5 July, 1893 — Celebration of Newtonian Physics
Alasdair had a busy week, and he'd been half-considering giving this event a pass as a result. He was in the middle of moving from one host's house to another, which was always something of an ordeal, and he had been engaged to provide some interesting charmwork for an event tomorrow night. He had no particular interest in science or physics, and had only been invited in the first place because he'd assisted with the spellwork on the hostesses' 'gravity ball.' As he'd been packing things up yesterday, however, he'd had a change of heart — literally. Merida had sent him a box of bonbons that weekend, and he'd been eating them yesterday mostly so that he didn't have to move them, and as he sifted through his things he'd been overcome by the creeping feeling that his life was missing something. No, not something — someone.
So he was here because they might be, as simple as that. Alasdair had no idea whether they would be, because he honestly didn't know a thing about them, but if there was even the slightest chance he wasn't inclined to pass it by. It was either this or write them a letter out of the blue, which was too desperate. That said, if this didn't work, he'd probably do it — what was his present situation if not desperate?
He had been here twenty minutes and dodged one dance already. He could get away with that, because women couldn't come right out and ask for a dance and he had just pretended not to notice what she was hinting at, but it was a departure from his usual behavior at a ball. He was mildly concerned that someone might take note of him acting strangely, but on the other hand what could he do? He had no desire to waste his time and attention dancing with someone else when it might mean a delay of several minutes in being able to find them, if they arrived. But he should probably make at least an effort to be himself in the meantime, he supposed — so he slid into a conversation and offered a smile at the nearest person, as though he had been paying any attention to what they were saying.
So he was here because they might be, as simple as that. Alasdair had no idea whether they would be, because he honestly didn't know a thing about them, but if there was even the slightest chance he wasn't inclined to pass it by. It was either this or write them a letter out of the blue, which was too desperate. That said, if this didn't work, he'd probably do it — what was his present situation if not desperate?
He had been here twenty minutes and dodged one dance already. He could get away with that, because women couldn't come right out and ask for a dance and he had just pretended not to notice what she was hinting at, but it was a departure from his usual behavior at a ball. He was mildly concerned that someone might take note of him acting strangely, but on the other hand what could he do? He had no desire to waste his time and attention dancing with someone else when it might mean a delay of several minutes in being able to find them, if they arrived. But he should probably make at least an effort to be himself in the meantime, he supposed — so he slid into a conversation and offered a smile at the nearest person, as though he had been paying any attention to what they were saying.
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