December 20th, 1894 — The Minister’s Winter Ball

Mourning and half-mourning had felt interminable, and this was her first Big society event since before Cecelia’s death — Hanna prepared, working on puzzles all day until she had to get ready, but it was not enough. She had not had live music in months, had not been able to let the beats settle in her veins and beat back her static — and so now even though she managed to chase the new horrors back, her hands were still shaking and there was a very faint buzzing in her ears.

But Ezra was going with her, and she had to marry, and she’d been newly educated via her kissing lessons with Mr. Hudson. So never mind that she was newly twenty-seven, and never mind that her hands shook, she could be pretty and she could be charming and she could do this.

The champagne, Hanna knew, was a risk. She had wanted something to do with her hands, but it was harder to keep the shakes to herself while she was holding something. She was trying to be a charming conversationalist, really she was — but her hands shook and the champagne flute tumbled out of her grip and onto the floor, sending liquid onto her skirts and onto her conversation partner. Hanna could only stare at them, horrified.

  

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set by Bee

Don Juan was sober and irate about it, which meant he was distracted by his own head and not being the most compelling conversation partner, but even so, throwing champagne at him seemed a bit extreme.

If he'd had any sense of decorum he would have planned to be sober tonight; it was his sister's party, and everyone Oz worked for and with and over was here, and he ought to ensure he didn't make an ass of himself. But his sense of decorum had been thrown by the wayside when Griffith introduced him to a new substance earlier that month. Every time he came down he was back asking for more. It was only Griffith having been an ass about it most recently that had gotten him here tonight sober — hence his being annoyed. And while the young woman spoke he was making the appropriate responses, but mostly he was turning over all his various interactions with Griffith in his head and trying to guess whether he would be an ass next time, too. Griffith was unpredictable — conversations with him were playing with fire, and the longer Don Juan continued the higher the risk he'd get burned — but that stuff he made was so good, and it kept the opium withdrawals at bay.

"It's not the best champagne," he joked with a shrug. "But you might've gotten rid of it in a slightly less dramatic fashion by waving down one of the staff." He stepped back from the sticky patch of broken glass and did exactly that, though it wouldn't help her skirts or his trousers.

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MJ made this <3