There was something nice about being at an event where he didn't have to pretend to have money. Not that he could entirely let his guard down, of course, because dozens of people he knew from society were at this event too (not to mention his own sisters), but at the very least he didn't have to be self-conscious about the worn hem of his coat sleeve or the scuff he hadn't quite been able to work out of his shoe at an event like this. The most judgemental sorts weren't here, and even if they were the light by this point probably wasn't strong enough for them to notice those sorts of things, anyway.

Ford was idly heading towards the dance (he had not yet decided whether he would dance tonight, but he wanted to see how they'd arranged the dance floor) when he spotted Miss Potts ahead of him on the path, getting pelted by apples.

"Did you do something to make them angry?" he called in a teasing tone. He eyed the nearest apple warily, but the ones over in his section of the path seemed to be behaving themselves, at least for the time being. "Tell them your favorite pie was pecan, or something?"

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