19 June, 1894 — Dempsey Estate

"Well, have fun with that," Don Juan cut in. The conversation was surrounding the upcoming Solstice Ball, which presumably the more well-heeled Dempseys were attending. He was not. A more circumspect sibling might have decided the conversation didn't apply to them and graciously sat it out, but Don Juan was seldom gracious and never circumspect, and could not resist inserting himself to make the conversation about him. He could play the victim fairly well, when it came to society parties and invitations — though mostly his family had no patience for it, since they all knew very well he had done it all to himself.

"I wasn't invited," he said, as though they wouldn't have already guessed. "In fact I think I was explicitly not invited. D'you still have the invite laying around? It was in the footnote: except Don Juan, the infamous."

(He would have liked very much to have been titled Don Juan the Infamous; maybe if he said it to enough people it might catch on).

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Don Juan offered his sister-in-law an innocent expression; he even batted his eyelashes. "I haven't the faintest idea," he said, tone sugary. Then, as if this little facade were not likely to be grating enough, he leaned over to snatch a biscuit off of someone's tea plate — he didn't much mind whose. He didn't even really want a biscuit, he just wanted to be obnoxious in a way that they were unlikely to be able to kick him out of the parlor over. "I've been on my best behavior lately," he continued as he nibbled the edge of the biscuit.

It wasn't an entirely untrue statement. Don Juan's 'best behavior' might not meet the bar of good behavior where others were concerned, but no one had challenged him to a duel for sleeping with their wife in nearly five years, which seemed like a very good track record to him.

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Don Juan looked askance at his sister-in-law and tried to determine whether he was meant to be riled by that remark. (He did not take the time to consider whether he actually was riled; conversation at home were no less performative than conversations in society scenes, to him).

"I probably am," he returned, with a similar shrug. He had decided she probably did intend to affront him at least a little — the tell was how entirely nonchalant her body language was, he had determined — so the best counterpoint he could make was to be not affronted in the slightest. (This avenue would not have been available to him had his mother been in the room; even though he suspected his parents knew the worst of everything already, even he was not so brazen as to admit to things in front of them). "Anyone recommendations?"

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"Oh, are we still anti-establishment?" Don Juan asked lightly. The Dempseys weren't exactly radicals, but they certainly weren't on the side of the pureblood old guard and never had been. Porphyria handed out pamphlets when the newspaper debuted their anti-women ink. Christabel attended some sort of Muggle meetings that were vaguely radical — incendiary enough for people to whisper about her occasionally, anyway. "I thought you were the establishment nowadays."

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"If you don't watch he'll entrench himself in both," Don Juan teased. "The papers say he and Lestrange get on infamously." This was an exaggeration, but Don Juan had seen a few comments his brother had made regarding his working relationship with the Chief Warlock that had seemed much warmer than Don Juan would have expected. "Though I imagine if I asked his daughter to dance that would put a stop to that pretty quickly."

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Don Juan offered a lazy salute and picked up a book from the side table, signaling that his interest in the conversation was waning. "Happy to be of service."

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