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Death to the Peafowl
#1
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April 18, 1888 - Thames River, London
For This!
Theseus Greengrass
Boring. Droll. Two words Phoebe could easily describe about the party. She really had no interest in what the Gala was about, that was for certain. None of her money would be going toward it and Gregory had said just as much himself after he'd watched her leave for the evening. He hadn't wanted to go either, not that it was a surprise, so she'd drug her brother along with her. He was always in need of saving from that leech of a wife of his. But now they were there and she was utterly bored.

Worst of all, there were hardly any gentleman even worth of a second look. Most were too old. Others were too ugly. It was wretched really. Speaking of wretched, a woman walked by with one of the worst hats she'd ever seen. A brow raised skyward as the hideous thing went by.

Leaning into her brother, she couldn't help the snort of derision. "How many peafowl do you think she had to butcher to attain that?" she asked, icy blue eyes still watching the hideous thing disappear into the crowd.
#2
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Theseus hadn't been out much with pleasant company since the birth of his most recent child, so the little excursion with his sister was readily welcomed. The event, however, wasn't much to his liking. To showcase one's wealth in such a manner seemed only a way to expose one's need to boast, which was, in his opinion, one of the worst traits an individual could possess. Along with it, gluttony, materialism, and--to him personally--bouts of lust. He knew his sister had different views and, of course, hadn't the need to correct or reprimand her for her opinions. She was a free spirit of sorts and was in an almost similar predicament with her spouse as he was his--they weren't the best of choices the siblings could have made, but still they remained.

He had blamed Phoebe for his gradual shift in thought over the years. Prior to his marriage, he may have been deemed a docile creature who rarely voiced their concerns of opinions in favor of those with louder voices. With an overbearing wife, in-laws that had quite literal killer instincts, and a house that was slowly filling with young humans, Theseus' outlook on life had dwindled immensely. Luckily, he had his sister to turn to every so often when he needed a brief reprieve. Her viewpoints were refreshing, her opinions quite hilarious, and to top it off her husband wasn't exactly her favorite. What a treat. Out of this relationship stemmed cynical thoughts, sarcastic responses, and a playful attitude, all of which aided him that evening at the gala.

A slight chortle followed Phoebe's remark while a few equally dark thoughts roamed throughout the obliviator's mind. "Almost enough to be featured as a rare exhibit at the next world fair, I do believe," he commented, amused by the dance of the feathers as they bounced atop the woman's head during her continued pace. "She must have broken some record."


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#3
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Phoebe couldn't help but to laugh at her brother's retort and it was far from a dainty tinkle of a laugh expected of a lady. It probably wasn't enough to draw too much attention but anyone in close proximity surely would have heard her. Though propriety and manners had been taught to her from a young age, she'd never been forced to act as the proper and demure debutante as she'd been married just a few short weeks after graduating from school so some social graces had been lost on her. Though, she'd also been the rebellious child of the Greengrass bunch so it didn't really come as a huge surprise she hadn't turned out to be the most proper of married women. Not that she cared that much but she felt at least she had good taste in things even if her clothing could tend to be a bit on the risque edge.

"I wonder if we should start a fund for the poor peafowl maimed to make the hat," she said with laughter still heard in her voice, "We could always find out her name and make a donation under it. It would surely be a more worthy cause than whatever this gala is for." And with that, she plucked up a glass of champagne from a passing by waiter and began sipping on it.
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The fact that someone actually had the audacity to showcase such an atrocious attraction atop their head provoked Theseus to continue a glare at the woman while she made her away through the threshold. The added comments from his sister on the matter made the wizard crack a smile, though tight lips prevented a laugh from escaping lest he wished to draw more attention. "I'm afraid there are not enough galleons in Gringotts to fund however many fowl were brought to their end for that headpiece," he jested, "I'd be surprised if she hasn't started squawking yet."

After his eyes lost sight of the feathered woman, he returned his focus to his present company. "Speaking of, however, what is this for anyways?" As part of his social standing, Theseus forfeited his free time to attend these gatherings. There were few that he actually enjoyed and truthfully only took pleasure in the served beverages. His presence, he believed, was enough for the hosts to appreciate, so extending any additional efforts to please the others seemed somewhat extraneous.


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