Unfortunately for Ford, his friendship with Cash was common knowledge in his family, while their recent falling out was not. It would have been suspect if he'd tried to decline the invitation even if they hadn't been close, but since Cash had the distinction of being one of only two people Ford had ever invited to dinner it would have required quite an explanation to get him out of this, which Ford wasn't up for. He'd never been a particularly good liar, and the twice in his childhood he'd tried to feign a stomach bug to get out of something he didn't want to do his ploy had been discovered in mere moments. Besides, if he'd feigned illness the rest of the family still would have come, and then it would be obvious (to Cash, anyway) that Ford was avoiding him.
Or maybe he wouldn't have noticed. They hadn't spoken since their falling out on the walk through Wellingtonshire, when Cash had first announced this wedding. Partly that was Ford's fault — he had, after all, quietly let his membership at Black's expire this month — but if Cash had wanted to talk, he could have owled. Hell, he could have just shown up; he knew where Ford lived. He could have even pinned him down at any of the various society events they both drifted through in the interim. He hadn't, obviously, which was probably to be expected. Ford had always been a little more invested in this friendship than Cash had, which he was finally starting to come to terms with.
But it put him in a weird position tonight, trying to act to his family as though everything was peachy with the pair of them while also finding any convenient excuse not to actually occupy the same quarter of the room as Cash at any given point. And if that wasn't mentally taxing enough, there were other people here he didn't want to see. He did not have the spare brainpower to survive being caught in a conversation with Macnair's wife, which would probably involve her discussing her son — so when the rotations of conversation partners through the ballroom had made that seem like a likely possibility, he'd excused himself by saying he needed the lavatory and then gone instead to the most secluded part of the estate he could find.
Which he had to himself for a grand total of a minute. Maybe he should have just gone to the lavatory — then at least he could have locked himself in long enough to let the facade drop before taking time to recompose himself. Ford started to walk back towards the house to do that, but hesitated when he saw the interloper lean against the wall. There was a familiar tone to the way his shoulder rose and fell with his breath, and Ford suspected he had been looking for an escape just as much as Ford had. Was that just projection? It certainly wasn't wishful thinking, because now Ford couldn't help but feel as though he'd intruded on a personal moment (and nevermind that he'd been here first). He might have slunk off through the garden and tried to find another way back inside, to avoid trespassing any further, but before he could figure out which direction to go he had been spotted, and addressed — by name, no less. He edged a bit closer to the house and took a closer look at the man who'd joined him on the patio, eventually placing him as Cash's Quidditch boss.
"...Yeah," he replied. He felt vaguely guilty about labeling himself Cash's friend, given everything, but how else could he have responded? He certainly wasn't going to pour his heart out to a virtual stranger about something he hadn't even mentioned to Noble. "You're the one who owns the Cannons?"
Or maybe he wouldn't have noticed. They hadn't spoken since their falling out on the walk through Wellingtonshire, when Cash had first announced this wedding. Partly that was Ford's fault — he had, after all, quietly let his membership at Black's expire this month — but if Cash had wanted to talk, he could have owled. Hell, he could have just shown up; he knew where Ford lived. He could have even pinned him down at any of the various society events they both drifted through in the interim. He hadn't, obviously, which was probably to be expected. Ford had always been a little more invested in this friendship than Cash had, which he was finally starting to come to terms with.
But it put him in a weird position tonight, trying to act to his family as though everything was peachy with the pair of them while also finding any convenient excuse not to actually occupy the same quarter of the room as Cash at any given point. And if that wasn't mentally taxing enough, there were other people here he didn't want to see. He did not have the spare brainpower to survive being caught in a conversation with Macnair's wife, which would probably involve her discussing her son — so when the rotations of conversation partners through the ballroom had made that seem like a likely possibility, he'd excused himself by saying he needed the lavatory and then gone instead to the most secluded part of the estate he could find.
Which he had to himself for a grand total of a minute. Maybe he should have just gone to the lavatory — then at least he could have locked himself in long enough to let the facade drop before taking time to recompose himself. Ford started to walk back towards the house to do that, but hesitated when he saw the interloper lean against the wall. There was a familiar tone to the way his shoulder rose and fell with his breath, and Ford suspected he had been looking for an escape just as much as Ford had. Was that just projection? It certainly wasn't wishful thinking, because now Ford couldn't help but feel as though he'd intruded on a personal moment (and nevermind that he'd been here first). He might have slunk off through the garden and tried to find another way back inside, to avoid trespassing any further, but before he could figure out which direction to go he had been spotted, and addressed — by name, no less. He edged a bit closer to the house and took a closer look at the man who'd joined him on the patio, eventually placing him as Cash's Quidditch boss.
"...Yeah," he replied. He felt vaguely guilty about labeling himself Cash's friend, given everything, but how else could he have responded? He certainly wasn't going to pour his heart out to a virtual stranger about something he hadn't even mentioned to Noble. "You're the one who owns the Cannons?"
Set by Lady!