17th January, 1890 — Prewett Appointment Party, Destiny Hotel, London

There had been no excuse not to come, really. She hadn’t been scheduled to work, and while Rosamund doubted her presence would make much difference to the evening - she didn’t work at the Ministry, after all, nor in quidditch - there were enough people here who were friends, or that she vaguely knew, that it would have seemed unsociable to avoid it.

Besides, there was plenty to see here tonight, what with all the games! She had already played a match of gobstones with a few friends - and had surprised herself at how quickly she grew competitive over such a silly endeavour, but she had even won, as it turned out - and Uncle Beckett had tried to coax her over to the miniature quidditch, which, although Rommy appreciated the magic of the set-up, she hadn’t been taken in by. She was not sure how well she appreciated live quidditch, and she was confident in even her figurine’s inability to master the sport.

Instead, she had wandered over to observe the chess-playing. She had long enjoyed the game, but this was an altogether different vision of it. She hadn’t duelled in a fair while, herself, but she would admit the notion was awfully tempting. (More fun, indeed, than retreating to the dancefloor.)

Once the current team had been soundly trounced, someone nearby took it upon themselves to put together a - rather haphazard - new side to take on the standing champions. She would not have minded to be ignored, only someone appeared to have pointed her out for the team.

“Are you sure?” Rommy protested mildly. “I had thought you all might want a healer on hand,” she added, mostly in jest, “in case of... incidents.”

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   Aldous Crouch

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While Felix was not in the least inclined to actually understand or enjoy Quidditch he had to admit that his twin knew how to throw a good party. Even if he’d take any reason to throw a party for himself. Not that Felix himself was opposed to parties, in fact he rather enjoyed them himself. This one most certainly was not the typical soiree, Fitz had rather outdone himself, embracing the new appointment with the very theme of the party.

Felix had deftly avoided both the dance floor and the minititure quidditch game by watching the match of Wizard’s Chess that had been set up. He hadn’t dueled in a while, but it was all in good fun, right?

Mr. Bellchant had led the last team into victory and Felix, feeling his whiskey enough to make him more outgoing, had decided that Prewett honor had to be defended. He organized a team of those he thought would best help (or seemed close enough and interested enough to be recruited) until he was only left in need of one more person. A young lady lingered on the edge of the set, an intrigued look on her face. “Come! Join us!” Felix waved her forward merrily.

He waved away her protestations, “I’m sure my brother has that well in hand.” He assured her, not at all sure if Fitz had thought of such a thing but rather unbothered by it, “Come, enjoy the match! I’m sure you shall tip the scales in our favor.” He declared grandly.

  

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Fortunately, if there was one thing Rosamund did not need to worry about, it was telling the Prewett host apart from his twin brother: he had given her a hint enough in her speech. Still, that was not enough to say Rommy wasn’t completely devoid of doubt - not on the gentleman’s identity, but on whether to play! - for she really didn’t suppose she had duelled often enough in the past few years out of school to be much of an asset here. Knowing the tactics of the board would not be the means to a victory or defeat alone this time. (Whyever her thoughts had already leapt to the point of winning or losing when she had not yet agreed to play, she could not say. She would rather ignore her hypocrisy here.)

“You are more confident in that measure than I am,” Rosamund answered, asserting the truth with a demure smile, but that smile soon spread past the boundaries of elegance, for Mr. Prewett’s enthusiasm was a little catching. She contented herself with doing a quick headcount of the assembled team and shrugging herself into submission by recognising that they did need another. (Nor did she want to seem a complete stick-in-the-mud. Not when she was being invited to play chess, of all things!) “But if you will have me that is your own mistake,” she joked lightly. “Which piece will you be?”

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“You underestimate yourself.” Felix assured her grandly, although he could feel her wavering to join them if that smile was any indication. “I hardly doubt it a mistake.” He assured her his eyes merry.

“I had thought to be the bishop.” There was something rather ironic in the sense of being a religious figure, an obscure idea with the way he led his life, but bishops seemed nice fellows and moved in fairly easy patterns. Not like knights, who took the glory but always had to be counting their steps. “We do need a queen though.” He gestured at the spot with a smile. After all what lady did not fashion herself royalty at some point? Like bishops of old he could whisper in her ear the useful going ons of the rest of the board. Well, if he were to be philosophical about it, he supposed he was going about that quite well.

  

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Her heart sank slightly, not at his good-natured counter to her argument but at his suggestion of her being queen. She had been hoping for a rook, if anything, and was quite contented to be a lowly pawn. It would be less to do: the queen had far too much power on a board.

“Well...” She demurred, allowing herself to dither for just a moment longer. But she could hardly protest and make him wear the crown, for Rommy doubted suggesting to any self-respecting gentleman that he be the lady on the board would go down particularly well, and she had no intention of insulting anyone. So - suppressing a sigh at what she was getting herself into - Rosamund forced another smile, and selected the queen’s wooden crown marker with a defeated look.

“Well, at least you won’t be far when I prove you perfectly wrong,” she remarked, shaking her head, quietly playful in return as the teams began to take their places on the squares. “Though I’m glad I shan’t have to be the first to move,” she admitted to him, her eyes quietly mischievous. “I haven’t duelled anyone in a while.”

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Felix laugh, “I doubt that very much.” He assured her as she took her spot. After all she had to be more capable than himself. Indeed, he honestly had no idea the skills of his team, but someone did have to defend the Prewett name, so here he was.

As the other team set up Felix gave her a mischievous look, “Nor have I.” He admitted. “I do believe that is why there is a line of pawn’s though.” He shrugged nonchalantly in the direction of their teammates before them before directing the first of them to move forward. Hopefully his guess that most playing hadn’t duelled in a long while would be correct.

  

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Granted, this would be far less daunting than a real duelling tournament, for it was in the end to be a team effort, and there was no one waiting on the sidelines to judge them on their casting; nor would the rest of the party be the hardest audience to face, with all that champagne to make them jolly, and conversations of their own to engross them.

And the pawns would be the real warm-up on the board, having to move first. “Yes, convenient wand-fodder, aren't they?” Rosamund murmured in mild amusement, attentions divided between Mr. Prewett and the first member of their team and the opposition’s to make their moves. There being not a great deal to do at this moment, Rommy only had to occupy herself in thinking of what next to say, and even that was not too troubling; this gentleman did not seem particularly discouraging in character. “Have you a favourite spell, then?” She said lightly, casually brainstorming hex ideas as they talked. “A signature move, if you like?”

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Felix hadn't intended to think of it that way, but the lady had a point and one he couldn't help but a small chuckle at. "I'm just glad I'm not them." He admitted rather truthfully.

"I've always been a bit partial to a Eubilio jinx." There was something rather entertaining about watching a grown man stuck in a bubble. That and it didn't seem nearly as dangerous as some of the others he'd learned at school. "And yourself?"

Another of the pawns moved forward and Felix found himself glad that these blokes seemed rather capable. Perhaps they stood a chance after all.

  

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She wasn’t sure whether the man meant that or only meant to comfort her by sounding on her level, but he was softening the anxious edge in her all the same.

And she had to chuckle at his answer of the bubble jinx. “A compelling choice,” Rommy said with a grin. That had not been the spell she had expected to hear. He was not the aggressive sort, the kind of man whose bravado depended on inflicting things, proving superiority by blows of force - the bubble charm was effective as it was entertaining, and could do its harm by making the victim of it seem quite harmless. They would be a target for laughter only.

All that said, Rosamund had never thought too thoroughly on her own spell preferences, and so it was with a thoughtful twirl of her wand that she came to her conclusions, some old favourites. “Ah, I think possibly a Jelly-Legs Jinx,” she offered. “Or a full-body-bind, if I’m feeling mean.”

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Felix chuckled. "I wouldn't want to see your mean side then." He teased, but her choices seemed to fit the mood precisely. There was little reason to actually attempt a duel when so many had partaken in the evenings refreshments already. Felix reassured her with a hint of humor to his words, "I suspect with the amount of champagne I've seen passed around your choices shall be quite effective."

  

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“I can’t imagine why you should see my ire,” Rommy returned, with a shy grin. To be quite honest, Rosamund didn’t think her mean side counted for much. She didn’t think anyone had ever been scared of her, particularly, and probably not even intimidated. She got stressed and sorrowful more than she got angry, and frustration was the sort of thing she preferred to release without company.

But she could laugh at Mr. Prewett’s remark about the champagne. “I imagine you’re right,” she said, with another chuckle, looking around the wider room bright-eyed, “I fear a mild Jelly-legs jinx might be enough to topple some of the guests completely!” (She did not add her suspicions, which were that Mr. Prewett’s twin’s friends, if not his own, were likely to see this party through to the early hours of the morning with more gusto even than it had now.)

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"Indeed." Felix agreed, lowering his good natured tone before adding, "We shall have to use that to our advantage then." He winked at her before nodding, "I believe it's your turn." And off he sent her with an encouraging grin.

  

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