turned to Drake, intending to report her disappointment, when a sea of gingers flooded the room. The twelve-year-old wrinkled her nose, as though smelling something foul. "Only the Weasleys." It was no achievement to identify the family, though - their numbers and barely varied hair colour made it so obvious.
"That's Marcus," she heard her mother's soft voice again. Marcellus followed his wife's gaze. Olivia's head snapped around, too. She had never met her uncle, and was curious to see him. It took her a while to identify him. After carefully scanning the crowd, she spotted a tall man with two young companions attached to him as though by invisible strings. Elastic strings, too, for the space between them and the man was gradually increasing. At this distance, none of the three looked familiar... although the tall boy with that horned mask gave her a pause. If that was Julian, then the girl next to him would be Annabelle. Olivia stood on her tiptoes to see better, curious about her younger cousin. She could tell at a glance that the girl was graceful and confident - and a glance was all she got, because adults soon blocked her line of sight.
Marcellus let out a sigh of resignation. "We should go and greet him. I have not seen my dear brother in such a long time..."
"Is that wise? Look, he is already drinking."
"Then let us hurry, before he overindulges. We are bound to run into each other tonight - better time it while he is not yet intoxicated." As he spoke, the man could be seen placing an emptied glass on a tray and obtaining another drink. "I am trying to make it fair for him. He should still be able to behave sociably at this point."
"Unless he had some drinks before arriving..."
The words seemed to make Marcellus concerned for a moment, but he scoffed and slid a mildly contemptuous expression back into place. "We shall find out. Olivia, Drake, why don't you two go and dance?" Olivia turned to her father, intending to protest - she wanted to witness the interaction, and use the chance to see her cousins from a closer distance. However, even through his mask, she could see the unmovable expression. He wore it rarely, but she could never get him to budge when he did.
"Yes, Father," she mumbled, taking Drake's hand. Perhaps the two could position themselves somewhere nearby and eavesdrop...
* * *
The Mulciber couple, their arms linked, made their way across the room - occasionally pausing to exchange words with people they knew. Marcellus was not particularly eager to talk to his brother, but failure to do so would be noted by their mutual acquaintances. Best to get it over it at the start of the event, then simply avoid each other.
"Marcus, how unexpected to see you here," he greeted cordially, though the warmth of his tone contrasted with the arctic look in his eyes. "I am glad that Fabbio's invitation enticed you to leave home. A rare occurrence."
ooc: Olivia's mask & dress. Only recognisable at a close distance. NPCing parents - Marcellus Mulciber and Antonia Mulciber. Post POV switched to Marcellus at the end. Interactions: Marcus Mulciber
Post by OBERON THORNE on Jul 18, 2024 2:28:55 GMT -5
It was almost more than predictable. Alistair had trained his heir apparent so completely to uphold the utmost in social tradition and etiquette, that Oberon had been able to maneuver her to the dance floor and conversation, with little other than a kind query. Of course, like any well raised Thorne, it appeared that Maeve was reluctant to share too much or divulge anything too important. Though, it was worth noting that she had the capability to be a social chameleon, able to mimic the demeanor of those she spoke with, for the most part; and from the time Oberon had seen her, up until the waltz, he had noted her change no less than three times to those engaging her.
There was also a low melodic tone from the immediate area.
Curious.
"A challenge for final year? Is that all?" Oberon chuckled. He decided to make an estimated guess. "And a handful? That's being quite modest, Maeve, as your father mentioned something around sixteen or so N.E.W.T.s. I would say that's a little more than a handful, yes? And impressive."
In the past, Oberon had been expected to study for every class available at Hogwarts, save Muggle Studies, and had graduated having completed all N.E.W.T.s except that one. He assumed the obscene expectations and standards of his father had not changed with age. Besides, Maeve seemed like an overachiever, and probably hadn't needed much persuading to take on such a challenge.
She is very guarded. Not unexpected, but not helpful either.
Oberon nodded as Maeve began to answer his questions, a friendly but neutral smile on his face, as he feigned interest. In truth, his peripheral had noticed the advancing individual from earlier, the one who had been eyeing Oberon and Maeve a little too closely. While the bounty hunter didn't know the man with the gold mask, there was no denying the proverbial scent of law enforcement about him, as Oberon had dealt with his fair share of officials in the past - though mainly from Europe and America, with dabbling in the Ministry over the last half a year. She also looked aside, where Oberon glanced the same way, noting her -- their -- father in that direction.
"The Ministry is a wonderful place to work, and I suspect would be amazing for someone who loves a challenge like yourself," he continued, with the other's mention of workplace. "And I'm sure you will have an amazing career there, in whichever department you choose."
The musical tone Oberon had heard was now louder, distinctly coming from Maeve's dress, which was equal parts confusing but also revealing. It was highly likely her wand was on her person, and in the absence of sleeves or a purse, was likely strapped to her person out of view - in the skirt - and the sound might have been related to her wand specifically... could it be from a Horned Serpent horn? Oberon had encountered several similarly dreary and insistent tones in the past, on hunts, typically from those he chased.
"Oh, I work in the Office of Misinformation," Oberon clarified, using the less known department in light of his suspicions about the circling enforcer nearby, as the chance of pencil pushers interacting with law enforcement were low. "And professionally, I can't really discuss my dealings with your father with a non-Ministry individual. However I can say that he has spoken of you, several times, which is why I wanted to finally meet you of course."
That was vague enough while answering the question, Oberon felt, and leave it up to workplace nondisclosure to save on efforts to mislead. Though, as the music stopped, it seemed Maeve had determined that she didn't want to be around Oberon anymore, as she quickly mentioned the past tense of dancing, and seemed ready to move away. It was understandable, he was a stranger who knew more about her than she him, though perhaps that wand with the musical wailing had put Maeve on edge. Still, Oberon wanted to know a little more, if only to further gauge the half-sister he had now met for the first time...
"I feel the same, utterly delighted to meet you," Oberon started, his smile back, as he stepped back a space though maintained a hold of her hand. "Perhaps we could have anot--"
However, it was then that gold mask stepped over and spoke. Oberon turned to glance at the other man, his eyes narrowed. The mask the bounty hunter wore obscured most of his face, save for some sections that permitted subtle awareness of his features - a smile, for instance, would show. Though it didn't, currently. Instead, Oberon listened and decided that the first encounter was acceptable, for now, and that to continue pushing would show an unreasonable amount of interest in an acquaintance's daughter. Besides, Oberon had the feeling that Maeve would be reluctant to share much else with Arthur Wattle.
"Of course," Oberon said as the smile showed through the mask meshing. "Far be it for me to deny others a chance to engage. It was a pleasure. And hello to you, ...sir?"
The question would hang for the man's name. Oberon turned to face Maeve, however, as he spoke:
"And not to alarm you... but your lower dress is emitting music. Good evening, young miss."
Without another word, Oberon turned and departed the dance floor. He made his way toward the edges of the assemblage, aware of the need to obscure his form amid the crowd, if only to evade the - undoubtedly still aware - glances of the man in the gold mask. The interest from him had made Oberon consider another approach, one that required more than changing his mask; and once Oberon felt confident he was on the other side of several dozen people, he pulled out his first mask and changed it over, when he was certain as few noticed him as possible. And with the same motion, he transfigured his robes, turning them into a suit that was common among ball goers.
I should find Cressida again.
Oberon continued around the crowd, until he saw the familiar mask and gown worn by his date. With her location in mind, Oberon skirted the edge of the ball, though made sure to stop and grab two tall glasses of bubbling something from a neatly placed table. He had claimed to be getting drinks, after all. He then weaved through the throng present and came to a stop near her.
"Sorry, got a bit caught up," he said, as he offered a glass to Cressida. "One of the younger kids spilled something on me. Had to change. What did I miss?"
Post by HEIRANS BAUGMARTNER on Jul 18, 2024 2:43:44 GMT -5
Heirans was enjoying Easter holidays with his grandparents, and had invited his boyfriend Bastian to spend them with him. What he didn’t expect was that during the holidays, his grandparents went to inform him that they were attending a charity event, at which Heirans and his boyfriend had been invited as well. So they talked about what they were going to bring to the party, the thing was that Heirans had had an idea in which he shared with his boyfriend about the outfit they were going to wear to the event, going in very similar outfits. It didn’t take long to get to the party, him driving the car with Bastian as co-driver and his grandparents in the back seats. He just knew that the party was being found at the Nero household, that it wasn’t that hard to find the location. Normally they could have used other means of magic of transport but Heirans was too excited to drive his cars.
Upon arriving and parking the car, Heirans stepped out of the car and opened the back seat door in which his grandmother exited. Heirans looked at Bastian as he zipped up his outfit, which for this event he had decided to make a driver’s suit in which he convinced his team to make another one similar to Bastian but with another number. The outfit was beautiful as he thought, the colors green and yellow next to some crazy, and the two helmets that he had brought, one to be able to donate it to charity. Heirans was aware that anyone he had known, could not know about his passion for the sport unless he had mentioned it, and rarely did. Only Bastian and a few others knew. He was informed earlier that they should wear masks, so he had the thought of wearing the helmet that he used for racing. The helmet allowed him to hide his entire face and it was a relief, so they wouldn’t know who he might be.
He looked at Bastian, approaching him “I hope the suit is not uncomfortable for you. At first it takes a little while to get used to the driver suit, but then you will find the pleasure of wearing it.” Heirans muttered, tiptoeing to plant a soft kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek. His grandparents had already entered, so he entered Bastian with his arms entwined. He lowered the visor of the helmet and stared at everyone around him, his blue eyes hiding behind the visor were examining all the guests who were there. Having many guests, he could assume that they had arrived a little late, but he did not give it much importance. He did not try to guess who they were there, but he could recognize Calvin, whose boy he had established a friendship and hoped to enjoy his company more. Seeing that it was going to be an excellent opportunity, he tried to drag Bastian to accompany him.
Heirans sighed and touched Calvin’s shoulder with his index finger “Howdy Calvin. How good to see you here!” he said, but his voice could not be recognized because it was muffled by the helmet and protectors inside. He sighed, wondering if it should make it difficult for Calvin to try to guess who he was or not... As he thought, his attention turned to Bastian and he wasn’t sure if he should ask, but he ended up asking “Schatje, you can get me something to drink. Perhaps a cocktail or a coke drink?” he asked gently stroking his boyfriend’s arm. Probably the Dutch nickname could have the giveaway of revealing who he was, because Heirans was one of the very few students who attended Hogwarts and spoke in Dutch, often doing so when he was frustrated, angry or something he could not understand. And surely almost all the students had heard him speaking in Dutch at some point...
Notes: I spoke to Ella and she agreed that Bastian can accompany Heirans to the charity event.
Post by MAEVE THORNE on Jul 18, 2024 6:10:26 GMT -5
Receiving compliments from her father's friends was not unusual; people sought to ingratiate themselves with the Supreme Mugwump, often by praising his heir. She accepted the words with a steady smile, her pride unamplified. In all likelihood, he was merely a suitor... in which case, he would fare no better than the others - even worse, in fact, if he was a half-blood like she suspected. Wattle's attempts would only enrage Father, rather than gain favour with him. Anyone lesser than a wealthy Pureblood courting his daughter would be seen as throwing an insult, if not an outright attack on the Thorne family.
He knew about the ridiculous amount of examinations she was going to take as well. That was something Father would flaunt - though possibly avoiding an exact number. Muggle Studies was not part of her curriculum, and Advanced Flying was the only other N.E.W.T. she was graciously permitted not to take, if she so chose. She would, however - which meant there would be eighteen N.E.W.T.s... and she would be privately criticised for every grade below an Outstanding.
"Oh, I work in the Office of Misinformation."
Office job. Dedicated to fabricating lies the Muggle society would accept, to cover up the magical accidents even self-deceiving blind fools might occasionally notice. Possibly crafting deceptions aimed at the wizarding society as well, or so she suspected. A job that required creativity, deception skills... and conveniently prevented him from answering her second question. "That must be an interesting line of work," she commented noncommittally.
She found no inconsistencies with the background he provided, and all he knew of her was certainly something Father would mention to people at the Ministry. However, the musical notes her wand was producing made her wary of the man, despite his entirely appropriate behaviour. Her heart skipped a beat or two when he began to ask for a continuation--
"Excuse me, I would be honoured if I could have this next dance."
Another stranger, his voice and appearance just as unfamiliar to her as Wattle's. Little of his face could be seen behind the feral mask he wore, his attire plainer than most others' - though still perfectly fitting for the occasion. Approaching so unexpectedly, too - it made her think he had been watching and awaiting an opportunity. How much did he notice, if that was the case?
She could not recall any other instance when two unknown men would have vied for her favour, both approaching within such a brief span of time. Any such competition only ever occurred at events her father hosted, where everyone knew who she was... and even then, she was normally able to have breaks of at least several minutes between each dance. This was a singularly aberrant situation, one she would need to consider later. Presently, an escape route was opened for her - she was more than inclined to take it.
Without her even considering the action, her hand slipped out from Wattle's fingers; she placed it into the new arrival's palm, prepared to suppress her reaction should her wand cry out in discontent about it. No sound came. The absence of a warning was no basis for trust, yet she immediately felt more secure.
Wattle handled the interruption with good grace. She allowed the two men to converse, using the time to gather her thoughts. It would not do to become unraveled by the strangeness, even momentarily.
"And not to alarm you... but your lower dress is emitting music."
Her gloved fingers inadvertently tightened their grip on her new partner's hand, although she was able to keep the unease out of her expression. "Somewhat out of tune, too. I should demand a refund from Bewitched Fashion," she jested dismissively, keeping her tone light. Would he know what the sound truly was? Her wand's core was uncommon in England, the local market dominated by Ollivander's creations, but she had known others at Durmstrang whose wands contained Horned Serpent horn. "Good evening, Arthur Wattle," she uttered, speaking his name more for mnemonics' sake than anything else.
With the first notes of a new waltz now starting, she moved to place a hand on her saviour's shoulder. Her wand was still quiet; she allowed herself to let out a quivery breath, fully emptying her lungs of air before inhaling again. That was the only sign of relief she allowed herself to show, necessary to contain the emotions roiling within. The orchestra's chosen piece was a few beats slower than the previous one, easy to keep up with, enabling her to think while her feet performed the steps automatically. She kept her eyes focused on the black collar of the stranger's shirt, avoiding distractions while her mind raced.
Never had she heard the warning notes come out of her wand with such urgency. How sensitive it was to danger, she could not estimate. She may have escaped imminent death, or merely avoided the company of someone who would willingly harm her under specific circumstances. Whatever the case, she would have to make an inquiry about Arthur Wattle... if it was even his real name. It only occurred to her now that it might not be, though why he would be deceitful about it was a mystery. Perhaps he was who he said he was - an average man with a dull job... and possibly with a penchant for serial murder on top of it. It would be best to stay on her guard during the rest of the event. Switching the placement of her wand holster was now a priority - being able to reach it at a moment's notice would enable her to socialise with relative comfort, even if it might attract odd looks. For now, though, she was grateful for the reprieve - fully aware that the duration of this dance was all she had to fully regain composure and resume the fulfillment of her task.
Post by CRESSIDA VILLEN on Jul 18, 2024 7:39:35 GMT -5
She was not exactly getting abandoned by her date. It looked more like the opposite - Cressida was whisked away for a dance, leaving Oberon to wait for her... yet it felt like he had been glad to get separated in such a manner. She spent the whole dance wondering what he was up to, imagining scenarios that got progressively worse with every passing minute. Her colleague tried and failed to pull her into conversation. Once the music stopped, she thanked him and went to search for the stray wolf.
True to his words, he did procure drinks - though his entirely different attire made her even more concerned. Cressida accepted the glass he offered her, taking a sip as she listened to his explanation. Changing from a dress robe to a suit, simply due to something being spilled on him. "Positively drenched you, didn't they? The rascals." She all but glared at him over the top of her glass, not at all convinced yet unable to speak her suspicion with other people so close. Leaning in to whisper would only attract attention, unless...
"It was ill-mannered of me to grant the first dance to someone other than my date," she stated, not even trying to sound apologetic. It was Oberon's own choice to hand her over, Cressida was acutely aware of it. "Do allow me to remedy it." Plucking the drink from his hand, she placed it on a nearby tray along with her own half-emptied one. The piece currently being played was not too speedy; if he proved to be a terrible dancer, they could just sway to the music as she interrogated him. Owing him a favour did not mean she could be dragged into potentially criminal activity as an accomplice.
Cressida took his hand, leading him to a relatively vacant spot on the dance floor. She arranged their arms into the appropriate position for a waltz, ready to switch to a simpler, embrace-like stance if he could not keep up. "So," she spoke in a low voice, her face close to his - making sure nobody could overhear. "Is Nero going to find a dead body in his gardens?"
Post by OBERON THORNE on Jul 18, 2024 8:41:31 GMT -5
Oberon had the feeling he might of underestimated Villen's capacity for going with the flow, or in this case being hoisted off on someone else while he went to speak with a half-sister who didn't know he existed, in an attempt to learn more about the family he had left behind and who believed him dead. That was unfortunate, but hopefully could be made up, so long as Villen didn't completely discount him for the evening - he still wanted to enjoy the ball, somewhat, and needed her to be with him to brush aside the curious Mr. Golden Mask.
"It is what it is," Oberon said, when she mentioned the drenching, a smirk on his lower face. "Besides, I've never liked robes. I should have worn a suit to begin with."
That part was true enough, in retrospect; however, admittedly, it had given Oberon a helpful means of escaping discovery by interested parties, should they seek to find him again. He essentially looked like a new person. Plus, unlike when speaking to Maeve, he now used his less proper British pronunciation and accent, instead sounding less 'sophisticated'... which suited him fine, for now, at least while he remained Oberon Wolfe.
And speaking of...
Oberon thought about the man in the golden mask, which depicted a wolf face no less. His steely eyes were etched to memory, his mannerisms also, as well as his scent. There was a type of tobacco that permeated most of it, but with his trained nose, Oberon also picked up hints of oakmoss and patchouli. Faintly, of course, because Oberon hadn't been using his wolf nose, but golden mask had gotten close enough for some to reach him. Oberon would keep eyes out for that particular individual, certainly.
"It's fine, really, I'm very progressive that way," Oberon said with a scoff, as he dismissed Villen's comment about improper date behavior. It wasn't like they were actually dating. "But, hey, who am I to say no to you?"
Oberon blinked, though, as the glass in his hand was plucked away - he hadn't finished! - but nonetheless followed the blonde werewolf capture member to the dance floor. He remained very aware of the presence of the other couple, and mentally sighed as he knew what had to happen. Cressida wouldn't like it. Oberon wouldn't, either, knowing full well he was more than capable of dancing very well. But, to avoid being discovered again, he had to play the part of the buffoon who didn't really belong, though could pass as some half-blood given the opportunity - or something of that nature.
The pair began to dance; Oberon was rigid and awkward, his movements stiff as though he knew the basics but wasn't confident in leading or performing them. It was more challenging than it seemed. Still, Oberon managed to continue smiling, even as Villen leaned in close and began to whisper in a low voice. She seemed inclined to expect the worse of him, which caused Oberon to think that his story of being wet by children didn't hold up in her mind, despite being perfectly fine in his opinion.
"Merlin's curlies, I hope not," Oberon replied with mock shock, as he leaned in also, his voice low. "Why, who did you kill? Anyone I know?"
Clearly she hadn't meant it that way.
"It's nothing, definitely no one was hurt," Oberon confirmed, before he added with a grunt. "Except my outfit. So yeah, there's nothing to worry about... why do you ask?"
Oberon raised an eyebrow behind the mask.
"Actually, why do you assume I did anything? Hm?"
Now Oberon was having some fun...
ooc: Has changed back into his original mask & has transfigured his clothes into a suit. Likely only recognized by Cressida.
Post by EMRYS SOFTROOT on Jul 18, 2024 10:15:22 GMT -5
Emrys' face lit up as he saw Saint wave him over. He plucked a wildflower from the bed beside him and walked over to her. "You look beautiful! So good to see you. At least I hope it's you beneath that mask" he gave her a little wink. Whilst he spoke, he threaded the flower in a few locks of her hair.
His fingertips lingered for a moment behind her ear, and he blushed slightly. He turned back to the doorway with a slightly flustered smile.
Post by CRESSIDA VILLEN on Jul 18, 2024 10:47:00 GMT -5
He was almost as terrible at dancing as she had expected, though he didn't quite limbo under the bar she had set. Some basics of waltz must have been shown to him at some point, and he seemed to be genuinely trying - occasionally even performing a correct step at the correct time... but she had no patience for it. "Let's try something simpler," she sighed, taking a hand off his shoulder. Placing both of his palms on her lower back, she wrapped her own arms around his neck. This enabled a more private conversation, too - and did not attract quite as many looks as inept stumbling might. Now they just looked like a couple sharing a semi-intimate moment... She might have some explaining to do to her parents, if they heard about her publicly displaying affection towards some half-blood half-criminal, but that was a problem for Future Cressida.
She slowed the tempo of their steps, no longer attempting to waltz. It was too difficult to try and lead an inexperienced dancer while also talking to him.
"Merlin's curlies, I hope not."
Lowering her head, she watched their feet intently for a few moments. Allowing the corners of her lips to move even a millimeter upward would only encourage him to keep quipping, and then she would not receive a single straight response from him. Once she was confident about being able to sustain a glare, she looked back up at him. "Hilarious." That was all she would say to his attempt at feigning confusion. No positive reinforcement for him.
"It's nothing, definitely no one was hurt."
That was more like it; her eyes softened a little. She believed him, now that he answered her concern without playing coy. "I ask and assume because you're not the type to attend an event like this. You can't even dance, and I don't know how you managed to dress acceptably - twice - but your decision to come here doesn't make sense--" Cressida paused as another couple moved past them, twirling harmoniously.
"You have some reason to be here, other than letting me dance with others while you fetch drinks. And I hope you don't intend to kill anyone tonight, here, because that could inconvenience me." That was an understatement, of course - it would ruin her reputation, and her parents', if any accusations of being an accomplice fell on her. Nero might personally make sure her career was ended, too, even if nothing was proven - for bringing the bounty hunter past the guards as her date, and not making sure he behaved.
Post by OBERON THORNE on Jul 18, 2024 11:10:42 GMT -5
Oberon raised his eyebrows when Cressida moved in closer, pulling him in for a more intimate dance. It was an interesting turn of events, though the bounty hunter knew it was for other reasons, the type that focused on saving face. And being nose to nose, to ask more questions. Villen certainly was curious; though, really, Oberon couldn't fault her for that, as she added credence to his being at the ball, and thus anything he did would reflect on her.
That was fine, it was expected.
When she took a moment to look down after his retort, to which Oberon suspected she stifled a laugh because it had been hilarious, he decided to be more amicable to what she hoped to achieve. Obviously, given the situation and not really knowing him, while also being aware of his profession, Villen was at unease. No trouble, at the least, but certainly no blow-back was the expectation... and try as he might to diffuse with humor or coy assurances, that wasn't enough.
Okay.
"You're right, I don't attend these things," Oberon began, his voice low, as he leaned close to her ear in the swaying embrace. "I'm usually the guy standing at the gate, looking for trouble. Or I'm the trouble." he glanced to her, eyes seeking hers. "But I can assure you, whatever terrible thoughts or fear of social ostracization or humiliation being with me might cause, you don't need to worry about it..."
Oberon inclined his head, his voice serious and low.
"I did what I needed to. Nobody was hurt. This was information, nothing more. I swear on my father's life--" Oberon reached up to cross his heart, before he returned his hand to Villen's lower back. "--and may he die, if I'm lying."
With a slow exhale, Oberon raised both his eyebrows, curious to know if that had finally calmed whatever unease his date had.
"So... if you're fine with that, how about you point out some wizarding guests we can make fun of in our little intimate huddle?" Oberon motioned with his head subtly, toward an older portly gentleman. "What about him, with the comb-over? Does he sneak naps in at the office, snoring all the while?"
Oberon smiled, finding the company pleasant...
ooc: Has changed back into his original mask & has transfigured his clothes into a suit. Likely only recognized by Cressida.
Post by DOMHNALL MCEVOY on Jul 18, 2024 12:47:13 GMT -5
He'd been trying not to stare at Rose too much during the whole trip, only sending occasional glances her way so nobody would think him weird. She looked so different from her usual self, and green worked really well with her hair, and it all made him feel... strange. His confusion was put on hold when they entered the Nero Manor premises, and her evident discomfort had him focusing on ways to make her feel better.
Don's awareness of her appearance did begin to seep back in. He knew she was pretty, he had eyes after all - but usually she was just her usual pretty, the kind he had gotten used to during the years that he'd known her. Now she looked so different he wasn't entirely sure how to behave around her. Chatting about Dungbombs didn't seem appropriate at all.
Taking a glass of Butterbeer, just to have something to do with his hands, he attempted his usual grin. It felt unsuitable, too. Shouldn't he be trying to be serious and gentlemanly now? "I've always liked certain plans. My Mimbulus Mimbletonia is still alive and kicking, for one." Okay, maybe not the best topic for this grand event. Next.
"So have you ever, um-- danced in an event like this?" He was trying to learn if he knew how to do all the fancy steps like most couples around them seemed to, but without appearing to actually invite her for a dance - just yet. All the teaching he had ever received in this area had granted him the ability to perform a simple waltz, provided he was focused on his feet the entire time. He didn't want to embarrass himself, or Rose, by performing poorly... though he did want to dance with her.
Post by CRESSIDA VILLEN on Jul 18, 2024 14:28:34 GMT -5
The answer she had requested so insistently was finally forthcoming. Cressida drank in his words, sensing something akin to truth there. What Oberon said matched the image she had formed of him in her mind, at least. He admitted to not being a regular guest at grand events, his breath so close to her ear sending a shiver down her spine. Not a fear response, though it would have been prudent to feel alarmed about someone who so openly confessed to being trouble. Having already known it to be true, however, she only noted his apparent honesty - briefly meeting his eyes as he shifted his head to glance at her.
His demeanour was altered now, playfulness gone. She slowed down their barely-rhythmic swaying, and focused on keeping her breathing shallow and measured as well; only her pulse was increasing in tempo, something that she could not easily control.
"I did what I needed to. Nobody was hurt."
She had been correct about him having a covert purpose at the Nero Manor, then. That he already achieved what he needed also lent some peace to her mind. It would not annul the favour she owed him, but it might help decrease its magnitude. He was even swearing upon his father's life - though how much such a grave promise meant, she could not guess. The man could already be long buried, for all she knew. Still, she was inclined to believe. No high-pitched screams were coming from just outside the hall, nobody was shouting about a murder yet... had he done something, surely it would have already been discovered - especially with so many people around.
Slowly and deliberately, she nodded to show that his words had been accepted as truthful. At his prompting to change the topic, she turned toward the subject of his query. The curtain of her blonde hair hid her face from Oberon as she looked at the gentleman he had described. She recognised him easily, but took her time watching him nonetheless, as though uncertain. Finally, feeling that the delay was approaching the boundary of credible hesitation, she returned her eyes to Oberon's. "Alfie Northcott. Played with hair-regrowing spells about a decade ago, and no Healer has found a way to reverse the damage."
Her eyes flicked downward, away from his. Cressida turned her head once more, seeking another target for the juvenile game. Her attention moved to the host and the group near him. A man a few steps away from Nero was only too easy to identify. She returned her gaze to Oberon, looking down at his tie as she reported. "Pale blond hair, green dragon mask. Draco Malfoy. His wife has been openly showing contempt towards him - not even addressing him by name in public, and avoiding his company in gatherings such as this one."
Post by DEAN FINNIGAN on Jul 18, 2024 14:59:55 GMT -5
The distractingly beautiful girl at his side was taking initiative and prompting him to dance. Dean was happy to oblige; he offered her a hand and led her to a the dance floor, picking a relatively empty space with only one couple slow-dancing nearby. He hadn't danced in a long while, but the current music was that of a fairly slow waltz - perfect for him to brush off his skills. "I have a feeling you are a fantastic dancer," he guessed, placing one hand on her waist as he began to lead her to the music. The pair near them was whispering in low voices, though as he moved past them he overheard snippets.
"Draco Malfoy. His wife has been openly showing contempt-- avoiding his company--"
He moved past the gossipers, his eyes now glassy under the mask. He had actually looked through a list of Ministry and Scottish Government officials in search of the riotous Distress Master he'd been corresponding with for several months now. Draco Malfoy's name, of course, popped up early on; Dean had a good laugh at the notion, then moved on to the next suspect without a second thought. There was no way his pen pal was someone as prominent as Malfoy. Did members of that family even have the capacity to be funny? He doubted it.
But then... a major theme in their correspondence had been the man's difficulties with his wife. Her unwillingness to breathe the same air as him, even. And how old was Scorpius Malfoy again..?
Dean's eyes wandered to the refreshments table, seeking something to wedge into the rapidly spinning wheels of his mind. A few drinks should slow them right down - but his dance had only just started, and he couldn't very well bolt away to down a couple of firewhiskeys. He forced himself to look back to his alluring date, hoping that she would be able to distract him instead. "So, what led you to choose law enforcement as your career path?" he asked, hoping that his inattentive state had gone unnoticed.
Post by ROSE WEASLEY on Jul 18, 2024 23:53:01 GMT -5
"I've always liked certain plans. My Mimbulus Mimbletonia is still alive and kicking, for one."
Rose laughed shakily in response to Don’s reply, their typical banter somehow falling flat on that evening. She wasn’t sure why she suddenly felt so uncomfortable around him, when their friendship had always come so naturally. In an attempt to calm the nerves, she took another sip of her drink and watched the couples dancing in the center of the room. She had never felt so awkward around her friend. Her heart was pounding and her palms were sweating. Racking her brain for something to say, anything to break the silence, her gaze snapped to him in surprise when he finally did, asking her about dancing, of all things.
Her eyes were wide and if anything her heart started pounding harder at the topic. “Oh, um, sometimes, yeah. Usually with my older brother, or one of my cousins.” She didn’t know why she felt the need to state this fact, as if it mattered who her previous dance partners were, yet she felt compelled to explain herself to Don. “Nothing quite this fancy though,” she added with a small chuckle, cringing internally at how awkward she sounded. “Why? Did you… do you… want to dance?” The question stumbled out of her mouth before she could even think it through fully, her cheeks turning bright red at the realization of what she had just asked her friend.
Averting her gaze, she quickly tried to remedy the situation. “I mean if you want, we can, I’m fine either way, don’t feel like you have to, if you don’t want to.” Did she even want to dance with Don? In that moment, she realized she did, she really did, but she wasn’t quite sure why; nor did she know if he actually wanted to dance with her, or had just been asking an innocuous question.
TAGGED: DOMHNALL MCEVOY Notes: Rose's dress and mask. difficult to recognize, except to those who know her well.
Post by SCORPIUS MALFOY on Jul 19, 2024 0:02:23 GMT -5
Scorpius arrived in his best formal wear and wore a mask like most everyone else, his mother having sent them to his flat. He would be easily recognizable to those that knew him though due to his platinum blond hair and regal way of moving. He had spotted his mother and greeted her before moving through the crowd in search of his father.
((open for interaction)) (( DRACO MALFOY, mentioned))
Love adored things like this, any excuse to get to dress his best were welcome. He was wearing a gown he had custom made and a matching mask. He had dangly, star earrings and had done his makeup impeccably. All in all, he felt very pretty. He wondered if Lewis or Benjamin would show up. He had not really spoken to either in a long while and he was missing them both. Even so, he was determined to have a good time. After all, it was practically law when wearing a pretty, swirly dress.