March 15, 1895 - Pendergast Ball

With the Season just a couple of short months away, Torie was preparing herself to be fully invested; she needed to come out of this summer with some official attachment or she was likely to abscond to France to stay with family to see if she could have better luck there. Honestly though, it should not be this hard.

Tonight's fete was a good warm up. This branch of Pendergasts did not host often, so Torie was intrigued. She didn't think she'd ever been inside their house before, now that she thought about it. Aoife Pendergast was not the typical sort of society woman and Torie respected her for it. Still, she was curious enough to accept the invitation and had so far been pleased with the result. She wore a gown of green so dark it almost appeared black, except for in certain lights. It was a beautiful, flowing material that almost moved like water around her legs. All in all, it was perfect for the evening's theme.

Wary of the fortune teller's reading, Torie steered clear of the woman's table; she had no patience for hearing she was doomed or blessed or whatever it was the woman was going to spout at her about her luck this year. Surely it was all nonsense anyway. (Maybe she was a little afraid to hear what it might be, lest it be true.) Instead she'd take a couple of turns on the dance floor and was now nursing a glass of champagne in hand as she wandered toward the magically warmed garden. The fairy lights and ethereal glow were enchanting enough and Torie wished for summer weather now more than ever, even if the summer felt a bit daunting. She was going to be three-and-twenty in just a couple of months; she could not go unwed any longer. It was ridiculous.

As she was wont to do in moments of downtime, she was trying to figure out a plan to make this season more successful when she felt an abrupt nudge hit her right at the back of her knees, sending her careening forward, champagne lost over the railing as she went crashing into the person who had just come up next to her.

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Reginald Alderton

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   Reginald Alderton

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Red again! June 1894

Felix wasn’t here yet – wasn’t coming, even – and Reg was clambering for a reason to go home and wait for him there. It wasn’t like he didn’t put his name on dance cards or have nice conversations with people, but none of them compared to the jokes and lightness he felt whenever he and Felix were alone. Sometimes he worried that people knew – was he too clingy in public, too desperate, too in love? Reg tried not to be, and it helped that everyone knew that they worked together, and well… it was probably common knowledge that they lived together, too.

Either way Felix was leaving him to his own devices tonight, and Reg loathed it. He’d done his best to put his names on some dance cards of debutantes who wouldn't take him too seriously, and now that those were over, he was looking for every excuse to not have to do that again. He grabbed a plate of snacks from the table and made his way toward the garden, figuring that he could hide there for a while – the air was less stifling out here.

He was seated on a ledge eating a finger sandwich when he felt a pair of eyes watching him. Reg swallowed hard and turned, although he seemed to be the only one out here… minus the large wolf… dog that was staring at him from just a foot or so away. Instantly, Reg’s eyes lit up. Every ball should have some kind of animal available to be pet because it made being there a hell of a lot easier.

He abandoned his plate on the ledge and slowly extended his hand to try to coax the creature closer, but the dog – no, it was too big a dog, wasn’t it? – suddenly whipped around and bolted in the opposite direction. Reg shot to his feet, and without thinking about it, he gave chase to it. Reg barely registered the startled glances of guests as he weaved past them. Surely it wasn’t the oddest thing they’d ever seen.

And then, just as he was about to catch up to the dog, it barreled past an unsuspecting woman. His momentum was too great to slow down, and just as she lurched forward, her champagne slipping from her grasp, he found himself running smack into her, their heads colliding. Reg let out a startled grunt, his hands grasping her shoulders so they wouldn’t fall over.

He blinked. “Ah, hell.” Because out of everyone, it had to be Miss Victoire.

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Without any time to react, Torie was taken for a loop, stars bursting in front of her eyes as her head collided with someone else's. She would have gone down completely if it weren't for the hands on her shoulders. Her own hands went immediately to her temple where she'd made contact, the throb of a bump already protruding from her skin.

Just lovely.

She couldn't even spout any apologies or insults, because she was too busy trying not to black out.

Unfortunately that was not going to happen and she crumbled a moment later, too stunned in the moment to be anything other than overwhelmed. Her legs gave out as she lost her vision completely, succumbing to the faint without even seeing who it was that had run her over.

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Red again! June 1894

There were several things that Reg was not, and being a white knight like he was brother was definitely at the top of his list. Anthony would have reached out to grab her, maybe loop his arms under her legs so she wouldn’t collapse to the ground (and being the gentleman that he was, he would probably also carry her to safety), but all Reginald could do was let out a small yelp as Miss Victorie started to faint.

How to save a fainting woman wasn’t ever covered in etiquette classes. Maybe it should be added to the curriculum.

On instinct he took a step back, letting his hands fall away from her shoulders – because, well, what else was he supposed to do when a person was crumpling toward him? It wasn’t going to do them any good if they both went down. Still, Reg’s hands twitched like maybe there was some heroic instinct that might kick in and save her, although by the time he realized maybe he shouldn’t have let her go, she was already on the ground.

“Ah.” He mumbled, blinking down at her in mild horror. “Well, that’s… unfortunate.”

Taking a quick glance around hoping that maybe a healer or someone much more qualified than he was might swoop in to deal with this situation, disappointment sat heavy in his gut when no one materialized. Reg crouched down. “Miss Victoire,” He whispered, not sure if he should touch her so he didn't, letting his stupid hands awkwardly hover near her head, “You’re not dead, are you?”

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   Victoire Malfoy

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It was the cold of the ground that Torie first recognized, stone or something akin to it. No doubt she would have a myriad of bruises to accompany the egg on her head and the ache in her body. It took her a few moments, but she heard a voice, a familiar one, but she was too rattled to focus on it.

As her vision started to return, she thought for one mortifying split second it was Anthony hovering above her and she blinked several times before her sight cleared and she realized it was Reginald instead; Torie wasn't sure if that was better or worse. Better, right? She hand Reginald had always been friendly and surely it was less embarrassing to faint in front of her ex-fiancé's brother? Regardless, the heat flushed to her cheeks and she still felt too dazed to try and being more cavalier about this.

"Not dead, but why ever did you run me over like that?" She tried for a light, airy joke, but she was still feeling too hazy to give it much effort. One hand went to her pounding head, but she made no movement to get up.

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Red again! June 1894