May 8th, 1891 - Marine Garden Party

The day had turned to night and a dance floor had come out at the Marine Garden Party, which meant that August was in his natural party habitat: avoiding it. He would have claimed that he wasn't hiding in the magical tunnel, except that he'd been in here for about fifteen minutes now, checking his watch and watching the lake move over him, and he had no intention to leave. Or — maybe he should just leave the party. Maybe he was partied out, he had never been particularly good at them, especially a party where Thom and Leon weren't in attendance.

He was considering a kelpie — and a little grateful for the separation from it that the bubble provided him — when he became aware that he was not alone in the tunnel. She was closer to the entrance, though — closer to the party and the light. "Hello," August said, with a nod to her, because this did not seem like the sort of thing one could ignore. He tapped his cane against the tunnel floor. "Avoiding the dance floor?"

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Grace Greengrass Holly Scrimgeour

  

Grace was not afraid of parties—of that she was most adamant. She did not enjoy them, though, if only because her brain and her mouth were not always cooperating when it came time to converse with other partygoers, and so she always made sure to take time to simply be. It was more difficult to find that time on some occasions, but the garden party she was attending allowed the perfect, momentary escape: the little magical tunnel, which would allow her to stand there and pretend to be soaking in the scenery when she was simply taking a breath. Others passed through, but none stopped to speak to her.

Until a gentleman did. Grace talked to gentlemen. She knew how to talk to gentlemen. She talked plenty to Mr. Lestrange, and yet somehow the comparatively short quidditch player seemed much less a daunting figure than the one before her now. He was so... tall. And yet it was not a wholly unwelcome intrusion, because his opening words—Avoiding the dance floor?—seemed less an accusation and vocalization of a commonality between them when she noticed his cane. She gave a nervous smile in greeting.

"Maybe a little," she admitted, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks at the thought of what Verity would think to her having admitted such a thing. "It's—new to me."

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She hadn't called him out on standing in the tunnel indefinitely, and she hadn't taken offense at his — slightly rude — question. This was better than August could have honestly expected, and so he was happy to keep chatting with the presumably-debutante.

"Your first season, then?" August asked, smiling softly back at her. "I would tell you that it gets better, but I'm afraid I have no real evidence of that."

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He saw right through her—or maybe it was the natural assumption that her response had prompted, but either it did little to help the rising heat from taking over her cheeks. A man believing her to be a first-season debutante was not necessarily a bad thing, but the message was you exude inexperience and that was not the impression that would score her a husband worthy of her family's expectations.

But at least the gentleman, if he did think less of her for it, seemed nice, and really he was one to talk (though she would never dare speak it).

"Spend your days thinking about the plights of us debutantes? Or merely your own?" she tried to tease, her tone uneasy and almost a little sincere, but upon immediate reflection it was—almost witty. Maybe. It came from a place that was certainly unwitty, but she could have said lots of worse things. At least she hadn't tried to argue with him. No, it was a good, solid response, and though Verity might have rolled her eyes at it, and Mama might have chastised her for teasing such a well-dressed gentleman, Noble or Ford would have smiled. Well—maybe just Ford. Grace dropped her gaze back to the water behind on the other side of the barrier, watching as the little fishes swam by, but very quickly felt watched and dragged her gaze back to the man.

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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Alright, that was a fair little prod at him, given that he was hiding in the tunnel — even more than she was. August shrugged his shoulders. "Alright, Miss, you've caught me," he said, "I cannot claim to be entirely selfless, and therefor do spend some time thinking about my own plight." At least he had a well-documented excuse to avoid dancing — she likely had a dance card, and a guardian who would want to know who was on it. August had a nosy mother he didn't live with, and a good fortune that was nearly outweighed by his cane. They were not the same.

"I hope that you won't hold it too much against me," he added. It was early in the season for August to tell the newer debutantes that he was a shut-in.

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   Grace Greengrass

Grace giggled. She'd always hated her giggle; iit was too loud, a little throaty, and didn't possess any of the same feminine lightness that girls were supposed to giggle with. If Verity was a little lamb when she giggled, Grace was a piglet—still cute, but potentially annoying if you didn't like piglets. She covered her mouth with her hand and turned back to the fish, once again trying to look more interested in them than she was.

"Why should I hold it against you?" she asked, reaching out to touch the bubble that separated the water from the air they breathed. Her finger slipped right through it and into the water, and quickly she yanked her hand back, but the bubble did not pop or budge or even leak. Clearly this entire display was more intriguing than any dancefloor could be—she couldn't hold it against him at all. "If I did I would be a hypocrite," she explained, smiling back up at him in a bashful sort of way.

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August returned her smile — his expression was best described as sheepish. "I think you'll find some of society is more hypocritical than one would hope," he said. August took a step closer to her; there was still a not-insignificant amount of space between them, but now he could see her a little better. "And most balls don't come with an underwater component, which is — unfortunate."

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set by Bree

Grace was very quick to decide she was not afraid of this man—well, perhaps afraid was not the right word. She was not intimidated by him, not worried about him thinking less of her. She did not think he would find her silly and tell all his friends how silly she was, leading her to having no dances at the next ball (because those were real worries that occupied her thoughts, and she would be silly not to consider them in her evaluation of gentlemen). It helped that he had a nice smile, too, and his expression looked like hers felt. She dropped her gaze, the corners of her lips curling sheepishly.

"Very unfortunate," she agreed, her hands coming to clasp together at the front of her skirt. "—on both accounts. But you're not a hypocrite are you, sir?" She looked back up at him again and held back a giggle. She was teasing him. Or trying to. She wasn't sure how successful she was being.

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August grinned, and it was the most genuine expression of enthusiasm he'd had in this conversation so far — his eyes crinkled up at the corners with it. "I'm not a hypocrite," he affirmed. And then — his tone turned teasing — "at least, not where society matters are concerned. I'm not sure I can deliver a fair verdict on any other areas of hypocrisy."

He was sure that Elsbeth had called him a hypocrite, a few times — maybe some of his other siblings, too, or even his friends. But no one was going to accuse him of being a society gossip, so — she was safe.

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set by Bree

Grace felt giddy. It was not a feeling she usually experienced, least of all around absolute strangers. However, she was startlingly aware that it was not the pleasant conversation with the gentleman (oh, but it was pleasant, she told herself, and continued to with each exchange) that brought upon such emotions, but rather the realization that she was not as hopeless as a cause as she'd been convinced. All she had to do was avoid the intimidating sorts.

"Well, we cannot all be saints," she conceded, although she could hardly imagine in what area this gentleman—kind enough, pleasant enough, friendly enough—might be considered a hypocrite, "and I dare say admitting to your own hypocrisy would make it difficult to be too much of a hypocrite, don't you think? Isn't that the nature of hypocrisy?" That was why no one ever called her a hypocrite: she was all too aware of her own faults.

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”I think that we may be thinking about this more than any hypocrite would,” August said, with a smile. He paused then continued, ”After all, I would think that most actual hypocrites prefer to avoid thinking of the ways in which they lie to themselves.” So even though he’d alluded to it, he was not much of a hypocrite — he was a liar, among other things, but he did not usually attack people for the things he himself did.

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set by Bree

"I think you're right," she conceded with a sheepish smile. She wasn't much of a hypocrite either—or really judgmental at all. She didn't think she had a right to judge anyone, especially when she so often found it difficult to keep her nerves under control for long enough to look like a normal person. She went silent and clasped her hands in front of her, not sure if she should say anything. She didn't want the gentleman to feel like she was trapping him into conversation with her.

"I'm Grace Greengrass, by the way," she said quietly, and then paused, unsure if she should have said that. No, she decided; ladies weren't meant to introduce themselves to gentleman, and now he probably thought she was unrefined (which she was, but she didn't want him to think that).

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August was a little relieved that she introduced herself; if they met again, it would be extremely awkward if he didn't know her name, and he was usually hoping to avoid awkward situations as much as possible. (And yet he was constantly finding himself in them.) "August Echelon-Arnost," he introduced, "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Greengrass."

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set by Bree

August Echelon-Arnost. She committed the name to memory, although how long it would stay there was less certain. It was a complicated, two-part name, but at least she could remember the August part (although it wasn't as if she could address him as such, so maybe it was a lost cause altogether).

"The pleasure is mine," she returned, her mind already formulating how she would tell Ford and Verity and Mama that she was certainly not the social failure that they all assumed she probably would be. She'd talked to a man!

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