A time-turner ball, but Persy, at least in her opinion, had no time to give.
Her mother, true to form, had dragged her to the damned thing in complete disregard of the fact that Persephone would typically prefer to ring in the new year with Ivy or at home with just the family. This was not a typical year, mind, but it spoke to Millicent Broadmoor's ignorance—or, more likely, strong desire to see her only daughter settled. To her credit, Persy had danced twice already, each time with a gentleman her mother had tried to subtly steer her towards (Mr. Hart had seemed disinterested, and Mr. Wolfram had been dreadfully full of himself). The hope was that if she played the Dutiful Daugther and Delightful (well, not awful) Debutante well enough, she could sneak off with plenty of time to attend to her own new year's plans.
"You're enjoying this, Mr. Applegate?" Persephone asked the unspeakable with some skepticism. She had pointedly moved towards the first tolerable acquaintance she had been able to spot when she had noted her mother—another gentleman in tow—making a beeline for her. Mr. Applegate was more than tolerable, and was indeed part of the reason she even had to contend with her mother's meddling—rather than being forgotten entirely by the woman who had borne her. Seeing him engrossed in this particular spectacle, though, had come as something of a surprise.
"Oh, no. This whole thing is perfectly ridiculous."
It was a sentiment with which she could not disagree, though Persy was nonethless briefly nonplussed. Truth or no, it was not the sort of thing one admitted to readily in polite company, even if that company was her.
Persephone cast her gaze about to ensure the hostess, at least, was not within earshot.
"I am not accustomed to your frankness," she admitted once satisfied it was safe. "I had thought it was something to which unspeakables were allergic."
Her mother, true to form, had dragged her to the damned thing in complete disregard of the fact that Persephone would typically prefer to ring in the new year with Ivy or at home with just the family. This was not a typical year, mind, but it spoke to Millicent Broadmoor's ignorance—or, more likely, strong desire to see her only daughter settled. To her credit, Persy had danced twice already, each time with a gentleman her mother had tried to subtly steer her towards (Mr. Hart had seemed disinterested, and Mr. Wolfram had been dreadfully full of himself). The hope was that if she played the Dutiful Daugther and Delightful (well, not awful) Debutante well enough, she could sneak off with plenty of time to attend to her own new year's plans.
"You're enjoying this, Mr. Applegate?" Persephone asked the unspeakable with some skepticism. She had pointedly moved towards the first tolerable acquaintance she had been able to spot when she had noted her mother—another gentleman in tow—making a beeline for her. Mr. Applegate was more than tolerable, and was indeed part of the reason she even had to contend with her mother's meddling—rather than being forgotten entirely by the woman who had borne her. Seeing him engrossed in this particular spectacle, though, had come as something of a surprise.
"Oh, no. This whole thing is perfectly ridiculous."
It was a sentiment with which she could not disagree, though Persy was nonethless briefly nonplussed. Truth or no, it was not the sort of thing one admitted to readily in polite company, even if that company was her.
Persephone cast her gaze about to ensure the hostess, at least, was not within earshot.
"I am not accustomed to your frankness," she admitted once satisfied it was safe. "I had thought it was something to which unspeakables were allergic."
— mj makes glorious sets! —