As a very broad, general rule, parties typically only became more interesting the more exclusive the guest list was, in Emrys' opinion. Open events had to appeal to a sweeping variety of tastes and were, consequentially, an inch deep and a mile wide in terms of amenability. The fewer people were invited, the more invested the host or hostess could be in delivering exactly the sort of evening they would each enjoy. Emrys only hosted parties that were very exclusive — and the content of his parties varied widely based on whom he had chosen to invite.

By that general rule, then, this dinner party ought to have been better than either of the Valentine's Day events he'd forced himself to attend last week, but if anything he thought this was worse. His seat at the dinner table was merely a foot away from a head of a dead house elf, which had immediately dispensed with his appetite. Presumably the elf was only playing dead (though this was not a given, necessarily — house elves were considered largely expendable by this sort of company), but that did nothing to lessen Emrys' vague feelings of nausea. He was dreading the first course — but when the waiters were dispatched throughout the room what they delivered first wasn't food at all, but some sort of box.

"What's this, then?" he asked the person seated next to him, with a raised eyebrow. Hopefully nothing that involved blood, though given the decor that seemed perhaps too much to ask. At this rate, Emrys was going to have to excuse himself and hide out in the washroom before they even reached the entree.

Open to anyone in attendance (UCPB/rich MCPB), unmarried, probably female but I'm flexible!