31 December 1891 — Morgan's NYE Ball, Morgan Estate in London 

Basil was positively fuming by the time he managed to seat his upperclass arse in a hansom and begin trekking from the Destiny Hotel to the Morgan family estate. How dare Atticus accost him like that for leaving early from a social obligation he’d only agreed to out of sheer reverence for his family’s wishes, to attend an event that he actually had a social, and personal, obligation to support? It was madness! Obviously they had moved from mutual disdain to outright public scandal overnight and nobody had bothered to inform him! Basil didn’t stop to consider how the alcohol that was probably pumping on both sides and the mutual discomfort both evenings had provided could ultimately have culminated in the little flair up (i.e. bad place, bad time). He also didn’t consider that the alcohol he’d personally consumed to this point was boiling in his veins, making him hotter tempered than usual. His collar was warm however, and it made him very uncomfortable.

Muttering to himself like an eccentric, the transfiguration professor watched the cobblestones pass. It didn’t take long before the hansom pulled up at its destination and Basil climbed out gratefully, paying what he had in… muggle money. (Way more than the fare was due, but he didn’t know it.) He loathed carrying the stuff around but when in London one never knew! He would not be caught without and stranded ever again!

Tipping his hat politely, Basil turned to enter the establishment. Almost at once he was accosted by the cacophony of clinking glassware, chattering voices, and the general upswing of aesthetic sounds that accompanied a ball. He handed over his gloves and hat at the entrance and immediately made a beeline for the nearest server. Swiping a glass of oh so familiar champagne, he took a sip and felt frazzled nerves simmer. He likely looked a harried mess, not fit in the least to address the hostess. Perhaps he ought to step back outside for a cigarette.

As he took another sip determining the best course of action, Basil spotted Eldritch. Instantly his mind was made up. He handed off the glass, now empty, and made his way across the ballroom. Then, coming up behind his friend conspiratorially he whispered: “Grab a drink, a coat, your hat - whatever you please - and step outside with me?” He said these words quietly so nobody else would overhear and then grinned a devilish grin in Nee’s direction. Yes, a cigarette would do nicely to pull him out of this mood.

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Eldritch Morgan

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When Morgan had returned to the party after the debacle in the classroom-turned-writing-room, he spent the first fifteen minutes or so looking for signs that he was in trouble. Threats or no, he wasn't sure he trusted Rhiannon not to mention anything to his mother. Even if she spared him that, she might still have said something to someone else in the family thinking it was perfectly innocent, and word might still make its way around. He had no desire to find himself accosted by an angry Mama this evening, and less still to see the unfortunately debutante who'd stumbled upon him dragged into the mix. He still didn't know her name, and that would be a hell of a way to learn. He supposed he could ask Annie later, if the two really had gone to take a stroll around the garden together. Merlin, he hoped Annie wasn't interrogating her even now.

Finally satisfied that he wasn't about to have anyone descend on him to question him about his involvement with some nameless young woman, Morgan still wasn't sure exactly how to transition back into the party properly. Fortunately, Basil saved him. There was no world in which Morgan didn't agree to sneak out of a party with Basil, but he still made a show of looking around to see if anyone was likely to notice that he was dodging out.

"Alright," he agreed, moving towards the nearest passing waiter to take a drink. "But I have to be back in the ballroom by midnight; mother would have my head if I missed the big moment." More like: Annie might get suspicious and think he was off with some other young woman, and he didn't want to deal with that potential headache.

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At Nee’s agreement, Basil felt a bit appeased. He definitely was toeing the link of drunk already, though he hardly dared to give his brother the satisfaction of even thinking as much. Instead, he tugged at Eldritch’s sleeve like a young boy again, attempting to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Touch had always been his most comfortable way of showing affection. Ever since he was young, Basil had always been rather a touch-based affirmation child. Perhaps it was because their mother was so unusually tactile and gave them too many hugs to be proper, or maybe he just resented the social norm of keeping one’s hands to themselves for propriety’s sake. Either way, he couldn’t help it much when he was inebriated.

“I make no such promises,” Basil replied, forebodingly. After the altercation he’d just come from with Atticus, he was in quite in the mood to get fully, properly drunk, however ungentlemanly it might have been, and refused to be held hostage by the time. Or the evening. Or the event. Bag humbug. Grabbing another glass - this time of he knew not what - the man turned and began to make his way back outside. He took a side-route so as to not have to pass through the entrance hall again and answer any questioning looks; it was easy enough, Basil knew the Morgan’s home about as well as he knew his own.

Finally outside, he took in a deep breath of the frigid winter air. It was a great relief from the already asphyxiating atmosphere inside. Basil felt none of the cold against his skin despite his lack of overcoat. “Finally,” he breathed. “What a wretched night it has been,” he said, turning to Eldritch and shaking his head almost in disbelief. “Good riddance to 1891.”

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Eldritch Morgan

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Basil was in a proper mood, which Morgan found both intriguing and somewhat worrying. It wasn't like Basil to be unnecessarily pessimistic, in his experience, though he could be a bit of a worrier on occasion. It also wasn't like him to show up to a party already drunk. Having fun was one thing, but neither of them had ever been the sort to openly flaunt what was considered proper. Mostly for their family's sakes, probably — neither of their fathers would have put up with that sort of thing, to say nothing of how mothers might react. Morgan at least had the benefit of not having an older brother who was quite so disapproving as Basil's often was, but that didn't lessen the pressure to perform that much.

"I'm sure the whole year hasn't been so bad," he teased gently as they slipped into the back garden. This was the corner of the house closest to the kitchen and the scent of something wonderful drifted out through the nearest window. Morgan regretted having only brought a drink with him outside; he'd hardly had anything to eat all night, and by the looks of it Basil also could have used something else in his stomach at the moment to soak up some of the alcohol. "But tell me about it. What's gotten you in such a tizz?"

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Ignoring his friend’s comment about the whole of the year not being bad (because, in all truth, he’d had some high points even just recently) Basil took a generous sip of his drink and pulled a bit of a face. Well that was quite a bit stronger than he’d been expecting. Nonetheless, he took another gulp and leaned up against the side of the Morgan’s home.

He wasn’t quite sure if it was the alcohol buzzing through his veins or his penchant to ignore the difficulties in life but Basil found it hard to vocalize, even to Nee, what exactly had him quite so… agitated. His blood was still boiling from Atticus’ last comment earlier that evening and his own threat however empty, repeated itself in his mind. The brunette wasn’t sure if he would have gone through with it or not; did he have the capacity in him to really make a scene with his brother in public if it came down to it? Was anything worth fighting that hard for, really? Some things certainly were, but nothing tonight Basil could think of might have warranted. Atticus just knew how to get under his skin until he burst.

Basil ran a hand through his hair, making it thoroughly untidy. “Oh nothing,” he huffed petulantly. “Just my brother, being a menace, ut solet.”

Taking in a deep breath, the man tried to reign in his temper. It wasn’t Nee’s fault his brother was such an arse. Letting it out slowly, he looked up at his friend’s face, so patient and familiar, and he deflated a little. “It’s just so difficult this time of year.” he admitted.

“The freedom of being away from it all, from the obligations of social responsibilities, is liberating when I’m at the castle. I’m free to be more myself there than anyplace on this Earth and when I come home to Wellingtonshire, it’s like willingly shoving one’s wrists out for cuffs straight to Azkaban!” Basil’s tone changed from exasperated to derisive. “He handed me a list you know, when I arrived home that first day. A list of all the social events I was required to attend before returning on the 3rd.” Basil shook his head. “One of these days I’m going to give him a thorough piece of my mind,” more than he’d already done, he supposed “and that will be the end of it. All of it! Just pzzt! Up in smoke, my entire career and life.” He sighed again, trying not to continue getting worked up.

It was difficult for him, to try and keep the conscious possibility of loss out of this train of thought. Every day Basil struggled with the possibility that Atticus could easily pull the rug out from under him, with every right, and at any moment. He knew his brother didn’t mean to be cruel, and likely, he wasn’t - somewhere deep, deep, deep down - but it didn’t make living with the unease any less terrifying. It was a rabbit hole to sink into, if there ever was one, and Basil knew he had to shake it before the darkness crept into his peripherals. (He was particularly susceptible when inebriated, he’d found.) Attempting to shift the mood altogether, Basil forced a lopsided grin.

“You’ll take me in won’t you, when I disown them?” he teased. “I’ll be a lonely beggar, with nothing to his name but an old kettle and some books. But I’ll keep you fed and tidy if you’ll let me.”

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Eldritch Morgan

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Morgan listened with a small frown while Basil recounted the argument with his older brother. He was no stranger to little familial squabbles: his mother and father always found plenty to say about any minor detail in his career, so it seemed like the pile of things to nag him about was never depleted. If they ever did run out of job-related grievances, there was the usual other lot, which he suspected Basil would be more familiar with an sympathetic to: why didn't you do more dancing at the ball last night, why not talk to Miss So-And-So, her mother is such a dear friend of ours, couldn't you make a bit more of an effort at the dinner? And all that for someone who actually enjoyed social events, for the most part. Morgan expected that Basil had it all twice over.

He smiled at Basil's joke, and reached his foot out to lightly kick the side of Basil's shoe. "I'm afraid I won't be taking anyone in on a junior lawyer's salary. You'd have to bring that up with my mother," he joked back. In all reality he probably could have afforded to move out by now, but he hadn't run the numbers; he knew his mother would have fought him leaving and honestly didn't know if the added independence was worth the effort of getting away.

"You ought to find a way to head him off at the pass," Morgan suggested. "Next time you're back from Hogwarts, send him a list of social events you'll be away for, before you even get home. He can't badger you if you've already got plans. And if some of the parties are made up and you just want to come over for drinks," Morgan continued with a boyish grin, "I won't tell him."

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Basil’s smile lost some of its forced quality at his friend’s sympathies and little tap. He could always count on Nee to cheer him up, even at the worst of times. He wasn’t sure he loved the idea of residing in the Morgan household with the whole of Nee’s family though, even if it was just theoretical. Being in such close proximity to another mother who might want to marry him off didn’t seem like the radical change he was looking for. Nee’s suggestion was a good enough one and Basil laughed lightly.

“I might, if I was informed enough to know what was going on. But that, my darling Nee, would require paying attention to the social calendar of our lot and managing dear mama’s invitations, along with my own.” He dug around in his pocket for a cigarette case. “Besides,” he continued, mood darkening again. “Atticus doesn’t care if I have other plans.” Hadn’t that been the exact cause of tonight’s kerfuffle?

Flipping open the case and taking a cigarette, Basil tucked it between his lips and offered one to his companion. Then, tugging an antique muggle lighter out of that same pocket, he set about lighting it. It was the routine of the thing not the expediency of huffing the tobacco itself that eased his anxious mind. Sure, Basil could easily have lit the thing by wand, but what good would that have done his scattered nerves? Taking a deep swig, Basil let the taste and scent cloud his judgement. He wasn’t a daily smoker by any means and often didn’t take a cigar with port. No, tobacco was his own personal comfort, like a crutch when he needed the solace.

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Eldritch Morgan

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Morgan's mouth twisted. "You wouldn't have to pay attention to anything. You'd only have to write here and ask," he said, as he accepted the cigarette. He watched Basil light his own, enjoying the clicks it made and the glint of the flame's light against the metal, but after that was done he lit his own by wandpoint. "If you think my mother doesn't already have a list of every invitation worth responding to by the time Hogwarts lets out for winter, you've never met her." His mother had always been a consummate socialite. Nee was less involved in all of that than she was, so he wouldn't have been able to furnish up a list of all his comings and goings that far in advance, but he knew if the information was needed he'd be able to get it out of her easily enough. It might earn him a little extra badgering about why he wanted to know (and possibly some push in the direction of marriageable young women), but if it would help smooth things over with Basil's family it was worth the hassle.

"What is he hoping to get out of it?" Morgan mused with a frown. "If he's trying to push you to find someone to settle down with, you'd think he'd set about doing that himself first." Nee was also aware that Atticus wasn't thrilled by Basil's choice of profession in academia (or that he was so often away at Hogwarts), but going to parties hardly seemed likely to change any of that. It wasn't as though someone was likely to offer him a new job while he was filling out their dance card. Men went to parties for only three reasons, in Morgan's opinion: they enjoyed them (mostly the case with Morgan, though seldom the case with Basil); they were expected to be seen there as part of Society (more Atticus' job than Basil's, in Morgan's humble opinion — whoever cared what second sons were getting themselves up to?); they were on the hunt for a wife.

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   Basil Foxwood

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Basil smiled again and let his cigarette burn for a moment, watching the embers, as Nee corrected him. “Perhaps I might then,” he replied, gratefully.

Taking in a deep pull from the cigarette, Basil wondered if it might be that easy to approach his brother with his own set of rules. He doubted it, but it couldn’t hurt to be forewarned of what was to come before he was thrust into something. As Nee questioned Atticus’ motives, Basil found himself humming in assent.

“Hm,” Basil rolled his eyes. “Atticus has this ridiculous perception of my needing both a wife and to be seen acting the part of the perfect leisurely gentleman, instead of wasting away at Hogwarts. Even since father died it’s like he’s become obsessed with upholding the legacy.” A legacy, mind you, that the malicious, spiteful part of Basil wanted dead and buried with him. It didn’t make sense, as Nee had said, that Atticus should pester him so much when he himself had not yet settled down or started on the business of producing heirs. But his brother was a pain in the rear, and that’s really all there was to it. (Or at least all Basil cared to read into it tonight.)

“Regardless,” he pushed on. “I’m not intending to find a wife anytime soon so he can keep holding his breath.” Basil grinned mischievously. “Besides, my kissing is quite out of practice. I’d be a hopeless catch at this stage.”

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Eldritch Morgan

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Legacies — well, Eldritch Morgan knew all about that. He'd had multiple legacies to live up to since the day he was born, it seemed like. He didn't see exactly how Basil being good at parties fit into the wider Foxwood legacy, but it wasn't really up to him. If Atticus had decided it was important, it would be important up until whenever he decided it wasn't or until Basil actually did cut ties with his family (which didn't seem incredibly likely, however he was acting at the moment). The change of topic was unexpected, and brought a genuine laugh out of Nee. Out of practice kissing, indeed.

"I think it's one of those things like riding a broomstick," he said with a laugh. "It all comes back once you start. I don't think you have anything to worry about." He took another drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out into a cloud above their heads. "Though if you did want to find someone to practice with, I'm sure you wouldn't have any trouble with it," he quipped. "I have it on good authority that young ladies think you're handsome." Rachel had said as much earlier in the night, and though Morgan would never exactly feel comfortable with the idea of kissing a student the opinions of sixteen year old girls couldn't be that far off from the opinions of nineteen and twenty year old girls.

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Glad of the subject change, Basil’s grin widened at Nee’s laugh. The sound made him giddy, and the alcohol bussing through his veins only betrayed him more tonight than usual. He was glad to have such a friend in his life. It was so comfortable with Nee, in a way it simply wasn’t with… well anyone else, especially those darling debutantes his mother was so fond of. If Basil could ever find a woman he was so easy with as he was Nee, well, he’d marry her in a minute.

As Nee continued on about finding partners to practice with, Basil’s smile faded a bit. He wrinkled his nose just a touch and took another sip of his dwindling drink. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he replied, evasively.

Basil had never really posed much the question on wether he was attractive to potential partners, as much as he expected them to be attractive to him mentally and, he supposed, physically to a degree. Since he’d never really found anyone suitable enough to hold a decent conversation, much less devote his entire intellectual capacity to, the latter had never much come to his mind. He supposed he wouldn’t consider himself horrible to look at seeing as nothing was particularly asymmetrical on his face, but there were so many more commonly attractive individuals out there. Nee was the perfect example: he was chiseled from the same stone as Adonis himself.

“As for broomsticks,” he grinned again. “I do hope so. Though I am hopeless on one of those as well, so cheers to better luck with romance.”

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Eldritch Morgan

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   Eldritch Morgan

"Well, it's a lot harder to fall off," Morgan couldn't help but quip. He wasn't usually the sort to make dirty jokes, but that one had nearly be served up on a platter. Besides, he had less of a filter with Basil than he had with other people. They'd known each other so well for so long that it was hard to care about propriety or what one ought to say, and he never had to worry about being misunderstood or having something he said be misinterpreted. Basil knew him well enough to always known precisely what he meant. That was one of the reasons Morgan always enjoyed talking with him so much — it was easy. Not that socializing in general was hard for Nee, but this was something different. They were so comfortable together that having a conversation was as natural as breathing.

"Though with a few more drinks, you might manage it," he continued with a grin. "Maybe put a pillow on the floor next to the bed before you start, to soften the landing just in case." Of course, neither of them seriously thought there was any possibility of Basil taking a girl to bed tonight, but that didn't mean Nee couldn't tease.

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   Basil Foxwood

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Basil laughed outright at Nee’s rather inappropriate quip. He supposed the other was right. As an adult, he now knew so much more than he had as a child about the whole romantic bedroom debacle, though he tried desperately not to think about it too much for propriety’s sake.

As the other continued on to tease him, Basil only rolled his eyes. “Are you insinuating I’m drunk, Mr. Morgan?” he replied, pretending to be offended. “I can assure you, any landing I have will be quite intentional and explosive, thank you.” He knocked shoulders playfully with Nee on the word ‘explosive’ and took another pull from his cigarette. Basil hadn’t hesitated too much at his own vulgarity. It was extraordinarily unlike him to ever speak in such a way, but he was - quite frankly - tired of people accusing him of being drunk tonight. Even if it was starting to be true!

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Eldritch Morgan

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"I don't have to insinuate anything. You're drunk," Morgan replied. His tone made it obvious that he wasn't pronouncing this like some sort of judgement. If there was ever a night for public drunkenness, it was New Years Eve, wasn't it? As long as Basil could still walk himself back to bed at the end of the night, more power to him. If there was anything to think twice about in this, it was only because Basil wasn't one to overindulge frequently in Morgan's experience — meaning that he must have been in quite a mood earlier in the evening, to have needed this many drinks to get him through.

Morgan gently kicked the side of Basil's shoe again. "Sorry your brother was being —" he waved his hand rather than choosing an adjective; Basil would be able to fill it in mentally better than Nee could verbally. "The rest of the night will be better. Promise."

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Basil sobered only just as the tone of the conversation took a turn back towards the unfriendly. He puffed at his cigarette quietly, listening and thinking, processing Nee’s sentiments. He supposed it was the duty of the best friend to try and cheer one’s spirit’s when they were particularly low, but Basil realized he didn’t want cheering. He wanted mischief and alcohol and plenty of it so he could forget this night altogether. Instead of verbalizing any of that however, he simply turned a sad little smile in the direction of his best, truest love friend.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he said gently.

Breathing out a particularly long puff of smoke, Basil straightened and gave a stretch, his limbs feeling stiff. Likely it was from cold, but he didn’t notice. It was time to turn the tables and get away from this topic altogether. Turning towards Nee again, he nodded in the direction of the main house. “How has your evening been then?” He forced a little grin. “It has to have been less dramatic than mine for you to be so somber and sober yet.”

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Eldritch Morgan

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That was a strange thing to say, Morgan thought, but he didn't have time to think through the implications before Basil had moved on. It wouldn't be difficult, he figured, to improve upon the night if it had gotten off to such a poor start for Basil. Why would it be a promise he was unable to keep?

The question about his own evening entirely distracted him. It might not have, if he hadn't had such a story in his back pocket about what had happened to him so far that evening. He wasn't going to be able to tell anyone besides Basil about it, though, so it was a relief to have a chance to tell the story. "You're going to laugh at me," he warned, though he was already grinning at the sheer ridiculousness of what he was about to say. He wouldn't mind if Basil laughed. "It was quite dramatic, in its own way, but it hasn't left me enough time to drink as much as it warrants. I went out for a cigarette earlier with some of the gents from the club, only I managed to smudge my trousers — a white suit was probably a mistake," he allowed with a shrug. "But I thought, no worries. I'll just pop into this empty room and fix it up with a spell. I was in the old classroom — you know the one — with my pants in my hand and my wand in my teeth when this debutante walked in, looking for the lavatory." He was in full storyteller mode by this point, gesticulating with his cigarette to add emphasis, his eyes alight with amusement. "Which might not have been so bad, except that my sister was right behind her, and of course you know how it looked."

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