18 May 1888 — Welcome to the Jungle Fashion Show, Hogsmeade Ballroom

Ernest took very little notice of the social calendar except to dutifully attend whatever his wife told them they were attending. He sometimes made an effort to remember who the host of any particular function was, but the truth was that they all had a tendency to blend together, one ball into the next. He could be grateful at least that the theme of this particular outing was novel enough (and grateful too that it was not just another dance; he was a fair dancer but found the obligation to dance with women he didn't care about rather tedious). He was less enthused about the auction aspect of it, as he suspected his wife was inclined to participate after seeing the dresses in the fashion show, and expected a good deal of entirely unwarranted money would by the end of the night be funneled out of his Gringott's account and into the hands of some foreigner or other.

But that was the way these things went. He went to work and made money, and Rufina filled her days finding ways to spend it. At least the deaths of his father and brother had put them in a position to never be wanting for it, so what did it matter to him what sort of dresses his wife wanted to buy? He was merely here as an accessory. He'd chosen a hound mask as something of an inside joke (although he suspected no one would understand it except himself) and was trotting along faithfully by Rufina's side and waiting for the evening to be over.

At least, until he saw her. Ernest could not have said what caught his attention so thoroughly about the woman that he had at first only glimpsed on the other side of the room, but he immediately made an excuse to his wife and their conversation partners (interrupting whatever they had been saying) and slipped away, on the pretense of refilling his glass of champagne. In actuality, he was doggedly looking for the woman he'd sighted at first, but she was proving devilishly hard to locate in the crowd of meandering guests. He had the feeling that she was specifically avoiding him, but of course that didn't make any sense. He was fairly certainly he'd never met her before, though it was impossible to say for certain with the mask she'd been wearing.

Whatever it was, he was inexplicably fixated on her. He kept catching tantalizing glimpses of her across the room, to the point where it felt like he had been chasing her through the ballroom for an age. Had she noticed him? If so, she was being incredibly coy about it, but she was doing a damned good job of always being where he wasn't, all the same.

At long last he caught up with her. He felt rather triumphant as he reached out and wrapped his fingers firmly around her wrist — he'd caught her! — and let out a jubilant "Ha!"

It was only then that he realized he had no idea what he had intended to do with her upon catching her — or, really, why he had been hunting her down in the first place — and immediately felt quite silly.

Open to a woman at this event; I'd prefer she be wearing a goose mask but am open to other sorts of game/quarry animals as well.

  

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Livia appreciated all sorts of social gatherings, but to say she was displeased when she'd learned she'd be wearing a mask the entire evening was an understatement. Masks didn't allow many ways to make connections; it seemed she'd be stuck waltzing around and attempting to remember which of her friends was wearing what. She'd chosen a goose mask, unaware of the effects choosing such a creature would have on her personality as the night went on.

Much of her evening had been gossiping — no, speculating was probably a better term. It was a silly thing for her to do, and more specifically a silly thing for her to do in the presence of others, but she was becoming less and less self-aware as time went on. Her friends (donning beautiful bird masks, ranging from swans to eagles) seemed entirely more elegant than she, and as such had excused them self from conversation with her when she'd gone a little overboard with her conspiracies. A frown stretched across her face — she was all alone now! Well, only momentarily, it seemed.

She gasped as someone's hand caught her wrist, and she turned to find herself staring up at a masked gentleman who looked like a hound. Something about it seemed inherently frightening; Livia found herself helplessly tugging away from his grasp. Was he a murderer — perhaps even a vampire — who's found his way into the ball?

  

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— I've been blessed once more by MJ —

☙ Post Log ❧

The silly, adrift feeling that had overwhelmed him lasted only momentarily, as the woman began to pull her arm away from him. Under normal circumstances he might have considered that this was perfectly reasonable behavior, given that he had just grabbed her out of nowhere, but at the moment it distressed him for reasons he couldn't have articulated. He didn't know what he was supposed to do with her now that he'd caught her, but he did know that he didn't want her to get away! That would put him right back at square one, stalking her through the crowds and not even knowing why he was doing so.

"Don't," he said; the word was less an authoritative command and more of a plea, though he did hope his voice didn't sound too terribly desperate. He reached out to try and grab her other wrist so that she couldn't turn away, and was immediately left feeling silly once again. Now what? He had to come up with some sort of reasonable excuse to detain her, or else she would leave, and he knew very well that he didn't want that — even if he didn't understand why.

"Dance with me?" he asked. It was the first thing that occurred to him, though he didn't even know whether there was dancing at this event. There was music from somewhere, but it might have been meant to be ambiance — they were certainly not anywhere near a dance floor, if there even was one. He couldn't think of any better reason to keep her here, however, particularly given that he didn't even know who she was.

  

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While some ladies might make a fairy tale out of a handsome stranger singling them out in the middle of the room to dance, Livia was only further terrified by the notion. It was unrealistic and stupid, but she could manage to calm her heartbeat, nor the beads of sweat that were beginning to form under her mask. She'd always been one to make quick judgments, but never about something like never. Never to the point of assuming someone was going to murder her. It may have been different if he looked a little shadier and they were all alone in this building, but they were surrounded by countless other couples, women, and gentlemen!

"I - I - um," she stammered, incapable of getting out a simple no. She felt small and helpless under his gaze, even if that was wasn't one she could really pinpoint. Who was he under the mask, anyways?

After a moment of standing frozen, her body decided the best thing to do was give in and hope he'd be merciful with whatever plans he had for her. Dancing seemed innocent enough... right? It would be awfully difficult to murder someone on a dance floor! Her muscles relaxed, and she tentatively allowed him to take her hand, the rest of her body leaning away from him as she muttered a meek: "As you wish."

  

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— I've been blessed once more by MJ —

☙ Post Log ❧

Relief flooded him when she agreed not to leave, and he cast about eagerly for some sign of where a dance floor might be. He was entirely oblivious to her body language as she leaned away from him; it was enough that she wasn't going to leave.

"Come on, then," he said eagerly as he spotted another dancing couple in the distance. He let go of one of her wrists, not because he wanted to but because it occurred to him that it would be exceptionally awkward to lead her through the crowd that way, unless one of them were to walk backwards. He felt something like elation at having gotten his way with regards to this stranger and the dance floor, and he might have been positively bounding as he headed off towards the corner of the room.

She must have thought he was acting strangely, he realized, because he was. He wondered whether there was anything he could say to salvage the interaction, after he had more or less chased her down and begged to dance with her. "What's your name?" he asked conversationally as they walked, but felt uncertain about the question a moment later. The mask was his only saving grace at the moment, because perhaps at least if she didn't know him he wouldn't be forced to deal with the awkwardness of this whole encounter a second time when they met again.

  

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She followed the hound reluctantly, all the while a feeling dread continuing to wash over her with every step. She certainly felt as silly as a goose, but she'd also learned to trust her perception over the years, especially with the nonsense her husband had put her through. Should she be worried, or should she give him the benefit of the doubt?

Hopefully the hound was just playful, not intent on playing with his food before he ate it.

"Livia — that's my name," she responded quickly, submissively even, trying to keep as much distance as their attached arms would allow. She didn't consider giving him her surname in a formal response (nor ask for his own in return) — her adrenaline was running too high for social etiquette to take priority.

  

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— I've been blessed once more by MJ —

☙ Post Log ❧

Livia was a strange name, he thought. Was it actually Olivia, and she was trying to distinguish herself from the much more well know late finishing school mistress? The name sounded vaguely Roman, if it really was just 'Livia.' A member of some old pureblood family, then. Ernest might have been a member of one such family himself, but he'd always been rather dismissive of their penchant for naming schemes. Modeling after the Greeks or the Romans just felt like so much of a stretch, as if they had to reassure everyone of their own greatness, even from the moment of their births. So few of them ever went on to do anything which mirrored the prestige associated with their namesakes.

Still, it was hardly her fault her family was, presumably, a bunch of self-important idiots. She seemed nervous, probably because of how strangely he himself had been acting, and he felt the need to offer her some reassurance that he wasn't, in fact, either insane or obsessive. "It's alright," he said smoothly as they reached the dance floor. "It's just a dance."

  

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For a moment, Livia took his word. Party because being this tense was proving tiring on her small frame, and partly because she was suddenly acutely aware of how impolite she may have appeared to anyone watching. Still, it did little to wipe the expression of uncertainty and anxiousness off her (luckily masked) face.

"S-So," she started, hoping a conversation (about anything really) would reassure her that he was completely normal, and completely human (which as a silly thought, she noted, but one she couldn't quite shake). "What do you do — for a living, I mean?" she asked nervously. If he worked at the Ministry, perhaps Denton knew him.

  

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— I've been blessed once more by MJ —

☙ Post Log ❧

The charm of the mysterious woman in the goose mask was fading rather quickly, he realized, now that he'd actually tracked her down. He kept her in the corner of his eye as they walked to the dance floor and tried to pinpoint what it was that had so captivated him from across the room, but he really couldn't have said. She was just another woman, with approximately the same proportions and dress as every other woman here. He'd been so thoroughly focused on catching her, but now he wasn't sure what to do with her at all, or why she had briefly seemed so important.

Oh, Merlin, they were moving on to small talk — and awkward small talk, at that, not even the sort that could be qualified as banter, which he much preferred. "Department of Mysteries," he said succinctly; he couldn't have elaborated even if he'd wanted to, and she probably wouldn't have been able to wrap her mind around what he did even if he had told her more. Why was he wasting his time dancing with this woman? The dance had been his idea, but why on earth had he suggested it?

  

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His tone, she realized, had much changed since the beginning of their... meeting? (She supposed it hadn't been much of a meeting really, as she still didn't really know who he was.) She, similarly, became much more aware of her own awkwardness in the situation and felt her cheeks heat up, though he was luckily unable to see them through her mask.

"That's an important job- or an impressive one at the very least." It was really hard to tell what they did in that department — as the name suggested. Their dancing continued in silence, and once the music ended for the moment, Livia made an effort to take a step back and remove her mask — which, much to her surprise, relieved her of much of the anxiety she was feeling. Her eyes snapped to his still-masked face, an frazzled expression across her features.

  

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— I've been blessed once more by MJ —

☙ Post Log ❧

"Mm," was his only reply to her comment. He couldn't tell her anything about the job, nor did he particularly want to; she had lost whatever charm she had held for him rather quickly after he'd 'caught' her. They danced well, but he was glad when it was over. The woman then pulled off her mask, though Ernest wasn't at all sure why she'd done that. Wasn't the point of a masked ball to keep the masks in place?

She had a very pretty face, he realized once he could see it, but it had a significant amount of color to it at the moment that he put down to a nervous flush, since she had seemed anxious throughout their brief interaction. Pretty face or no, she was apparently easily flustered, which didn't make for an agreeable conversation partner. She was also, in his opinion, rather vapid, which wasn't at all his type. Whether that was how she always was or as a result of her having been so nervous made no difference; he had no desire at all to continue talking to her, mask or no.

"Have a pleasant evening, then," he said, politely but not overly warmly, and then departed.

  

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