"Absolutely not! What were you thinking?" the debutante's mother called out in a shrill tone as she surprised them on the terrace. It could not have been Don Juan's mother, because she would not have asked the question; she already knew he was never thinking. He hadn't even been doing anything out here with the young woman — not yet, anyway. All her clothes had still been on. But he understood why her mother would swat him away, and took the abuse in stride; he had a reputation, after all. The young woman was spirited away and Don Juan was left idling on the balcony. He wasn't inclined to spring back into action — he'd already been a little bit drunk when he arrived to this thing, but being the brother of the Minister of Magic no one was about to turn him away, and he was a little more drunk now — so he leaned back on the balcony railing placidly, waiting for inspiration to go and do something else. He wanted a hookah, he decided, but wasn't inclined to do anything to acquire one. He wanted a drink, too, and that was a much easier task, but he also couldn't stir himself up for that just yet.

Then someone joined him. Don Juan was puzzled by this — not someone coming to the balcony, but someone coming out alone. He didn't go anywhere alone at parties. He tried not to go anywhere alone period, though sometimes it was unavoidable.

"Just me," he said with a shrug, and the implication that perhaps he didn't really count as someone for the purposes of the man's observation. "What are you about, then?"

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