New Year's Eve, 1892 — Sugarplum Gala

Tycho wasn't here tonight, which was both disappointing (he wanted to see Tycho) and a relief (he did not have to worry about whether Noble would notice him talking to Tycho). Cash might have been here; it seemed like the sort of party that he would have been invited to, and the Lestranges the sort of people the host would have wanted to invite, but Ford hadn't actually seen him (or his wife) yet. That absolved him of the need to be on the lookout for someone interesting and placed this event in the realm of just another party. He'd mostly gotten over his anxiety from last month that had seen him keeping running tallies of each interaction at a social event — less because he was no longer concerned about what Noble might think or what he might assume than because he simply didn't have the energy to keep it up at the moment — so Ford had been hovering around the edge of the party since arriving, with a glass of champagne in hand and an eye out for anyone he might actually like talking to, while he killed time waiting for midnight to come and go.

So when he spotted Miss Ida Chang, also apparently hovering, it was a godsend. It wasn't as though they were friends (were they?), but they'd had no trouble filling up the conversation when they'd met at the Flint Institute's Soiree, and she had replied to his letter, so he must not have left her with the worst impression. (Enough time had passed, also, since his wondering about their flirting that the concern had entirely fallen out of his mind; he had forgotten to be concerned about whether her expectations of him were anything beyond enjoyable conversation. Perhaps it would have stuck if more used to worrying about what women thought of him generally, but the idea of courtship and romance was so far removed from his mind that it was easy to pass it over for more pressing concerns, and he had not lacked for more pressing concerns this holiday season).

"Miss Chang," he said warmly as he approached. "Have you been here long? Not gotten lost in the lollipops yet?"

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Ida Chang
Found a very appropriate Keats poem for the title <3

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   Ida Chang

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Set by Lady!

Ida was usually hedgy about these society parties, but this one was supposed to be fun. The candy theme was a bit childish, but she was excited for a chance to see some highlights from the ballet everyone raved about. She was just as thrilled for a chance to celebrate with her friends, too. To pretend things haven’t changed since graduating. But one was trapped in France, and the other three… were busy taking their responsibility to be betrothed seriously, it seemed. Poppy, she expected. Tillie to a degree, too. But et tu, June? She hadn't mentally prepared for this yet. And it seemed serious, gauging by the body language of her friend, her father, and the prospective suitor across the ballroom. Ida found herself working very hard to not let her face show palpable dislike for the match. Flint was… fine. And women entered into all sorts of strange agreements with men in the name of freedom, she’d come to learn. This was probably June’s best shot to have everything her heart desired, though the girls never really talked about it, or about Flint. It never came up. Ida tried to not be offended that it never came up. Was it because June knew it’d make her upset? I’m not upset, she reminded herself.

At least she had enough sense to bring her fan tonight– better to hide her expression when she sensed her lips were stuck in their downward slant. She should be happy for June. For Tillie too, who wouldn’t waste Felix’s time the way Ida invariably would. And Ida was, in the end, happy for them. As long as their courtships ended in marriages that gave them all the privileges they so desperately longed for, she’d be happy for them. Even if it took a bit of extra sherry to wash the bitterness down.

Ida was contemplating acquiring a glass of just that when a familiar voice brought her out of her brooding. She turned towards the source of it. “Mister Greengrass! Fancy seeing you here,” she greeted, a bit surprised that he seemed so chipper. Right-- not everyone's world is crumbling tonight. In any case, his presence was amicable enough to bring the first genuine smile to her face this evening. The witch snapped her fan shut, holding it in folded hands (there were all sorts of messages one can say with these things, apparently, none of which she ever remembered). “I missed Clem,” she noted, perhaps still a touch strategic in her glance around for his sister. But honestly, at this point she’d spoken more to Clem’s brother than she had to her peer almost all year. And Mister Greengrass wasn’t that bad, she decided. At least she hadn’t picked up on any overbearing inclinations that he wanted anything from her but a nice conversation. Finally, someone she had something in common with (or so she hoped).

With a faint smirk at the comment of lollipops, Ida shrugged. “Not yet, I only just got here. Though I was pondering the best route to take towards the refreshments, if you’d like to join me on the journey?”

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

Ford already had a glass of champagne in hand, but he had absolutely nothing better to do than to walk her to the refreshments table. He could finish this glass on the walk over and get another drink, he decided; he'd pace himself later in the evening after he had just the beginnings of a buzz. Ford had no intention of getting drunk tonight, of course. He rarely drank much at any sort of event, and he hadn't been drunk in public since the Rainbow Ball where Cash had to help him escape the ballroom. That had been before he'd had so many secrets, though, and when the ones he did have hadn't felt so close to the surface, ready to be uncovered at the slightest misstep. He would never have dreamed of having that much to drink at a party now... but he could have a bit to drink tonight, enough to take the edge off the tedium of getting through parties that none of his friends were attending.

"Sure," he agreed with a nod. "I'll defend you against any gingerbread ghouls that pop up along the way. I think they're serving cocktails," Ford continued. The way he said cocktails made it clear that this he considered this both novel and perhaps excessively fancy; the look he added might as well have said the things rich people do with their money, am I right? He'd opted for a simple glass of champagne to begin the evening — classic, expected, especially for New Year's — but had seen a whole array of colorful drinks on display to choose from. He was interested to try one, probably, but he hadn't wanted to start with that. Sweet, colorful drinks were what had gotten him into trouble at the Rainbow Ball; it was easy to drink too much too quickly.

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Set by Lady!

Ida laughed, a genuine tinkling sound at the thought of being defended from possessed gingerbread men. It was the mental image that evoked the good humor; of course ghouls couldn't really do them much harm, and she'd happily just eat whatever gingerbread assault came her why. "Thank you, very chivalrous of you," she entertained him with a grin.

And off they went, a dynamic duo indeed-- she caught her brother's eye across the room as they went along, and he surely took notice. It made Ida feel a smidge bad, this reminder. She was still very much being watched, and being seen talking to an eligible suitor was still very much to her benefit. It put into sharp relief, also, that she didn't really know what Mister Greengrass really intended, by getting friendly with her. Was it just to be friends? Or was she wasting his time?

"Cocktails," she parroted back in question, arching a dark eyebrow at him. Brown eyes to quick note that he himself had not picked one of these up, but she supposed champagne was a milder way to start. She might've followed suit, but it wasn't often that she got a chance to sample colorful, fruity-type drinks, her beverage choices typically confined to wine, mead, or firewhiskey. What Ida didn't think much about, however, was that these drinks were notably stronger, and likely not the wisest choice for a party where one would entertain a newly-acquainted gentleman. "That's so very high-brow. But we're dressed to the nines, aren't we? Might as well have a ritzy drink to match."

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ooc. til dressed to the nines is old slang!

The following 1 user Likes Ida Chang's post:1 user Likes Ida Chang's post
   Fortitude Greengrass

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

When she said dressed to the nines Ford wondered briefly if she was making fun of him. The suit he was wearing had been nice when he'd bought it, but that had been over three years ago. It was by now both slightly out of fashion and slightly worn, which she would have noticed if she was paying very close attention. Fortunately for him, though, it wasn't necessarily obvious to people who weren't looking. Men's fashion didn't move as quickly as ladies' did, and he'd done his best to keep everything he owned as pristine as possible. Maybe she hadn't noticed, then, or maybe she had but was willing to pleasantly gloss over the detail rather than calling attention to it. In any case, her smile seemed too genuine for her to be subtly lambasting him.

"I suppose you're right," he allowed with a shrug. "If ever there were an occasion for cocktails, this might be it. Presumably they make the decor a little less..." He did not find the right adjective to describe what he meant, but thought she probably understood him all the same. He gestured vaguely at one of the six foot tall candy canes and chuckled before taking another sip of his champagne. "...but they're not labeled," he continued. "So you have to be up for a bit of adventure if you're going to risk it, I suppose."

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Set by Lady!

Ida’s eyes followed to where Mister Greengrass’s hand gestured, and her smile edged a little closer to a grin. “A little less,” she agreed, soundly. “I couldn’t ever imagine throwing a party so ostentatious.” This was the primary reason Ida definitively refused to marry a firstborn; their wives always had to take the brunt of home-making and party-throwing. It would matter less if they were of similar position to her, at least. But some of these upper class men her friends occasionally tried to set her up with were likely to have some of the most unbearable expectations.

Anyhow, she was glad to have met someone to talk to who seemed cut of the same cloth. The young woman listened intently as he went on about cocktail adventures, supposing he might know a thing or two more about what mattered when it came to a fancy drink. “What would you look for, if the cocktails were labeled?” Ida asked with genuine curiosity; she wouldn’t know where to even start. It’s not as though there were proper manuals for drinks and drinking (though to be fair, she never looked this up— perhaps it could be the subject of a rainy day foray in the library). “I can’t imagine the hosts would wish to serve anything that didn’t taste delicious. If it’s nothing like firewhiskey I’ll be pleased, anyhow,” she mused.

This was an adventure, though. The host set up an elaborate maze-like walk about the room among the towering candies and toys. The end of which she supposed the libations were, gauging from the number of people holding glasses walking in the opposite direction. “You were wise to grab that champagne flute when you saw it,” Ida noted with a hint of exasperation. These hosts must be awfully bored, to have conjured such a superfluous scene. She wondered why they would have set things up this way, with so many odd dead ends and odd nooks.

Now they’d come to a bit of a fork in their path, with one candy cane signpost that read: left for drinks, right for merriment. “Oh,” she paused here to glance at Mister Greengrass. “That must be the way to the performance later. Have you seen the Nutcracker ballet?”

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

Ford was mildly flattered that she thought his opinion on cocktails was worth asking for. Indeed, he wasn't new to the concept (as she might have been, coming from Hogwarts where even at the Coming Out Ball nothing stronger than champagne was on offer), but that didn't mean he felt confident giving advice for what she would see at the refreshment table when she reached it. There was a world of difference between a gin and tonic and whatever it was they were serving in shades of orange and pink, with the strawberry slices propped on the rim.

"Well, at home I drink gin," he said as they continued down the path to the drinks. "But vodka is the sort of spirit that disappears in a cocktail, so if you don't want to taste anything but juice, that's what you want. I feel like I can always taste whiskey when it's in a drink, more than anything else it's mixed with. I don't know if that's really what you were asking," he reflected. Maybe she'd been after his favorite flavor, not his opinions on liquor? But honestly, she'd probably just been making conversation; it was unlikely she actually cared about his opinions on anything.

"I didn't see the ballet, no," he said. His mother had suggested it, but it was another thing that cost money, and since neither Grace nor Clementine had pressed to go it had been easy to push it off. "I haven't seen much dance, honestly. Did you?"

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Set by Lady!

Ida thought of herself as a well when it came to new information; it didn’t matter much what it was, she collected anything that fell in. So she didn’t mind Mister Greengrass explaining some of the differences of what to expect between vodka and whiskey, and more thoughtlessly squirreled away the tidbit that he liked gin himself. (That’s the kind of fact friends remember. Drat it all that she still couldn’t quite place what they were.)

“Well I hardly know what I’m asking about in the first place,” she pointed out with a small, reassuring smile, “So I can hardly have an expected answer. Though maybe I’ll look for something with vodka or gin then, for something different,” she mused. They were finally upon the area where there were refreshments and snacks— each thing brighter and more unnatural looking than the next. She couldn’t decide if that made things more or less appetizing. Ida paused to take it all in with a small furrow of thought between her brows as she deliberated where to go next.

“Oh, I haven’t seen much dance either,” she confided. Then felt compelled to offer an offhand explanation, “The tickets were a bit pricey for this time of year.” Or for ever, when you’re a young unmarried witch living off a generous scholarship. Certainly her father would spare no pocket change, unless it was to a man in the form of her dowry (which, at least then, was a bit more than pocket change). “Anyway, I’ve only heard amazing things, so I’m looking forward to the performances tonight. Maybe we get a drink here and walk over to get a good view?” The young woman entirely missed the subtle presumptuousness of her statement, that Mister Greengrass would be accompanying her after this little detour at all. It simply seemed like the type of thing he’d do.

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

"They're not labeled, remember? So we're a little at their mercy," he pointed out — needlessly, it turned out, because by the time he'd finished speaking the refreshment table was in sight and she could see for herself what he meant. A sea of colorful glasses spread out before them, without any indication of what was what. Ford surveyed the glasses a moment indecisively while she continued on about the dance. He didn't miss the leap there — she expected him to accompany her to the dance performance. His immediate reaction was relief, because this absolved him of the responsibility of finding something else to do with himself for the foreseeable future, and he liked talking to her. As he considered why she might want his company, though, he couldn't help a slight worry. He'd asked her to dance at the last party; did she expect that he'd greeted her tonight because he wanted to pick up where they'd left off? Were they flirting again? She hadn't said anything too suspect so far, but he ought to be careful. Flirting for one night right after his talk with Noble had been fine, he'd decided — it was strategic — but it wouldn't be fair to her to go giving off the wrong impression, especially not over the series of several events.

But he did rather like talking to her, and her comment about the tickets to the Nutcracker being too expensive tipped the scales in favor of going along with it. She was easy to relate to, and in the social circles he usually moved in — Cash and the Lestranges, Black's and Macnair, Grace's lawyer suitor, even Tycho to an extent — that was far from a given.

"Alright," he agreed. "Should I take one first, so that if it's awful you know to grab something better?" he offered, plucking a cocktail off the table. It was orange, mostly, though with a slight layer of red at the bottom and electric yellow along the rim. "This is either going to be delicious or it'll kill me," he joked, before taking a small sip. Something tangy — pineapple? — with no discernible taste of alcohol whatsoever. There were some other notes mixed in, but he couldn't identify them right away.

"Did you see the dancers at the Sonata — when was that? No, I suppose you would've still been in school. Clementine didn't come with us," he reflected. "They had dancers and contortionists, though, along with the music. That was — interesting," he concluded, which was an adjective that didn't do the experience justice, but he was hardly going to go into any detail unprompted. "But that's really my only experience with dancers. So this ought to be fun to watch, at any rate. This is —" he took another small sip of the drink, as though to verify what he was about to say before he committed to it. "— not bad at all, if you're looking for a recommendation." He was still trying to pin down the other pieces of the taste, besides pineapple, but it was quite pleasant.

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Set by Lady!

Ida’s nose wrinkled slightly as she waved off his remark about unlabeled things, she was sure someone here was in the know— “Excuse me,” she flagged down passing waitstaff. “Could you tell us what’s in this drink?” She indicated to a mostly orange concoction that was nearest to them, only to be met by the woman’s wide eyes. “Oh I’m so sorry Miss, we really haven’t the faintest,” she apologized. Ida had enough politeness to wait until she whisked away to audibly scoff. Were these hosts really so wealthy they didn’t give a single flying fig about the types of drinks they served? “Well. That’s preposterous,” she admonished.

But then Mister Greengrass was doing the valiant thing and offered to be the Guinea pig taste tester, and Ida couldn’t help but laugh. “If you don’t mind,” she allowed, looking a bit sheepish as he inspected the drink. She couldn’t fathom what something that looked like that tasted like. “Though in the unlikely event that it kills you, are there any last words you’d like me to convey to Clem?” She parried back, watching him take his sip. Well, he didn’t grimace or anything, which she considered a good sign. Mister Greengrass could be very expressive, and she liked to think she was getting a good read of him.

The young woman shook her head as he mentioned the Sonata— he was right, she’d been at school, though this business with dancers and contortionists sure sounded… “Interesting,” she parroted back. “What part of it did you like the most? And was it a story or more like… multiple athletic feats?” She gestured with fingers splayed and palms out, waving her hands rapidly to and fro like that’s what she figured dancers did.

At any rate, she was looking for a recommendation, and her expression lapsed into a glimpse of her mischievous grin as he said it wasn’t bad at all. “Alright then, I’ll try,” she proclaimed adventurously, taking up her own glass. “Can you tell what it is?” In the end there was one thing Ida decidedly never liked— and that was not knowing something.

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

"I don't think Clem would be much interested in my last words," he returned lightly. She found him overbearing at the best of times, Ford thought. If he did linger on as a ghost after dying, perhaps their relationship would improve... at the very least, she'd no longer be able to lay the blame on him for not being given the funds to do whatever it was she had last set her heart upon. It'd have to be Noble's turn to be the bad guy — but he would do a better job of it than Ford, because Noble would probably have done most things better than Ford.

He grinned at her question about the dance. The thing she did with her hands was cute, and it got her point across just as well as words would have done. "From my perspective it was a bit —" he shifted his glass to one hand so that he could mirror her gesture with the other one, waving his fingers with a laugh. "— but I was a bit distracted that night, so maybe there was some sort of story line I just didn't catch on to." Distracted was a word that covered a multitude of sins, in this case, and it was odd to remember it now. So much had happened since the Sonata that it seemed like the Ford who had attended was practically a different person from the one who stood here tonight. He could not imagine letting himself gawk so openly at anything now — but back then he hadn't really realized what it was that was pulling his attention, so he hadn't thought to be careful about keeping it hidden. He did not expect to have any problems like that tonight — ballet was hardly on par with contortionists, however nimble the dancers were — and he'd agreed to watch the performances with Miss Chang, which, for some reason he couldn't quite put his finger on, seemed to matter.

She asked him about the drink, and Ford took another sip (three sips in half a minute was faster than he probably ought to be drinking cocktails, especially ones without any apparent taste of alcohol — he filed slow down away in the back of his mind as something to keep in mind while they headed over towards the dance). "Sweet, definitely, but sharp too. Citrus something," he pronounced. There was something else that he hadn't identified yet. He sniffed the drink and noticed something floral and familiar, but whatever it was hadn't come through as a distinct flavor in the drink. "And I think this red at the bottom might be pomegranate. Oh, yes — there's a seed," he noted as he peered at the bottom of the glass. "So, best guess — pomegranate, orange, pineapple. And no clue on the liquor, which means there's probably at least three or four different kinds," he said with a smile and a shrug. "Do you like it?"

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Set by Lady!

Ida tsked good naturedly at his sentiment about Clem; she could sympathize with him now that she’d grown to appreciate what he might have to say, but she could understand Clem too. Big brothers often came with opinions that no one asked for, and had a tendency to equate their duty to their sister’s future. It was strange, thinking of Mister Greengrass in this light; he didn’t strike her as someone overly domineering. But that’s not really something that comes out in social situations, is it?

In any case Ida decided that she liked this version of Mister Greengrass, whatever it was. His mirror of her motion could have read at mocking, but it didn’t. They both seemed to know it meant something flashy and curious and fabulous all at once, anyway. So rather than be embarrassed Ida resisted a smirk. She had her drink in hand but averted a quick, telling look at him – “Ah, well. Perhaps tonight’s performances will be a little less distracting,” she offered cheekily. She might be naive, as most girls her age were supposed to be, but she wasn’t dumb. The witch had been distracted by a naked statue once, after all. Ida could only assume dancers and contortionists were a different echelon. And bodies in general were perturbing things; dying from embarrassment by bearing witness to one was one of the main reasons she stayed far away from any and all health-related careers.

But. In pretty costumes with nice music and a drink in hand, bodies could be… fine. She guesses.

The woman finally took a sip to see what he described. The flavors mentioned all rang true – she even followed his cues on the colors of the liquors involved – but the smell of it in contrast to the taste was a bit disarming. When she finally took a sip, it didn’t smell at all like what she expected to drink.

“Such an odd beverage,” she remarked idly while they started to walk, and she took another dainty sip. Ida had no idea there could be more than one liquor involved in the same drink, which sounded dangerous – “It tastes like fruit juice? I taste the citrus,” she relayed. “But it smells… I don’t know, like outside?” The words sounded as dumb uttered out loud as they did in her head, but Ida wasn’t very precious about being right. It baffled her. Like a warm summer night in the meadow. Geosmin. Fresh ink and old books.

The witch took a third sip as they meandered their way through the odd candy maze, back to the sign post they saw earlier, then a little past that. “Anyway yes, I do like it,” she added in hasty reassurance. “It’s different.”

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

She might have been teasing him with the remark about today's performances being less distracting, but Ford decided immediately that he didn't mind. There was something about her tone and the smile she wasn't quite showing that made him feel as though they were both in on the joke, rather than her making one at his expense. Maybe it wasn't her tone or her smirk at all, actually; maybe it was just something he'd gathered about her personality in general. She approached many of these things with the same attitude he did, a sense of general exasperation and befuddlement at the way rich people acted that Ford often felt but rarely expressed. They were just cut from the same cloth, which made it easy to be comfortable around her. It didn't even occur to him to be nervous about letting his guard down. He just liked her.

"There's something in the way it smells, for sure," he agreed as he fell into step next to her. He hadn't been able to put a finger on what it was, but when she said like outside he nodded immediately, glossing over the inelegant phrasing. That was right. He probably wouldn't have ever gotten there without her prompting, but now that she'd said it he could see it: a faint scent that reminded him of cool, foggy mornings on the Black Lake. He couldn't have picked out any of the scents individually that conjured up that image, but that was definitely what it reminded him of. That, and the familiar faint floral scent he still couldn't name. "They probably tried to make the flavor a lot more complex, but didn't account for how the fruit would just take over everything. But it's still good," he said with a quick smile. He was glad she was enjoying it; since he'd picked it out he would have felt a little responsible if she hadn't liked it.

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Set by Lady!

“Hm, that’s probably it,” she decided regarding his sentiment about complex flavors. Ida did a fair amount of cooking herself, and found the same happened whenever she coupled tea flavors with things too sweet or sour - you completely lose the delicate jasmine. “Still good though,” she agreed, tapping their glasses in toast for emphasis. At any rate she ought to be careful; firewhiskey was bad enough to discourage her overindulgence, here the problem could be quite the opposite. She decided to pace herself against Mister Greengrass so she wouldn’t embarrass herself by finishing her drink first again— one sip for every two or three of his.

Soon enough they made their way to an open area with a winter wonderland platform for the performance. Perhaps it would start soon, seeing as there were certainly enough people congregating around. It looked like there were small tables with two seats each; Ida awkwardly hovered as she took in the scene, not entirely sure if it was weird? To take a seat as a couple? But why would that be weird, she chided herself. It’s not like they were doing anything but watching a show together. A glance around confirmed that her brother was nowhere to be found to join them – neither were her (girl) friends, which she refused to lament further lest it spoil her improving mood.

“Oh, I never asked you how your Christmas was,” she remarked conversationally, turning to glance at her company. Easier to stand around chit-chatting until he decided on what they did or didn’t do regarding the performance. “Did your family do anything special? My baby brother is obsessed with dragons, and the Chinese consider 1892 the year of the dragon so– our theme was, er, eclectic,” she laughed a bit to herself. The image of Tao’s face of shock and delight when he came back from Hogwarts to their house decked in dragons made Ida’s face light up just thinking about it.

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3

As they walked Ford followed the conversation, but he felt a bit — slow. He was concerned that he was being a less interesting conversationalist than he usually was, and he didn't consider himself particularly charismatic at the best of times. Would Miss Chang regret having agreed to watch the performance with him if he was being dull? (It had slipped his mind that he had not actually asked her to watch the performance with him, but rather that she'd suggested it; he was thinking of this as an experience where he ought to be holding up his end of the bargain, at least, whatever that actually meant). It wasn't actually that his thoughts were slow, though, only that he seemed to be quite easily distracted. His eyes lingered a bit longer on the way her thumb moved along the edge of her glass, or the wrinkle at the edge of her mouth as she smiled, or the slight tilt of her head as she took in some new piece of decor. Ford recognized that this was a bit of a strange change of focus on his part, but it didn't occur to him that this was the departure from normal; he was instead left wondering how he had failed to notice any of these things before.

They arrived in the seating area and he noticed her hesitate. Obviously — she was waiting for him to pull one of the chairs out for her. He hurried to do so, internally berating himself for not having been one step ahead of her for this purpose. "Oh, my Christmas was fine — thanks for asking." This was a lie, but one he'd had to tell often enough that it didn't catch on his tongue. And he was pleased that she'd cared to ask, so that part of his response was genuine. "Nothing exciting; just family and presents and Christmas dinner. But tell me more about the dragons," he said as he slipped into the chair opposite her, putting one elbow onto the table as he leaned towards her. He was keenly interested in her eclectic Christmas — though, in fairness, he hadn't been disinterested in anything she'd said so far. She was just an interesting person. "I read about the dragon smugglers, in the paper. I don't suppose you were their last customers before they were caught?" he asked, with a smile on his face and a laugh poised on his lips — he wouldn't laugh unless she did first, but he hoped she did.

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Set by Lady!

“Oh–” So they were sitting, then. She attributed his hasty move towards the table as a gentleman being a gentleman, which means making sure the damsel has a seat. Ordinarily, she might warily read into this gesture. But Ida noticed nothing amiss about Mister Greengrass, and for her part, she felt much too cheerful to be dour. Something attributed to the ambiance, excitement for the show, and conversation as much as the drink, perhaps. “Thank you,” she settled comfortably into her seat, and graced her drink with another sip. The last one for now, she decided.

“Well Christmas dinner is the best part,” she pointed out sagely. Gifts were nice and all, but she was quite partial to Christmas ham and roasted chestnuts. At the mention of the dragon smugglers she laughed, shaking her head at once. “I saw that,” being that she was a voracious reader of the paper. “And I will not confirm or deny your question, sir. I don’t yet know if I can trust you with all my secrets,” she playfully admonished. In fact she ought to trust him with none of her secrets, but in this case her grin conveyed this was said in jest.

The woman then waved her hand haphazardly, “I transfigured all our garlands into water dragons, and charmed them to fly all around the house,” she confided. “Our Christmas tree had all types of dragon figurines on it, which Tao got to keep for his playthings. I rigged our fireplace to look like a dragon’s mouth spitting fire, and changed the goblets and dishware and everything into dragon heads too, in keeping with the theme– hah, it sounds ridiculous,” she reflected now, given all the grief she gave the hosts about this winter candyland. “I suppose you could say our decor was less fit to greet jolly Saint Nick, and more appropriate for a fierce dragon keeper? Anyhow, my brother loved it, and that’s all that I really wanted.”

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stefanie made this beautiful set <3