The season... was upon them.
Cassian was not overly accustomed to these affairs. Save for when his sisters made their debuts four and five seasons ago, and with any number of other brothers to choose from, he’s had plenty of legitimate reasons to miss these parties. A few at the estates of close friends, surely. Perhaps the occasional jaunt to the continent. But to be out during debut season, when it’s generally known now that he’s looking to settle down? A different experience entirely.
The big blonde felt more or less like a mannequin, moving numbly from polite encounter to genteel conversation and back again. There were plenty of people he was steered to meet, and many a charming debutante who looked fragile enough to break if the wind picked up.
At least tonight he had it on good authority that the pretty brunette would be here too. And not just any pretty brunette. One Miss Dashwood, who only seemed to be coming up more and more in conversations lately. They hadn’t really met yet, not truly. Not in the intimate spin of a dance, or a few feet’s distance from her dearest cousin and his watchful eye. It wasn’t that Cassian had a problem making his intentions known to Atticus, they knew each other quite well. But before going through the trouble of making his intentions known a bit more formally, he’d like to know if she had any interest first. Though it would seem they were destined to play a game of cat and mouse throughout the evening (who was who, Cass couldn’t say).
“Are you sure we don’t know each other?” he asked, looking curiously at the young woman who’d been introduced to him for this dance. She was a pretty blonde with delicate, pixie-like features. She maneuvered smoothly along with him, and smiled pleasingly, but he could see it in her eyes. His question made her skittish. “I’m sorry but I am most certain we do not,” she answered, with a knit between her eyebrows. What a strange reaction to have, but Cass didn’t press it. Clearly it was his mistake - there were plenty of pretty blondes in the sea, after all.
They made niceties for a few minutes longer, hell, he even made her giggle with a silly story about someone switching his quidditch broom with the caretaker’s sweeper right before tryouts. But her timidity to share her real opinion - it didn’t settle well with him. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t have a reaction at all? Girls fight all the time, I have sisters so I would know,” he wasn’t being mean, but insistent, because he didn’t get why lie about such a thing. What’s worse, she was waffling out from under his line of questioning as effectively as a flailing fish on land. This was the kind of Thing that would make his dear aforementioned sisters eat this girl alive. No future Mrs. Valenduris should fall so heavily into her sword over something so trifling.
The song ended anticlimactically, and the two of them stepped apart with their requisite bow and curtsy. He smiled, charming still, as he said it was a lovely dance. She did too, of course, because god forbid anything beyond benign agreement. Eager to get the hell away then, he made a beeline to the nearest tray of alcohol he could see. He’d only just grabbed the flute when he heard a voice coming from behind his right shoulder.
That drawl. There was no mistake, he knew it from somewhere. Though the sight of the woman before him certainly offered a bit of a headfuck. For it was the same woman he had just danced with - only completely different, even with an outfit change, and leveling him a harrowing look that he could not immediately place. Damn. Where did he know her from? This was the face he thought he recognized earlier, and now it came with the voice that matched.
“Of course, I would hate to deprive you,” he recovered smoothly, offering up the flute to the young lady with a curious smirk. He let her take it - with the smallest graze of his pinky against her fingers with the handoff. Ah. The touch caused understanding to settle somewhere in the back of his mind with a click. Last summer. Venice. His blue eyes flicked around them briefly, settling on an older bloke who, judging from general approaching proximity and same pinched expression, might be the lady’s father. His gaze settled back to her, appraising. They'd only have another few minutes to get to the root of this, at least before the father made an appearance for 'warm introductions' and they'd have to play nice. “But is my appearance so offensive to you? On the other hand, I am so pleased to see you, Miss…Edevane,” He had the name she gave him, all those months ago, which was a different one altogether. Tonight was the first he'd met a young lady Edevane, actually. There was no doubt what was going on now. That insufferable lying lady he’d just danced with was her twin, and this Miss Edevane had just been caught in her own.
Cassian was not overly accustomed to these affairs. Save for when his sisters made their debuts four and five seasons ago, and with any number of other brothers to choose from, he’s had plenty of legitimate reasons to miss these parties. A few at the estates of close friends, surely. Perhaps the occasional jaunt to the continent. But to be out during debut season, when it’s generally known now that he’s looking to settle down? A different experience entirely.
The big blonde felt more or less like a mannequin, moving numbly from polite encounter to genteel conversation and back again. There were plenty of people he was steered to meet, and many a charming debutante who looked fragile enough to break if the wind picked up.
At least tonight he had it on good authority that the pretty brunette would be here too. And not just any pretty brunette. One Miss Dashwood, who only seemed to be coming up more and more in conversations lately. They hadn’t really met yet, not truly. Not in the intimate spin of a dance, or a few feet’s distance from her dearest cousin and his watchful eye. It wasn’t that Cassian had a problem making his intentions known to Atticus, they knew each other quite well. But before going through the trouble of making his intentions known a bit more formally, he’d like to know if she had any interest first. Though it would seem they were destined to play a game of cat and mouse throughout the evening (who was who, Cass couldn’t say).
“Are you sure we don’t know each other?” he asked, looking curiously at the young woman who’d been introduced to him for this dance. She was a pretty blonde with delicate, pixie-like features. She maneuvered smoothly along with him, and smiled pleasingly, but he could see it in her eyes. His question made her skittish. “I’m sorry but I am most certain we do not,” she answered, with a knit between her eyebrows. What a strange reaction to have, but Cass didn’t press it. Clearly it was his mistake - there were plenty of pretty blondes in the sea, after all.
They made niceties for a few minutes longer, hell, he even made her giggle with a silly story about someone switching his quidditch broom with the caretaker’s sweeper right before tryouts. But her timidity to share her real opinion - it didn’t settle well with him. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t have a reaction at all? Girls fight all the time, I have sisters so I would know,” he wasn’t being mean, but insistent, because he didn’t get why lie about such a thing. What’s worse, she was waffling out from under his line of questioning as effectively as a flailing fish on land. This was the kind of Thing that would make his dear aforementioned sisters eat this girl alive. No future Mrs. Valenduris should fall so heavily into her sword over something so trifling.
The song ended anticlimactically, and the two of them stepped apart with their requisite bow and curtsy. He smiled, charming still, as he said it was a lovely dance. She did too, of course, because god forbid anything beyond benign agreement. Eager to get the hell away then, he made a beeline to the nearest tray of alcohol he could see. He’d only just grabbed the flute when he heard a voice coming from behind his right shoulder.
That drawl. There was no mistake, he knew it from somewhere. Though the sight of the woman before him certainly offered a bit of a headfuck. For it was the same woman he had just danced with - only completely different, even with an outfit change, and leveling him a harrowing look that he could not immediately place. Damn. Where did he know her from? This was the face he thought he recognized earlier, and now it came with the voice that matched.
“Of course, I would hate to deprive you,” he recovered smoothly, offering up the flute to the young lady with a curious smirk. He let her take it - with the smallest graze of his pinky against her fingers with the handoff. Ah. The touch caused understanding to settle somewhere in the back of his mind with a click. Last summer. Venice. His blue eyes flicked around them briefly, settling on an older bloke who, judging from general approaching proximity and same pinched expression, might be the lady’s father. His gaze settled back to her, appraising. They'd only have another few minutes to get to the root of this, at least before the father made an appearance for 'warm introductions' and they'd have to play nice. “But is my appearance so offensive to you? On the other hand, I am so pleased to see you, Miss…Edevane,” He had the name she gave him, all those months ago, which was a different one altogether. Tonight was the first he'd met a young lady Edevane, actually. There was no doubt what was going on now. That insufferable lying lady he’d just danced with was her twin, and this Miss Edevane had just been caught in her own.
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