21 February, 1891 — Cupid is Dead Dinner Party, London

As a very broad, general rule, parties typically only became more interesting the more exclusive the guest list was, in Emrys' opinion. Open events had to appeal to a sweeping variety of tastes and were, consequentially, an inch deep and a mile wide in terms of amenability. The fewer people were invited, the more invested the host or hostess could be in delivering exactly the sort of evening they would each enjoy. Emrys only hosted parties that were very exclusive — and the content of his parties varied widely based on whom he had chosen to invite.

By that general rule, then, this dinner party ought to have been better than either of the Valentine's Day events he'd forced himself to attend last week, but if anything he thought this was worse. His seat at the dinner table was merely a foot away from a head of a dead house elf, which had immediately dispensed with his appetite. Presumably the elf was only playing dead (though this was not a given, necessarily — house elves were considered largely expendable by this sort of company), but that did nothing to lessen Emrys' vague feelings of nausea. He was dreading the first course — but when the waiters were dispatched throughout the room what they delivered first wasn't food at all, but some sort of box.

"What's this, then?" he asked the person seated next to him, with a raised eyebrow. Hopefully nothing that involved blood, though given the decor that seemed perhaps too much to ask. At this rate, Emrys was going to have to excuse himself and hide out in the washroom before they even reached the entree.

Open to anyone in attendance (UCPB/rich MCPB), unmarried, probably female but I'm flexible!

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   Aldous Crouch

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Lou made this! <3

This was such a peculiar party. There was an awkward, lingering feeling that they had all been invited there to be murdered. If she didn't know Mrs. Travers-Rowle to be a staunch blood purist, she would have thought that this was some ploy to eradicate all wealthy purebloods of Britain, for they were the only ones invited. She tried her best to remain stoic and not show signs of displeasure and disgust, though she couldn't help herself when she first laid her eyes upon the dead house elf. The poor thing! She viewed the Scrimgeour's house-elves as pets, so she couldn't stand the cruelty. She had been raised better than to voice her thoughts out loud, though.

She had been sat next to Mr. Emrys Selwyn, the man she had met at the boggart party a week before. What a game of luck that they always seemed to find themselves together next to scenes of gore. When one of the servants brought a mystery box and he spoke to her, she answered first with an awkward small smile and a shrug.

"Maybe it's someone's heart?" Minty finally suggested with a whisper. "Like in Snow White!"

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   Emrys Selwyn

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It very well might be someone's heart, or at least a replica of one. The hostess seemed inclined towards the macabre, based on the decor. And hearts were, he supposed, in keeping with the vague theme of the evening (at least as far as he could puzzle out what the theme was supposed to be, from the mismatched decor). The idea of setting eyes on a heart, though, even if it was a fake one, made his stomach roil again. He was certainly not going to make it to the entree if that turned out to be the case.

"Perhaps," he said, removing a handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it over his nose and mouth in anticipation at what might await them in the box. "You open it."

(Emrys did not care if chivalry was dead, not when it came to gruesome spectacles).

  

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Lou made this! <3

Mr. Selwyn wasn't a very courageous man, Minty thought. He hadn't slain any boggarts at Mrs. Finch's party either, if she could recall.

She didn't want to open the box, but she had been taught to be compliant, especially to me who could one day ask her hand in marriage.

So, tentatively, she lifted the lid. There was a note inside. She looked at Mr. Selwyn and, still holding the lid, she gestured at the box.

"Well, you read it!"

  

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A note was a far better development than a human heart. Emrys removed his handkerchief from his nose, though he tucked it under the rim of his plate rather than returning it to his pocket. He wasn't entirely convinced he wouldn't still need it soon. The note was innocuous enough, though. Normal parchment, neat lettering. He skimmed through it, then rolled his eyes.

"We're meant to figure out who murdered the house elf," he said, flicking the letter towards her plate derisively in case she wanted to read for herself. "The box will give us clues as the dinner goes on. Once we solve one, we get the next. And I believe that," he said with a nod towards the box, in which a small daguerreotype had materialized. "Is the first clue. You're up," he said with a vague gesture. He let his elbow rest on the table and leaned on his hand to indicate how much he was already tired of this gimmick, but in so doing ended up looking at the dead house elf again, which brought back the nausea. Shaking his head, he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. What a miserable dinner party.

  

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Lou made this! <3

A murder mystery. How... fun. What was the point of hosting a dinner party if they were meant to solve a murder? Mrs. Travers-Rowle could have been upfront about this being a game, so those who didn't wish to play detective could have stayed at home. It wasn't like she didn't enjoy games and puzzles, she just had no desire to confront any jump scares or gore during this ordeal.

Mr. Selwyn also wasn't the sort of gentleman that made a lady feel safe in the case that a ghoul randomly appeared and attacked them.

She picked up the daguerreotype that depicted some young woman. She furrowed her eyebrows as she examined the little that was depicted.

"My only guess is that this must go a while back," she said, finally. "Look at her dress and her hair. This must have been taken in the 50s. But— do house-elves even live for that many years?"

  

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"I think house elves live forever," he said with a shrug. This was obviously an exaggeration, but he'd certainly never heard of one dying of old age, and the fact that there were so often provisions to pass ownership of house elves along in wills implied they might outlive their masters. He didn't have much personal experience with it — he kept a rather minimal core staff, because he valued his privacy, and they were all human. The additions that he brought in to run his parties and events smoothly were usually human, as well — house elves were seen as vaguely distasteful for those sorts of things, and Emrys was nothing if not tasteful. The definition of tasteful changed fairly dramatically depending on the company he was in at the moment, but still. Impeccable taste.

He glanced at the image, having to lean in towards Miss Scrimgeour in order to get a good look at it. "Ooh," he said, lowering his voice and glancing conspiratorially towards the head of the table. "Do you think it's the hostess? Back when she was... well, younger and prettier?"

He would hesitate to call the women in the daguerreotype young and pretty, though in fairness it was difficult to see her clearly with the marks of age and distress marring the image.

  

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Lou made this! <3

Minty glanced at Mrs. Travers-Rowle. She appeared to be in her sixties or seventies and she did have a resemblance to the woman in the picture, who looked to be in her thirties. Or an unattractive woman in her twenties.

"Yes, I suppose everyone is prettier in their youth," Minty commented in a slightly judgemental tone. Mr. Selwyn appeared to be the catty type which made Minty feel comfortable with letting that side of her show. Mirroring people was the best way to get them to like you.

"It's not much of a mystery if we were meant to find out she killed the poor creature, though. I mean, that's kind of self-explanatory. So I suppose we are meant to figure out why she killed it?"

Another item appeared in the box and Minty picked it up immediately. She was getting invested in this murder mystery game.

"It appears to be an invitation," Minty told Mr. Selwyn as she handed him the aged piece of paper.

  

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Emrys took the piece of paper gingerly between his fingers, as if he was afraid it was dirty.

"An invitation to a wedding," he announced. "In September. It doesn't list the year, but it looks old. This type of paper hasn't been fashionable in over a decade," he said. Emrys was the sort who cared about things like paper quality on invitations, though it wasn't something that might have been widely known about him — he didn't go about making disdainful comments to hostesses when they had disappointed him, the way women often did. "The woman's name is listed here, but the groom's has been blacked out. With cheap ink, it looks like." Cheap ink blotted in a way that the finer quality stuff didn't; there were little ridges in the mark where clots of ink had dried together. Whether that was a clue in and of itself or only the hostess trying to cut corners when she planned this get-together was anyone's guess.

Emrys waved the invitation in the air for a second, still holding it between two fingers. "Scented with jasmine," he said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, though his tone made it obvious how overdone he thought that particular detail was. He handed the invitation back to her, without looking at the lady.

  

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Lou made this! <3

His attention to detail was impressive - so impressive that she wondered whether he was making stuff up. But no, the paper did smell like jasmine.

"You would make a great detective, Mr. Selwyn," Minty commented shyly, flushing at her boldness. "I wouldn't be surprised to find out that you helped our hostess with the planning."

  

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She might have meant it as a compliment, but Emrys found this remark blatantly offensive.

"I'd have done much better than this, if I had," he said, before he could think better of it. He wasn't usually in the habit of insulting the hostess at their own events — at least, not when he might be in range of someone who would care and perhaps report the comment back to them — but he wasn't often accused to helping to plan lackluster dinner parties, either.

  

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Lou made this! <3

Oh dear, she had insulted him without meaning to. Minty's eyed widened and she awkwardly clasped her hands on her lip. If she didn't wear gloves, she would have started picking at her nails.

"Of course, Mr. Selwyn!" Minty replied awkwardly, looking down. She had never been to any of his events (probably because she wasn't the sort he invited), but still she said: "You are known for being an exceptional host and those invited to your events are lucky to make the guest list. I am sure that if you were to host a murder mystery party they would have the aurors called to your home for it would be so realistic that those more daft amongst the guests would think you truly murdered the fellow you hired to play the role of the murdered person."

  

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His offhand comment seemed to have affected her greatly. Emrys shot her a look out of the corner of his eye while he tried to discern whether she was being serious or making fun of him, but it seemed to be the former. So this was a compliment, he supposed — albeit quite a strange one. He didn't relish the idea of being such a good host he was occasionally confused for a murderer.

"Well, I won't try it, then," he said in an offhand way. "I've never much cared for aurors at my events." Nevermind that his older brother was an auror (or had been; now he did whatever it was aurors did when they got too old and boring to be aurors).

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   Ellory Lestrange

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Lou made this! <3

"Yes, I suppose they're no fun," Minty commented sheepishly. Her father, an ex auror, wasn't a fun person to be around. He had his days when he could be nice and loving, in his own way, but usually it was best to avoid him.

"Well, to return to the invitation," Minty said. "I believe this was Mrs. Travers-Rowle's maiden name? So maybe this Euphrosyne was a sister, or a cousin?"

It would be very awkward if this was some beef between their hostess and her cousin.

  

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Emrys looked down his nose at the invitation. He wouldn't have caught the thing about the maiden name, since he didn't particularly care about the hostess or her personal history, but it was probably more likely to be a clue than the jasmine scent on the paper.

"Well, if solving this relies on a strong knowledge of her family tree, you may want to find another partner," he suggested. "I probably couldn't pick any of her siblings out of a picture. Unless they all have that same hooked nose she does — but even then, I'd just be guessing," he said, glancing down the table at their hostess.

  

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Lou made this! <3

Minty laughed through her nose. Mr. Selwyn was wholly unfiltered in his commentary on people, something that Minty rather enjoyed. In the company of people close to her, Minty could be similarly catty in her commentary.

"Do you think we're supposed to leave the dinner table and look for clues around the house?" She asked. She noticed that some of the guests had left the table.

  

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