20th December, 1888 — Destiny Hotel, Destiny Christmas Ball

He was supposed to be getting sensible, he knew that. By and large, he was being sensible: he might have rather gone to the Yule Ball at Hogwarts, and gotten to see the castle again, but he didn't exactly have galleons to spare. So, instead, he'd come to the Destiny's celebrations - perhaps a bad idea when one was still mildly hungover from the Pettigrews' party the night before, but who was Tybalt to turn down an invitation?

Besides, he had to enjoy what remained of his youth, because the year was coming to a close, and the quidditch season quick at its heels. Try to enjoy, he ought perhaps say... he couldn't admit aloud to still being out of sorts for the same reason he had been all year. That wasn't being out of sorts anymore, a months-long mood. That was just a new normal. Pathetic, maybe (definitely pathetic) but now the expected standard.

He wasn't over it. That was the truth, plain and simple, irrefutable. And Tyb wasn't sure when he was going to be over it, because besides that one blip, he had been thinking far too much about Elsie. One short blip. One short, forcibly-induced pink-lettered blip, which had not exactly spared him from heartsickness, only meant he had spent three days not pining over one girl who didn't love him, but mooning over another girl (who didn't know him, let alone love him), some Miss Delaney -

That Miss Delaney, as it happened. Tybalt had been on the dancefloor (on ice skates, as the festivities required) and had worked up a rather fast pace - between all the spinning of the dance that had just ended and from a desire to speed off the rink to find himself another drink - when he caught a glimpse of her, the brunette from Diagon Alley. To make matters worse, she had looked over at the worst possible moment, right his way - no doubt she remembered him; he'd been too mortified to even seek her out again to apologise - and caught him looking. Tybalt's eyes widened, and, in his alarm, he went hurtling blindly into one of the large fir evergreens at the edge of the pond. Fabulous.

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The winter wonderland that the Destiny Hotel had turned their ballroom into was simply beautiful. Caroline loved it. She had always enjoyed winter, the snow and crisp air, and even ice skating. Trees ringed the pond of ice and ice deer bowed their heads as couples skated past. Some were much more successful at dancing on ice than overs. Caroline had had several partners who hadn’t sent her tumbling and her own graceful glides had safely gotten her through the dances.

Shawn of course had objected to attending the event, but after a bit of careful persuasion he had relented to accompany Caroline. Now he stood at the side of the room, Caroline rather having left him to fend for himself, as she skated to the edge of the pond for a warm drink.

Looking out at the crowd she was confident in the figure she cut among them. Her golden gown set off her beautiful dark locks (artfully crafted and charmed to perfection by Hope) while the dark green velvet cape brought out her eyes. Her gown shimmered with a charm of its own, catching light and almost seeming as if made of starlight. There was something to be said of a beautiful gown and a lovely evening to really make the holiday spirits bright, Caroline decided.

Taking a sip of mulled wine Caroline’s eyes widened at the sight of the quidditch player from a few months ago. Mr. Kirke. His eyes met her’s, widening as well, before hurtled into a pinetree. Caroline couldn’t help but wince at the collision. She’s expected more grace from a quidditch player. Their last meeting hadn’t been exactly pleasant but he was a bit too close for Caroline to ignore and hopefully Shawn would see if she were in distress.

Setting her glass down on the table beside her Caroline carefully skated over to the man tangled into the branches of the tree. “Are you quite alright Mr. Kirke?” Caroline asked, not even bothering to attempt to be charming. For all she knew the man was completely looney and needed absolutely no encouragement from her. Really she should just let him alone and be on her way, but she suspected after the last time he’d only follow her now that he’d seen her.

  

She came over, which was - well, brave of her, considering. Not that she need necessarily be coming to his aid, Tybalt considered, wondering whether things were going to get a lot more uncomfortable than his current embrace with a needly tree.

But she asked if he was alright, and although it had a touch of an air of dubiousness about it, like she might regret even asking (he wouldn't blame her, after what he remembered of last time), it was still a little better than he expected.

"Oh, I'll live." Tybalt said mildly, pulling his head back out of the tree as he tried to get back on balance on his skates, thankful that at this point he didn't even care enough to flush. Instead, he glanced at Miss Delaney with a wry smile-grimace, in apology as much as he was trying to laugh it off. "And I don't think I could embarrass myself any more than I already have done, so." Not in front of her, at any rate.

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Caroline’s eyebrows rose skeptically at his response. She was sure he would be alright. His pride might be wounded and the needles on the tree looked less than friendly. But she’d never heard of anyone being maimed by a pine tree at a ball before. But she bit back the retort on her lips.

“Oh?” Was he referring to embarrassing himself now or during their last encounter. She had chalked his behavior last time to being crazy, falling into a tree seemed to fit that category. But she did have to admit he appeared at least a bit more lucid during their few words.

Against Caroline’s better judgement she decided to be polite, “Would you like help?” Her tone didn’t indicate any willingness, nor was she entirely sure she would be the one to provide help, but she supposed she could at least get someone to haul his ass out of the tree.

  

Her manners were almost as prickly as the tree, but she seemed to have some control over them - more, at least, than Tyb did, fighting against the branches that were obstructing his way back out of the monster fir.

He was about to say something more direct about their last incident, but as soon as he opened his mouth he found himself half-muffled by the pine needles poking their way everywhere, and so he settled for first answering her actual question. Priorities.

"I wouldn't expect you to help on my behalf," Tybalt said lightly enough, and paused, before admitting, "but I would, rather, yes. The branch -" he squirmed against the part of the tree he'd gotten tangled up in, too stuck on his skates to turn properly to face his way out, or un-pin his arms enough to use them.

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Mr. Tybalt did really seem to be struggling, Caroline decided, watching as the tree pulled him further into its embrace and his feet slipped as he tried to find purchase on the ice. She eyed the situation warily, hoping that like most men he’d brush her off and she could go on her way. Of course Mr. Tybalt had yet to demonstrate being most men and he did not disappoint on that front again.

Caroline almost sighed as he agreed to her help, but instead she surveyed the tree looking for someway to help him. Clearly she wasn’t going to risk ruining her dress in the pine needles just to help a deranged man. But perhaps a charm might help. “Very well.” She acquiesced, fishing her wand out of a hidden pocket in her skirts Caroline pointed at the ground with a frown. She hated to undo all the hotel’s good work, but surely they wouldn’t notice a small patch of ground returned to its normal state. She cast a charm to melt a small section of ice under his skates until the wood floor could be seen beneath it. Shame his skates would likely ruin it.

“Try now.” She instructed cooly, her gaze no less friendly. She couldn’t help but to add, “Perhaps if you struggle less the branches might let you go.” She was definitely judging him for his predicament and didn’t particularly care about being civil. At least she’d offered to help him. That should be enough.

  

It was almost hilarious, Tyb thought, that somehow of all the people in this ballroom, he was being aided by the one sort-of-acquaintance who didn't seem to like him at all. Not that he knew a grand majority of people here tonight, but he couldn't imagine they had any better reasons to dislike him than she did.

He went on struggling whilst she cast her spell, and re-adjusted his balance on the floor, now that he was able to stop skidding. Maybe that would be enough to wriggle out of the tree, and not need to cling to it anymore. Grasping one of the branches to work his way out of its clutches, Tybalt - taking her sardonic advice - continued fighting his way out of the tree more calmly, preoccupying himself with what was foremost on his mind. He might have done to wait a minute more, when he could look her in the eye properly like a normal person, but... "I did mean to apologise for the last time we, er, met, you know," he offered conversationally. "I wasn't exactly myself that day. Under the influence, you could say. I expect you heard about those pink letters?" At last Tybalt emerged from the tree, pine-needles sticking out from his hair in all directions, but otherwise no visibly worse for wear. He smiled ruefully. "So you mustn't take anything I might've said to... heart."

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At least the gentleman seemed lucid enough to actually listen to her, Caroline thought as she watched his significant flailings minimize to something much more useful. She’d be willing to bet he’d make a terrible sailor, likely wouldn’t even last an hour aboard her brother’s ship.

The last thing Caroline had expected to come from his lips as he fought himself out was an apology for the last time their paths crossed. Not that anything could really excuse him from his behavior then, she almost rolled her eyes. But the mention of the pink letters scandal did capture her attention and for a moment she wondered if perhaps he were actually telling the truth. Both Shawn and Toni had gotten caught up in the whole sordid affair and been quite unlike themselves. She supposed it did explain a degree of Mr. Kirke’s behavior that day, should have picked up on it at the time, but still neither of her brothers had acted quite as doltish as the man before her had. “I did.” Caroline replied keeping her tone carefully cool as he finally extracted himself from the tree. Her eyes watched him skeptically.

“Oh, believe me, Mr. Kirke, that is certainly something you are safe from.” Keeping anything he’d said from that meeting to heart was the least sane thing she could think to do.

  

He was doing his best to smooth things over, he told himself, although between his whole exit from the evergreen and the lingering manner in which he'd acted last time he'd met her, Tyb wasn't sure smooth was a particularly accurate descriptor.

She certainly didn't seem convinced. He choked back a laugh at the coolness of her answer. Perhaps she didn't have a sense of humour. Perhaps she just suffered no fools, and had so many lovesick men falling about her that she simply had no patience for that, either. She was attractive, he supposed, and probably well-bred, and had an interesting accent... (She was no Elsie, but -)

"Well, I hope you might forgive me for all that, anyway," he said cheerfully, with a new briskness now that he was out of the tree. He grinned at her, despite all her aloofness. "Either you didn't get one," - of the letters; as he'd heard, most had come in pairs, and he ought to be grateful this hadn't, else who knew what worse kind of trouble he could have gotten himself into - "or you have a great deal more self-control than I do." It wasn't hard to, admittedly. But if she had read one of those letters, she had an exceptional knack against fighting off ridiculous infatuations, more than most people did.

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On that account Caroline quite suspected he was right, she most certainly did seem to have more self control. But she hadn't received a pink envelope that day... had she? She had been so caught up in Shawn's behavior she hadn't even paused to look through the rest of the mail.

"As much as I suspect you are right, in this case I believe it is more a cause of not having received a letter." Thank goodness, too! While she might have more self control she winced at the thought of being paired with this man. Imagine being seen with a man who tossed himself into trees!

His previous behavior explained Caroline felt herself thawing just a bit toward the man. Not enough, just enough to not consider him a threat. Really he almost seemed more of an innocent, but goofy, puppy rather than the mad dog he had seemed.

"What a notion, pairing us together." Caroline shook her head, a mix of bemusement and annoyance in her words.

  

She hadn't received a letter, then. Well, that explained some things. It made it somewhat more mortifying in his position, Tybalt considered, but it wasn't as though he had any dignity left to begin with. (After the way things had ended with Elsie, he didn't particularly care about dignity. There were worse things to lose.)

He chuckled aloud unexpectedly as she put her disbelief into words, too bluntly to be kind about it. Once again, Tyb didn't mind. He appreciated the honesty of it: it was a lesson he well knew. He was not gentlemanly material, not cut from the right cloth for that. Even if Elsie had wanted to be married, he would never have been good enough.

"No, I expect you'll be aiming a little higher than a penniless quidditch player," Tybalt said, with a bright self-deprecating laugh, observing her cheerfully, and trying to guess at what kind of young woman she was, now that he could survey her with a clear mind and impartial eye. (It was as good a distraction as any, to stave off the burning pit of helplessness, hopelessness, that came whenever Elsie crossed his thoughts.) This Miss Delaney, then: proper, obviously. Fashionable, no doubt, her hair intricately arranged, a sumptuous gown designed to catch attention. She had a pretty face, but there was something prim about it, something haughty. Her eyes were a little greener than Elsie's. She was nothing like Elsie.

He ought to let her get on, now that she had helped out of that bind, but the desperation was clawing at him, the need not to think about Elsie. So instead he continued, carelessly, casually, a little teasing - some imitation of the person he remembered being, once - and cast his gaze from Miss Delaney, out across the room. "Who would you have picked?" He asked airily, trying to picture the hypothetical person a purposeful young lady like this would go for, if she could direct destiny, if she'd gotten someone actually impressive. "If you'd gotten to choose your match?" Someone rich, probably. (But that was obvious.)

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Penniless wasn’t entirely Caroline’s objection to Mr. Kirke. Her dowery was enough to live the life she had always led if the man in question for penniless. But her parents wouldn’t approve of the match. After all she was a daughter to be married off for the benefit of the family - and she had set her sights on someone of a certain caliber. Otherwise there simply wasn’t a challenge in the matter.

As if reading her thoughts Mr. Kirke asked her exactly who she would have thought herself with. She certainly didn’t know a who, but one thing she did know, and wasn’t about to sugar coat to someone who obviously she didn’t need to charm was, “Certainly someone with manners.” Her tone was light while her words would sting. But compared to their previous conversations it was quite a bit kinder than she had been so far.

“And yourself Mr. Kirke? I don’t imagine you had an American heiress as your desired match.” Certainly she was out of his league, but by the British standards she supposed the pairing did indicate a certain point - and one that didn’t revolve around the notion of a romance. In this society it was clear that she was to realize she was not worthy of anyone other than a popular name with no holdings, family name, or money to fall back on.

  

He let out a light, unaffected laugh at her response. "Why, of course." Another dig at him, he supposed - a fair reminder; no one would want to marry him without manners - but one he was not resolved enough to try and amend, not when Elsie would not want to marry him anyway.

Her answer made it sound that she wasn't asking for much (more than him, of course, but not much), but Tybalt doubted if she did not have a strict and extensive checklist for potential suitors. Number One: Is He Minister of Magic, or Could He Be One Day? Number Two: Is His Surname Worth Ten Thousand Galleons? Does It Strike Awe Into Everyone Who Hears It? And so on, and so forth; he leafed through Witch Weekly often enough to imagine it.

He couldn't begrudge her those sorts of ambitions, anyway, even if the American, at least in the eyes of the British magazines, might be something worth having a chip on her shoulder about. As for him, and his many-chip-weighted shoulders, his ambitions did not punch even so high as manners. "Oh, someone who can take a joke," Tyb answered airily, grinning to himself, for really he was the joke. "Maybe someone so wondrously clumsy that they make me look refined," he added, grinning knowingly now at Miss Delaney, sure she would agree of its necessity. He did not mention the abrupt stab in his chest as he mentioned clumsiness, but the grin faded faster than he meant it to, his spirits crashing at the very thought of someone, any abstract someone who was not her.

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Caroline couldn’t help the surprised laugh that crossed her lips. Someone like that would certainly be a difficult match to find. “A tall order, certainly.” While she might not like Mr. Kirke personally, she had to admit that he did have a certain charm in his humor. Not that she’d let him know that.

Glancing at the man’s face though he almost looked downtrodden at the thought. “I’m sure, Mr. Kirke, that despite your high standards, you shall find someone that fits all requirements.” There perhaps that should reassure him. There really was no reason to mope after a girl that likely did not exist in the circles Mr. Kirke appeared to be keeping.

  

He echoed her laugh, an automatic response more than a conscious one, because there wasn’t much heart in it. She had laughed though, which Tybalt supposed he could chalk up as a success. It had always been a surefire tactic, that: wear people down with humour until they gave in and started to like you.

He supposed tactics of that had even worked on Elsie eventually. But there he was again, thinking about her the more he told himself not to, the more time passed, the more he told himself to move on. He’d slipped up enough that Miss Delaney here - who had no cause to care for him, and no real knowledge of him to read him so easily as this - had noticed it, because the next thing she said could almost be classified as nice.

Tybalt did a double-take. To her credit, he lapsed again into a grin. He didn’t believe her a jot, and she probably didn’t believe it either, but it had been kind of her to say something, kind enough that anyone might imagine, for a passing second, that he was not doomed to end up alone.

It might, however, be time to change the subject, and stop mulling on downbeat causes. “Why, I’ll drink to that,” he declared brightly, and mock-lifted his hand in a toast, although he hadn’t gotten far enough after the tree to get himself another drink. A good idea, though, to drown his sorrows. “On that note, anything I can get you?” Tybalt added, in his best impression of good manners, since she did not seem to have one, either. He’d fetch her something as an apology drink if she acquiesced to it. “If you’re not scared I’ll spill it on you, that is,” he added with a teasing eyebrow waggle.

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A drink did sound good right about now, Caroline found herself thinking as another surprised chuckle traveled across her lips. It was likely time she found her way to other less … befuddling company. Yet when Mr. Kirke asked her if she would like a drink she found herself accepting, “Against my better judgement, yes you may.” A chuckle lilted the end of her phrase, as she kept her face a mix of skepticism and humor.