8 November 1892 — Hogsmeade Ballroom
Christabel would probably have preferred he avoided making a scene in their last social event before her wedding, but he had too much steam to let off to stick to boring conversations all night long. Besides, Thomasina hadn't been to a ball with him for weeks, and he'd missed sparring with her. He could do that any day of the week of course, but the victories were more satisfying in public. The stakes were higher when they had an audience.
His latest retort had drawn a reaction from the socialite at Sina's elbow — a shocked "Mr. Dempsey, really," — that likely signified their little scene was coming to an end; he couldn't cause an actual scandal half a week before Christa's wedding. The woman's interjection was gratifying, and he had to resist the urge to smirk at having shocked her. She wasn't one of Thomasina's friends, no one particularly important, so he didn't care what she thought of him. If anything he was hoping for remarks like this; they bolstered his spirits as applause did a stage performer.
"I suppose I'll leave you to it," he said to his wife, with a sneer on his lips but mirth in his eye. "I'd say try to keep up, but that might leave you in danger of exhausting yourself. So perhaps just do your best not to be utterly graceless tonight." He turned away without giving her time to respond, which was the first thing he'd done all evening that might leave her properly annoyed at him. Ozymandias intended to swan away to his nearest circle of friends, but before he'd taken half a dozen steps he found himself unexpectedly face to face with someone he hadn't even realized was attending tonight: Sophia Voss.
For one startled beat the expression on his face muddied, caught between two spheres he had never intended to overlap. He had never mentioned the ballet to Sina, though he supposed she probably knew about his patronage there through the family grape vine. He had certainly never said a word to her about Sophia. On the other side of the coin, he had been a perfect gentleman where his attentions towards Mrs. Voss were concerned (aside from the one underlying sin of conducting an affair, obviously). He couldn't help but wonder how much she had heard, and what she'd thought. Would this change her opinion of him? She likely already knew something of the reputation he and his wife had, but hearing and seeing firsthand were very different things. He could not ask her opinions or show concern for her thoughts while maintaining the integrity of his dramatic exit from the argument with Thomasina, however. Something had to give; a choice must be made. Ozymandias' features smoothed; anyone who had not been watching his face would have missed the momentary lapse entirely.
"Ma chère danseuse étoile," he said, with a bluster of charm that was more for Sina's benefit than hers. "May I claim your next dance?"
Hopefully she would agree. Turning her into a means to an end, a weapon to level against his wife — at least from the outsider's perspective — was the only way he could see to get an actual conversation with her, and he had the strangest feeling that he owed her an apology.
His latest retort had drawn a reaction from the socialite at Sina's elbow — a shocked "Mr. Dempsey, really," — that likely signified their little scene was coming to an end; he couldn't cause an actual scandal half a week before Christa's wedding. The woman's interjection was gratifying, and he had to resist the urge to smirk at having shocked her. She wasn't one of Thomasina's friends, no one particularly important, so he didn't care what she thought of him. If anything he was hoping for remarks like this; they bolstered his spirits as applause did a stage performer.
"I suppose I'll leave you to it," he said to his wife, with a sneer on his lips but mirth in his eye. "I'd say try to keep up, but that might leave you in danger of exhausting yourself. So perhaps just do your best not to be utterly graceless tonight." He turned away without giving her time to respond, which was the first thing he'd done all evening that might leave her properly annoyed at him. Ozymandias intended to swan away to his nearest circle of friends, but before he'd taken half a dozen steps he found himself unexpectedly face to face with someone he hadn't even realized was attending tonight: Sophia Voss.
For one startled beat the expression on his face muddied, caught between two spheres he had never intended to overlap. He had never mentioned the ballet to Sina, though he supposed she probably knew about his patronage there through the family grape vine. He had certainly never said a word to her about Sophia. On the other side of the coin, he had been a perfect gentleman where his attentions towards Mrs. Voss were concerned (aside from the one underlying sin of conducting an affair, obviously). He couldn't help but wonder how much she had heard, and what she'd thought. Would this change her opinion of him? She likely already knew something of the reputation he and his wife had, but hearing and seeing firsthand were very different things. He could not ask her opinions or show concern for her thoughts while maintaining the integrity of his dramatic exit from the argument with Thomasina, however. Something had to give; a choice must be made. Ozymandias' features smoothed; anyone who had not been watching his face would have missed the momentary lapse entirely.
"Ma chère danseuse étoile," he said, with a bluster of charm that was more for Sina's benefit than hers. "May I claim your next dance?"
Hopefully she would agree. Turning her into a means to an end, a weapon to level against his wife — at least from the outsider's perspective — was the only way he could see to get an actual conversation with her, and he had the strangest feeling that he owed her an apology.
MJ is the light of my life <3