February 12th, 1895 - CUPID's ARROW LOVE DAY BALL

Thick, calloused fingers plucked at his high collar, tugging on it as that will loosen it; if Bri was here, surely, she’d be slapping his hand aside, warning Al off before he snapped some stitches – something, something, too strong for his own good and too careless by half…

Fuck, he wished Ena was here – she’d make this whole thing much more bearable with her snarky commentary… Eva would do the same, but she’d turned down Fi’s request to join the two of them, unfortunately.

The pair of them wouldn’t even be here if Grandmother Danaher hadn’t wrote him, implying heavily she’d hassle Fi (and her job security) if neither of them were spotted at this gaudy pink and red affair of a ball tonight; he’d been tempted to only pop his head inside and call it a day, but then Mam’s letter had reached him and he’d caved at her simple request to go for a few hours to keep the peace – if not for himself, then for her and Fi’s sake.

Convincing his little sister had been a task, but… well, here they were. Uncomfortable, expensive outfits and all. Just the two of them… bored… and lurking along the fringes of the crowds for a while, slowly working their way to the refreshments table; he could certainly use a stiff drink for the night ahead.

He’d kept his eye on the Cupid statue most of the night, mostly because his little sister had said it was moving every so often and firing arrows at people and it made her antsy, so when it moved in his peripherals, he reacted like a restless dog that had been made to sit for far too long. With reflexes honed on the quidditch pitch, he pulled Fi aside—

And felt something hit him square in the chest. He stumbled a step back, huffing in surprise – and bumped right into someone.

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Victoire Malfoy

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Tonight's premise was a little dubious at best. Torie had never quite been one to get into the St. Valentine's spirit, but she supposed she didn't have much room anymore to turn down invitations, especially out of the season. She had donned a new dress in a shade of pink the modiste had called cherry blossom and headed off with her mother in tow. Pearls clung to hear ears and neckline in teardrop shapes and her hair swept back into something fashionable off her neck to show them off.

So far the evening had been fairly typical, a few dances with eligible bachelors that she saw at almost every event, though nothing ever came of it. She knew she was the youngest, but honestly at this point, one of them had to get married and it might as well be her. Unfortunately she did not see Mr. Echelon-Arnost in her wanderings, so she could not pester him about the latest book he'd given her to read. At least that had given her something more meaningful to do with her time, even if she could only do so in the privacy of her bedroom and not in the sitting room where she was doomed to piano forte and needlepoint.

At least she had found a couple of friend's to converse with to keep her occupied. She held a glass of champagne aloft, their discussion about the latest trend in hats so superfluous that she didn't need to strictly pay attention— that was until someone bumped into her and she nearly dropped the drink. She'd missed the sting in her shoulder, as it happened at the same time, but as she turned to find Mr. Danaher, Torie didn't have it in herself to be angry with him. "Are you quite alright, Mr. Danaher?" She asked instead, eyes curiously meeting his in concern.

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Red again! June 1894