December 29th, 1894 — London, Time Turner NYE Ball

Fitzroy snorted in disbelief as he watched the debutante positively staggered away from the dance floor, swaying not unlike a dandelion in a breeze. The fellow who had, presumably, been her most recent dance partner looked relieved that the song had drawn to a close, and was making a very clear effort to get as far from the drunk young lady as possible. Such intoxication was not a common site at society events, in spite of the free-flowing libations; most respectable (and even disreputable) guests knew to drink only enough to lighten the spirits and blur the mind slightly, to be so plainly drunk was, at best, a mortifying embarrassment.

"I've two sickles that say she's ill upon her next dance partner," he remarked to his companions. Camilla was off... Camilla-ing, leaving Fitzroy Prewett largely to his own devices until he retrieved her later for a dance (and hopefully the pair returned home for another sort of dance altogether). Given his wife's presence, this could not mean unabashedly flirting or stealing off to dark corners, so apparently, the wizard had turned to light gambling.

Would she even make it to a next dance, he wondered, or would a sharp-eyed friend or chaperon wisk her away for her own protection (and that of her reputation)?

To one of the men, he added, grinning, "I do hope that's not you, [Surname]!"

Open to up to 4 others, including: a UC bachelor and a male friend/brother of Fitz.
Are you part of the group? Did you overhear the bet? Are you the drunken deb?

The following 1 user Likes Fitzroy Prewett's post:1 user Likes Fitzroy Prewett's post
   Hadrian Nott

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Rufus looked at his dance card. "Before I tell you if it is, Mr. Prewett," he answered with a grin, "won't you up your wager?"
His eyes glittered slyly. He adjusted the golden rings on his dark fingers. Two sickles? Mr. Fitzroy Prewett was no pauper, was he now? And if Rufus was not mistaken, the name next on his card did belong to the swaying debutante.

It was one of the first balls of this season. Now that school was out for the winter and Rufus was of age, he would not have missed it for anything and he danced with any girl he thought at least a bit lovely. It did not bother him in the slightest that he might be the youngest man present. He was tall, he was rich, no parents were around to keep him -- and did he mention that he was exceptionally handsome?

His acquaintance with an older ministry man like Mr. Prewett might seem odd, but Rufus knew a great number of ministry types. He had grown up playing in the halls and corridors of the Ministry of Magic, hiding in the parlors and visiting offices all over the building, while his parents attended diplomatic talks. After his mother and father returned to the Gold Coast, these contacts remained and they opened doors to London's society.

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“Well, well, well,” Hadrian said, laughing at the youth’s daring response to the situation and to Prewett, a slightly older, once-quidditch-playing Slytherin and one of the rare people Hadrian remembered despite having been more out of the country than at home in it for most of his adult life.

Probably because Prewett was entertaining at all costs. Clearly he hadn’t changed – it seemed he could make a sport of anything. “What I want to know,” Hadrian chimed in, peering between the men and the (splendidly squiffy) debutante in question, “is what sort the next dance is, anyway?” That, he thought, might tip the balance one way or another – or, rather, her balance, if she had the spinning of a waltz or the upbeat tempo of a polka with which to contend.

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set by bee!