There was a balance to these sorts of things, in deciding whether or not he ought to host them. On the one hand, Emrys was very well aware that he was a better host than many of his competitors in this sphere, and his desire for parties that were actually enjoyable spurred him into sending more invitation than an unmarried man on the fringe of society had any real rights to. On the other hand, hosting was effort, which meant that he couldn't fully enjoy the evening. The curse of being the best host in his particular social circle, he supposed — all of the best parties were ones he had to stay (relatively) sober throughout.
This didn't mean that he couldn't amuse himself in other ways, however. Obviously the play had been entertaining (as had the rehearsals staged at his house the weekend prior, which had... gotten a little off track by intermission, admittedly, but they'd made it through in the end). He was also enjoying being something of a corrupting influence with some of the more mild attendees, now that the reception had started. Of course no one who was here was exactly an innocent lamb, but some were decidedly more relaxed about this entire party set up than others. It was not as though Ester would need any prompting to enjoy herself, but some of the newer faces in the crowd could benefit from a slightly-too-strong drink, an encouragement towards one of the potions, a few not-at-all-subtle glances in the right direction or even a decidedly more subtle but unmistakable graze of his hand against a certain portion of their anatomy. Some people were looking for permission to have the sort of fun they didn't normally have, and Emrys was happy to nudge them in the right direction. Particularly with the men who were looking for the right hint towards a certain kind of impropriety — that look in their eyes when they realized that sort of thing was allowed here was priceless. A little wide-eyed, a little hungry. Emrys loved it.
He'd just come from one such interaction when he found himself in conversation with Arthur Pettigrew. Inviting him had been a risk, because Mr. Pettigrew did not have the outward appearance of the sort of person who would be interested in this, with his wife and child at home — or of the sort of person who might have been discreet about it if he was, with his gambling and his being featured in Witch Weekly. But their last conversation had been at Ester's flat, and Pettigrew had been half out of his mind with laudanum, so it wasn't so far fetched — and if he reacted poorly, one of the servants could just drug him and dump him somewhere in London, and it would be no major loss to Emrys. Pettigrew intrigued him, but at the end of the day losing the acquaintance would mean nothing. But so far it didn't seem to be headed that direction; he was smiling and complimenting Emrys on his hosting skills.
"I do," Emrys agreed with a smirk and half a shrug. Pretending humility was for wooing young women; no need for such banalities with Pettigrew, he thought. "One skill I've taken care to hone through the years. Not your usual crowd, I imagine," he said with an inquisitive eyebrow raise, fishing for some better indication of what Pettigrew had thought of the night so far than just a good party. "But a few familiar faces."
This didn't mean that he couldn't amuse himself in other ways, however. Obviously the play had been entertaining (as had the rehearsals staged at his house the weekend prior, which had... gotten a little off track by intermission, admittedly, but they'd made it through in the end). He was also enjoying being something of a corrupting influence with some of the more mild attendees, now that the reception had started. Of course no one who was here was exactly an innocent lamb, but some were decidedly more relaxed about this entire party set up than others. It was not as though Ester would need any prompting to enjoy herself, but some of the newer faces in the crowd could benefit from a slightly-too-strong drink, an encouragement towards one of the potions, a few not-at-all-subtle glances in the right direction or even a decidedly more subtle but unmistakable graze of his hand against a certain portion of their anatomy. Some people were looking for permission to have the sort of fun they didn't normally have, and Emrys was happy to nudge them in the right direction. Particularly with the men who were looking for the right hint towards a certain kind of impropriety — that look in their eyes when they realized that sort of thing was allowed here was priceless. A little wide-eyed, a little hungry. Emrys loved it.
He'd just come from one such interaction when he found himself in conversation with Arthur Pettigrew. Inviting him had been a risk, because Mr. Pettigrew did not have the outward appearance of the sort of person who would be interested in this, with his wife and child at home — or of the sort of person who might have been discreet about it if he was, with his gambling and his being featured in Witch Weekly. But their last conversation had been at Ester's flat, and Pettigrew had been half out of his mind with laudanum, so it wasn't so far fetched — and if he reacted poorly, one of the servants could just drug him and dump him somewhere in London, and it would be no major loss to Emrys. Pettigrew intrigued him, but at the end of the day losing the acquaintance would mean nothing. But so far it didn't seem to be headed that direction; he was smiling and complimenting Emrys on his hosting skills.
"I do," Emrys agreed with a smirk and half a shrug. Pretending humility was for wooing young women; no need for such banalities with Pettigrew, he thought. "One skill I've taken care to hone through the years. Not your usual crowd, I imagine," he said with an inquisitive eyebrow raise, fishing for some better indication of what Pettigrew had thought of the night so far than just a good party. "But a few familiar faces."
Lou made this! <3