February 12th, 1891 - Sonata #7 Debut

Sonata #7 was in line with her goals, and Camilla was happy to attend with her older brother. It was like a party, and being seen being attractive in public would help remind people that twenty-five aside, she was beautiful and elegant and would make an excellent wife. Camilla was honestly indifferent to the Sonata itself; music, sure, acrobats, whatever, it was all a little scandalous but in the way that music could be scandalous. It wasn't a real scandal.

She had lost track of Victorius for a few minutes now in the lobby between parts, but was not too concerned. Besides, she was trying to get a drink for the next section of the Sonata. (Four hours was a long time for music, wasn't it?) Camilla was heading over to the bar when she saw him and carefully schooled her expression into something neutral.

The trouble with having these cousins meandering around was that it was rude to ignore them, and while she would have much rather pretended they didn't exist, she didn't think she could get away with it.

"Savino," Camilla said, in the sort of tone one used to say 'go fuck yourself.' "Still staying in Britain, then?" She didn't understand why the Italian Zabinis were here, swanning about her society like they had not singlehandedly managed to ruin her life - it was easier to pretend they did not exist when they were safely in Italy. At least, she supposed, she had not seen his mother.

---

He had just had his glass refilled, which was good timing, apparently, because cousin Camilla was prowling over. Constrained by the public backdrop to play nice.

To be honest, Savino rather missed the days of spending his summer holidays in Britain with the cousins or vice versa with them in Italy; with Camilla was only a little older than him, and Bellona only a little younger and Luciana not far behind, they had all essentially grown up together in those early years. Until his mother had gone and ruined their blood purity and their marriage prospects and Cosmo’s actual marriage in one fell blow. Savino had since given his mother the benefit of the doubt, and accepted it as an accidental discovery on her part, but he supposed he understood why that half of the family had been... slower to get over it.

He was a little less understanding when they came sniping at him as if he’d had anything to do with it, though, so took a hurried sip of his drink as she approached. “Cousin Camilla,” Savino said, perfectly pleasantly. “Well, you may not have La Fenice or La Scala next door,” - and the composer tonight was hardly Verdi, either, though the acrobats were fun - “but there are plenty of charming things to see here. I wouldn’t want to miss them.”

He had found some very charming things in Britain thus far, although his cousins could probably not be classified among them.

---

Camilla wanted to scoff at his mention of the Italian opera houses, but found herself unable to - if Hogsmeade had anything like La Scala she would have been there weekly. She wished, rather distantly, that escaping to Italy and pretending to be a pureblood was an option - but of course Savino's mother's discovery was just as damaging there.

"Well, I am glad we've been able to charm you," Camilla said, with a tone that did not sound particularly glad. "Have your mother and sister been lured out, as well?" Savino was frankly the least offensive of the three of them, so if either of the women were here Camilla was going to be sorely tempted to hurl herself off the balcony.

---

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Savino answered, with a lightness and smile that said the phrasing was a joke - some family in-joke, as if they still had that sort of thing - but which he presumed would be received with great sincerity from Camilla, who might be more likely to stick needles in his mother’s eyes than be pleased for her presence. “My mother’s enthusiasm for events like these is in no danger of fading,” he admitted - or warned, whichever - because when she had a goal in her head she was a very driven woman, and if that goal was social climb, she was undoubtedly not about to take an evening off. He said nothing about his sister; Luciana shared none of their mother’s enthusiasm. Or graces, according to their mother.

“Have you been enjoying it?” He inclined his head towards the auditorium; been enjoying it, because perhaps now that she knew they were here she would be stewing in her seat. He took another gulp of his drink, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes in public.

---

Camilla frowned at his answer - she did not like Savino by proxy, but his mother was much worse, and she did not trust her ability to refrain from causing a scene if she had to handle Luciana or Lucretia. (Bellona had never liked Luciana, and therefor Camilla was obligated to hate her too; as far as she was concerned, and she could not come up with any adjectives to describe Lucretia that were not 'fucking bitch.')

She felt as if she was a creature with hackles raised, but the only physical reaction was a tightening of her grip on her drink. "I have been," Camilla answered truthfully, rather than speak on his family, "Although four hours may be a bit long for a Sonata, I think; no matter one's level of enthusiasm."

---

“I suppose that’s true,” Savino agreed, and if that was a quip specifically about his mother he would be sure not to pass it along. “Do you think anyone is likely to notice if I were to doze off in my seat for a while?” He asked with a light laugh, half to deflect away from the family and half just to see if joking would relax the tension a little, within this conversation as well as for the rest of society’s view of it from the outside.

And it was utterly a joke, no matter how lively or dull the rest of the concert was, because Savino had never been much good at sleeping normally. Even if he was having a spate of not-ordinary dreams and waking up exhausted, he took pains not to be seen in a state of dozing off - just in case he accidentally fell asleep and woke up in sweats from having Seen something bad again. So: a joke for the sake of it, because if Camilla was being civil he would happily be patient with her in return. (When he considered the rest of the family, though, on both sides, he didn’t see why he should play at having patience for civility more than everyone else. The rest of them probably had long, long lives left to live - so they should work on patience; they’d need it.)

---

The thing with Savino was that he was sort of funny, or perhaps sort of charming, even if Camilla would have vastly preferred him to be socially incompetent and utterly terrible. In the before she had been vaguely fond of him, and now in the after it was a little difficult to keep up a stony exterior when they were chatting, even if she'd come over here exclusively to snipe. Ugh.

"Oh, I think you could get away with it," Camilla said, with a wry little smile, unable to resist. "I've decided to get a drink to cope, but that is much less direct than falling asleep."

---

Oh: there was no quip this time, no murderous look in her eyes, just a smile that she maybe even meant. That was refreshing. (He knew, he knew, just because not every breath was full of hatred it did not mean the family would ever be friendly again - he wouldn’t get his hopes up, just enjoy the echoes of it.)

So he smiled back, a touch conspiratorial. “I might give it a try. But you might need more than one drink, I think,” he joked, nodding at her glass. She could probably get away with that.

He took a sip of his; once he had finished he could make his excuses and leave her be. In the meantime: “I imagine you’re looking forward to the next season starting?” That was not meant to be a veiled barb, either - she would probably look forward to the season even when she was a socialite - just to say that she would enjoy having her pick of the parties, when there was more going on.

---

Camilla grinned at his joke, actually genuine, and raised the glass to her lips to take a sip. She could get another drink without anyone noticing, she thought — she could get away with a lot of things without anyone noticing her.

She frowned a little, at the mention of the season. She couldn't tell if Savino was making a jab at her age or not — if he was, it would be unlike him, (even though she was not fond of this branch of Zabinis,) and men tended to be less aware of those things regardless. But she was still aware of it, the threat of her age. She was going to be twenty-six in June. Twenty-six. She needed a way out.

The season could represent that, and she schooled her expression back into something approximating neutral. "Oh, certainly," she said, "The social calendar in these winter months can be so dull."

---

He didn’t even mind being sociable, really, but Savino pitied anyone stuck in the circuitous, circular existence of society season after season - people aimed for marriage, and then returned to standing on the sidelines and nothing ever really changed or evolved or - mattered, even.

But as long as they were happy living it, he supposed. He certainly wouldn’t be pleased to see the calendar filling up, but knowing Lucretia Zabini it soon would. Perhaps he could stretch out his time back in Italy this summer, show Ruby the sights and then make his excuses to his parents - or travel somewhere else. “Well, as I hear it you’re one of the most eminent hostesses in London,” he offered (which he fancied was a slight exaggeration, but in the interests of keeping things cordial it seemed worth saying anyway). “So you must have good judgement on parties - you’ll have to warn me which spring events aren’t worth attending.”

He was joking again, had no expectation that she would - because forcibly polite public conversations was about the best the family could do - but as he spoke he caught sight of his mother in the crowd, coming slowly this way, and on the word warn nodded furtively in her direction.

To spare Camilla that encounter, sure; but also to give himself time for a getaway.

---

Camilla softened visibly as Savino called her a good hostess; if she wasn't going to be someone's excellent wife, then she could at least be everyone's excellent wife. But — she reminded herself — she would be someone's excellent wife this year. She may have mustered a joke in response, but Camilla caught the look he gave her on warn and looked in the direction Savino nodded. Fuck.

(It was almost disappointing that they could still communicate this way, too — like despite her intentions otherwise they were still family underneath it all, still had that veneer of having spent much of their childhoods together. Or perhaps Savino was just expressive, and good at conveying what he meant. Hm.)

"I shall," Camilla said, "But I must go rejoin my sister — goodbye, Savino."

She fled.

---

He was sure she wouldn’t - sure the other Zabinis hoped to see nothing of Savino’s side at any event this year - but even the false sentiment was almost enough to smile at. Not that there was time to hang about, because even as Camilla retreated he could see his mother’s approach in the corner of his eye. Pretending obliviousness, Savino wove through the crowd in the opposite direction, artfully picking up another drink on his way. Perhaps he would see about dozing off for a while.

---