While not a man easily caught off guard, Atticus outwardly winced as someone called his name. His fingers tightened around the champagne glass as he turned with a forced smile, finding Porphyria Dempsey behind him. A year younger than himself, she’d always been… interesting. Not a woman he would approach at a social event of his own accord for a dance as he didn’t enjoy rejection knowing it was coming,  she at least always proved to be an intriguing conversation.

And tonight there was nothing he wished for more. He was already irritated that his little brother hadn’t bothered to show his face despite making ample promises he would, and the hawk-eyed woman would find him the moment he attempted conversation with anyone he was remotely interested in. He was trapped at a party he’d normally thrive in.

She grinned at him, and Atticus tossed a look over his shoulder; he’d lost sight of her. Great. Pausing for a moment, he finally turned his attention back toward her. “I’m afraid there’s a hag on the loose.” He finally settled on - he’d blame the alcohol for the insult. “And I have little desire to be her first meal of the new year.”

Then Atticus laughed, albeit a bit uncomfortably, before he grinned at her.. “And who are you hiding from, Ms. Dempsey?”

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