June 28th, 1894 — Misses & Matrons Spellcraft Ball

It was weird, Arthur thought, to be at a ball where Mrs. Selwyn was dancing with Emrys. She was an impressive witch, and they were opening the ball. He was sure it would be less odd to be here once they were no longer opening things. If it wasn't, he would be sure to duck out at a later time. (But it was still early enough in the season that he was hoping to keep an eye on things.)

Art took a sip of his wine, realizing the person next to him had asked a question. "Oh, Mrs. Pettigrew is joining me later," he said — he wasn't sure that Desdemona would, but the other person did not need to know that.

  

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Ambrosia glanced between Arthur Pettigrew and her sister's retreating back and realised, belatedly and far too late for her to make an exit, that the ersatz gentleman to her left thought that she had enquired after his wife. Ambrosia did not care one tiny jot for Desdemona Pettigrew or her husband but thanks to her sister's impatience mingled with her ability to become offended in an empty room, and Arthur Pettigrew's indifference to time happening around him, she was about to be forced to have an awkward conversation.

She sighed.

"I'm sure Angelica, as our gracious hostess, will bear her absence nobly. Have they met at all?"

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   Arthur Pettigrew

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Ambrosia's got 99 problems but this hot af set from MJ ain't 1 of them

"Not to my knowledge, Mrs. Selwyn," Arthur said with an easygoing smile. He didn't think either of them were thrilled to be speaking with each other — Art because she was a Selwyn, and Ambrosia Selwyn because she did not like anyone. "Did you compete today?"

  

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“Good god no,” Ambrosia replied bitingly, holding her drink close as though this madman might steal it. He did seem the sort and if he thought for one moment she would lower herself to taking part in a contest then he was as unhinged as he looked. “What one wins in pointless trophies they lose in dignity, I find.”

  

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Ambrosia's got 99 problems but this hot af set from MJ ain't 1 of them

Mrs. Ambrosia Selwyn was just as charming as he'd heard. "Your sister-in-law won," Art could not resist pointing out. He raised an eyebrow at her.

  

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“Nothing worth having I daresay,” she quipped, indifferent to the whole exercise of competition. What was the point when one already knew they were superior? A single lucky shot from another and all reputation was lost; and Ambrosia would never, ever bow to anyone in deference or defeat. “I can think of far more pleasurable things to fill my time”

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Ambrosia's got 99 problems but this hot af set from MJ ain't 1 of them

Arthur, who had built his entire career off of competition, smiled a little sharklike at that. "Such as?" he asked. Mrs. Selwyn's husband was certainly prone to wandering, so she couldn't be busy with him.

  

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Ambrosia eyed him over her glass as though he were stupid. Perhaps he was? She didn't know him well but she had suspicions that all of Emrys' friends had cravings that far surpassed their intelligence, or will to resist. On the other hand he was quite pleasant to look at.

"I'm sure you could think of something, Mr Pettigrew," she said with a softer smile, taking a sip of her drink, and recalling that he seemed to be friendly with a certain Mr Prewett of her acquaintance. "If you put your back into it."

  

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Ambrosia's got 99 problems but this hot af set from MJ ain't 1 of them

For a second, Art thought she knew — but Emrys would not have betrayed him that way, and this was his sister-in-law, besides. But that wasn't possible, and he laughed, a loud sound in the polite music of the ballroom. "I suspect I'm familiar with sport," he said, light. He was not sure that she was talking about sex, but she could be — Mr. Selwyn didn't have to be the only person prone to wandering. (Would Desdemona be happier if she had an extra bedfellow, as well? He wasn't sure — sex with Desdemona had never seemed to be the point of their marriage.)

  

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“I suspect you are,” Ambrosia replied. She had no notion of what Mr Pettigrew got up to in his day-to-day life, of course, nor had she ever heard anything on the subject through the rumour mill. In fact, other than the rack and ruin he had led his poor mother to, Ambrosia only knew him to be a man and an idiot: which was quite enough for her to mistrust his morals.

Taking a sip from her drink she asked: “Your wife is also quite athletic, I hear?”

  

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Ambrosia's got 99 problems but this hot af set from MJ ain't 1 of them

Did Mrs. Ambrosia Selwyn know, or was she just flailing for things she knew about him? It had to be the latter, but Arthur still could not help but shift his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. "She used to play Quidditch, too," he offered, because she was right, and so it was strange if he didn't say anything. But this was — weird circumstances. Perhaps he should avoid ladies' competitions, if Mrs. Angelica Selwyn was going to keep doing well at them.

  

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Which probably meant she was a slut too, Ambrosia thought critically as she finished her drink. Perhaps their marriage was as fraught as hers? Any indication that others were suffering half as much as she was felt like a blessing to Ambrosia at this point.

The desire to play her husband at his own game was gaining momentum but, for now at least, she was able to control herself. She needed to stop drinking and excuse herself from Arthur Pettigrew’s vicinity though. Somehow it made her feel seedy without even trying.

“A match made in heaven, I’m sure,” she said with a dismissive turn of her head, for all the world as though he had bothered her in the first place and not vice versa.

  

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Ambrosia's got 99 problems but this hot af set from MJ ain't 1 of them

Art made a mental note to ask Emrys if it was normal for Mrs. Selwyn to be this unpleasant. Maybe it was; then he had no real reason to feel so vaguely unsettled. "Right," he said, "Well, I'll leave you to it, Mrs. Selwyn."

Art attempted to back away without making it clear that he was trying to back away. Maybe he could find some other Quidditch players to talk to — or maybe he could find Desdemona.

  

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