31 December 1891 — Prewitt NYE Gala  

Poppy knew very well that a young lady had no business attending a society event until she had formally made her debut. She knew it, she respected it, she generally adhered to it - but this particular little shindig had refused to leave her mind and every temptation since she’d first discovered its existence almost a month prior. After much thought and finally swallowing the very pill that it could arouse scandal by her attendance, she’d hatched a scheme.

As far as any of the Dashwoods knew, her mama in particular, Poppy was spending the evening at the Edevane home with her dear friend Juniper. Her chaperone, a very irritated governess who had one hell of a time trying to convince her out of it, was livid. The only reason she’d yet to rat Poppy out to her family was because she knew that her young charge would hold grudges that very well would make her life more miserable than if she just went along with it and did her best to keep the young miss out of trouble as best she could. She would have inevitably had to have done so anyway; Poppy did not generally take ‘no’ for an answer and was not beyond sneaking her way out. (Lighting fire to one’s dress may or may not have been threatened as well.)

In such a fashion, Poppy Dashwood now found herself on a floor of the Destiny Hotel with a strange but enjoyable cocktail in her hand and a very cranky governess by her side. Her dress was demure enough tonight, not particularly wanting to attract attention even if it was New Years Eve, and very much not Poppy’s usual style. It pinched a little around the waist, not unlike some of her other dresses, and Poppy realized she’d failed to eat anything as yet. Her appetite hadn’t been for much prior to the little escapade, and now - with alcohol in hand - she wasn’t likely to contribute much else. (Even if it did go to her head rather faster that way.) Still, she turned to her governess and requested a morsel. The woman gave her a withering look and Poppy promised to stay put silently until the woman returned. After a short discussion, her governess turned to retrieve a small bite.

Hazel green eyes swept the room taking in a number of fashionable games and attendees. Poppy couldn’t help but grin as she watched people bustle here and there. It was beautiful, synchronized in its own way, and thrilled her for the day she too could partake as a full member of society. She ignored the promise to her governess and deliberately began to meander about, hoping it would take an extra moment or two for the woman to find her. It was awfully difficult to have any pleasant interactions with that breathing down her throat. Suddenly, Poppy spotted a familiar face. Drat, her cousin Atticus was here!

Turning away from him quickly, Poppy didn’t notice there was a gentleman behind her. She twirled and made to move much too abrasively. In a jarring misstep, she went from expedient escape to tumbling straight into the gentleman’s arms - drink and all.

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Kristoffer Lestrange (fyi - Elias Grimstone) and a little mood music too

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© Fox

It turned out that terrorising his sister’s debutante friends was thirsty work, so Kristoffer paused on his progress from one games table to another to solicit yet another cocktail –

Except this was not quite how he’d wanted to receive it, thank you, in the form of a drink practically thrown at his chest. With a sharp intake of breath and a muttered curse of bloody—, even Kristoffer’s attempt to be furious about his now sopping clothes was impeded by the young woman tumbling right after it. She’d whirled so fast and was already so close that catching her in his arms was about the only way to possibly stop her – Kristoffer staggered backwards a pace in surprise, but managed to just about keep them both upright by grasping at her. There was little enough use in bothering to try and hold her back at arm’s length, he thought darkly, when they were both already as damp as each other.

When he looked down at her with a scowl, he found a face he recognised though hadn’t seen in person in quite some time. “Seven years of schooling and you still don’t know how to look where you’re going, Miss Dashwood?” And she was a Ravenclaw – Gretchen’s age, wasn’t she? As he calculated this, Kris brushed a hand down his chest to take stock of the damage she’d done, before he narrowed his eyes at the girl again. “I pity the state of the world when you debut.”

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Two firm, strong arms caught her in a moment of disaster and Poppy felt herself pressed right up against an unfamiliar, solid, someone. Of course she’d stumbled into a gentleman, what luck. Like wildfire raging through a dry underbrush, heat radiated to her cheeks flaming them red as a familiar, albeit, not too friendly voice registered. Oh no. Poppy looked up to confirm her suspicions and, low and behold, she’d stumbled right into Kristoffer Lestrange in all his handsome, disapproving splendor.

How long had it been since she’d heard that deep baritone bellowing down the castle halls, terrorizing first years (and just about everyone else) she couldn’t imagine. When he’d been a student, Poppy had only had at best a superficial acquaintance with the Slytherin, but she was wholly aware of his reputation as a bit… abrasive. From a distance she’d never minded daydreaming about that chiseled, perfect jawline but she’d mostly kept away from his inner circle. There were too many fish in the sea to be bothered with one handsome fox on shore.

Kristoffer was significantly taller than her (as most people were), and Poppy had to make quite the effort to look up directly into his face, even as it loomed much too close for comfort. She could feel his warm breath ghosting across her cheek as she quickly stepped away, face still warm. Something between a snake bite of a comment and a demure apology waffled on her lips as the Ravenclaw looked down at her soaked bosom.

Perhaps it was best to approach this confrontation as less of a conflict, more of an accident. Despite his withering expression, maybe Kristoffer had reformed in the time since they’d last seen one another. Poppy couldn’t blame him for being upset that she’d spilled all over him; she could only imagine how she might feel herself if someone had jumped out at her and dumped their drink all over her dress. Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, she gave her best abashed smile and forced a tinkly little laugh.

“Yes, well, it seems I must have skipped class the day Ms. [etiquette professor] covered how to gracefully trip over one’s own haste.” Giving him an apologetic look, Poppy reached forward awkwardly and did her best to not quite touch him but - well - never mind - her hand dropped to her side awkwardly. “I do apologize for that,” she tried instead. Considering it might be too forward to offer assisting him further, Poppy carefully set her now empty glass aside on a nearby table. The sopping feeling of moving around in a wet garment made her face scrunch and a hand came up self-consciously to dab at her sticky collar bone.

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Kristoffer Lestrange (fyi - Elias Grimstone)

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© Fox

Well, at least she recognised the fault was hers – and she had certainly grown up a little since the last time he’d seen her – or it was something about the dress she wore – but this perhaps wasn’t as terrible an inconvenience as it could have been, having her this close to him. Kristoffer was almost loath to let her go.

She seemed a little abashed, and a touch apologetic – maybe even a little nervous in his presence, Kris wasn’t sure. Nevertheless, a smirk crept onto his face at her awkwardness, at the situation, at the brief darting motion of her hand.

“Skipping classes now too, are you?” Kristoffer said delightedly, with an amused gleam in his eyes to say you little minx. Not that he was at Hogwarts to get her into trouble these days – not trouble like docking points or detentions, at least – but it did give him the temerity to echo her own touch at her shoulder, as if he was testing the dampness and not her boundaries. “Well, you should get yourself cleaned up,” he drawled, his hand sliding down to take her arm instead. “And perhaps I had better escort you –” somewhere more private “– lest you manage to fall over yourself again.” He paused pointedly for a moment, eyes on her, just to see if she would dare protest.

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Poppy did not adore the note Kristoffer’s voice had taken as he eyed her in that way and mentioned something about skipping classes. He looked too pleased, like a piranha playing with a shrimp. She glanced up at him with amusement scrawled across her face, a petulant eyebrow raised in his direction. So what if she had skipped a class or two. It wasn’t his business, and she certainly wasn’t going to make it such.

In a bold move, the man before her reached out to dab at Poppy’s collarbone and inevitably the flush in her cheeks deepened, creeping down her neck. It was rather a hazard to have such pale skin! How very forward he was, taking her arm then. Poppy cocked an eyebrow sassily and tilted her head a little bit. Well, this was certainly not where she had expected this adventure to lead but she had to admit, deep down, she wasn’t entirely put off. Her tone was pleasant, light, amused even as she addressed him. The fire burning under her skin at his touch and the nerves racking down her spine at being so publicly scandalous lingered, a fair warning.

“Mr. Lestrange,” the seventh year intoned carefully. “Are you soliciting me for something quite indecent?” The words were on the tip of her tongue, but Poppy recalled them knowing it was neither the place nor the time. She didn’t know Kristoffer Lestrange like that. They weren’t friends, by any means. Even teasing him with no intention of follow-through could earn her a nasty reputation if she wasn’t careful. So, instead, she placed her free hand on the top of his arm, the one wrapped around her own, and grinned teasingly. “I do hope you mean what you say.” She laughed a bubbly little laugh, perhaps a touch nervous. “If so, then I’d be quite indebted to you.” She gave him a small, decadent pat on the arm. Poppy had no intention of being anyone's shrimp tonight. “The ladies room might do it. I know my governess will have my head if she finds me on your arm looking like this.”

Ok, so maybe some small part of her had a self-preservative instinct too.

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Kristoffer Lestrange (fyi - Elias Grimstone)

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© Fox

There was a note of reproach even in her Mr. Lestrange, but Kristoffer was used enough to that tone to be impervious to it. In fact, there was something warming in it, some challenge to be struck. He would toy with her a little, or he would toy too much, and risk offending her: but he did not know her or like her well enough to worry about the worse outcome, either. (Half the people he knew had ended up despising him, and Kristoffer usually managed to blame them somehow for it.)

But there was something terribly playful about Miss Dashwood – Miss Dashwood, if she was so nearly out as to be at parties now – that gave him hope. She looked just a touch like Trixie, too, with her dark hair and pretty features. (If Beatrix Burke had only been raised to make appearances at fashionable parties and smile and laugh when it was appropriate, and not to slave away in the grimness of Knockturn Alley and be cast off on the family business partner’s drip of a son.)

“I always mean what I say,” Kris said easily, which couldn’t possibly be true, with the amount of shit he spouted on a regular basis, but sounded perfectly good and gallant all the same. He wasn’t entirely certain about which she was more worried, being found sopping wet or upon his arm, but he only smirked to himself and inclined his head in conspiratorial agreement. “We’d better move before she sees you, then.” He didn’t know exactly where the ladies’ room was, but he was sure the walk there would afford him plenty of time to get a read on her, and so he steered them, slow and unhurried, to the nearest doors from this main room of the hotel, sure there would be a ladies’ room down the hall.

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Poppy couldn’t help the almost unladylike snort that erupted from her at Mr. Lestrange’s response. Instantly her hand fluttered up to cover her face apologetically. He always meant what he said, did he? Why did she find that hard to believe? “You’re terribly funny, aren’t you?” she mocked lightly, knowing full well he knew, she knew, that it was a lie. His reputation preceded him and Poppy was quite in the know about, well, everyone. She made it her business to be.

Still, he was being gallant, which was more than she’d expected considering the rumors, and Poppy decided she would make up her own mind tonight about Mr. Kristoffer Lestrange. She smiled at him gratefully and followed at the languid pace in which she was led. Poppy supposed there wasn’t any dire need to dry off if it meant facing the reality of his true aims so soon.

She had to admit, there was something a little bit exciting about being on the handsome, former Slytherin’s arm. Her pulse was erratic and she hoped desperately he couldn’t feel it somehow through their close contact. Sneaking a peek at his chiseled jawline, she felt something tickle like doxys in her stomach. “So,” she started. “What has the infamous Kristoffer Lestrange been up to ‘on the outside’?” she asked, that teasing note still lingering in her voice. Poppy had no idea what Kristoffer had gone off to do after Hogwarts but she wondered, very much curious, if it was something interesting. She certainly hoped so.

One of the brunette’s biggest fears in this life was to live a boring existence and it was disheartening to think, for her gender and station, she was very likely to. Poppy wanted to travel. She wanted to see the great big unknown, doing impulsive things and loving feely, openly, and extravagantly. (Who, she wasn’t sure, but definitely someone or someoneS, plural.) It was certainly a driving factor for why she was so wont to get into trouble all the time. Poppy hated the idea of living a life full of regret. She was always the first one to propose sneaking out after curfew, poking around in places a proper young lady wasn’t expected, and drinking herself silly until Atticus had to escort her home. These were the memories she would remember when she was locked up like a princess in a tower, chained to a wealthy man of her choosing but whom she likely didn’t hold much affection for. Sneaking another glance at Mr. Lestrange, she wondered not for the first time since their chance encounter if he might become one of those memories. Poppy would have liked him to. He seemed a decent fellow enough; at the very least, he seemed unlikely to think twice about ‘propriety’ if she wanted to bend the rules and go on some grand adventure. Even if it did get them into trouble.

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Kristoffer Lestrange (fyi - Elias Grimstone)

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© Fox

Had she just snorted at him? Huh. Terribly funny, she said, like somehow she was the one mocking him. Kristoffer was momentarily nonplussed by it: he was more used to giving than receiving, so this was a strangely new sensation.

I’m so pleased I amuse you, Kristoffer nearly said, but he just narrowed his eyes at her slightly instead, and let her adorably stupid little snorting sound lie. They turned out into the hall and she shot him another question – though this one had a dash of sincere curiosity in it, he fancied. He didn’t even mind being called infamous. He had had a reputation in his Hogwarts days, after all; it was only a pity that the real world was less of a fishpond, and he hadn’t reached that notoriety outside. Still, there was time.

What had he been up to? “Oh, whatever I want, whenever I want,” Kris declared, the gleam in his eyes betraying his casual tone, as if the whole world was his oyster, as if she could let her imagination run wild and be right. To some extent, it was true – he had sat around doing fuck-all and then taking spontaneous trips across the world with friends or gone ambling down Knockturn Alley whenever it suited him before he’d turned his mind to anything as sedentary as a career, even if his routines had narrowed somewhat since taking up his Ministry post. “I took a few years off to travel.” He shrugged. “Saw some of the world, caused a little trouble,” he added, with a smirk expressly for her benefit. He didn’t mention the Portkey Office, because he couldn’t work out how to make one of the most mundane Ministry offices sound remotely sexy. Maybe given another minute or two, he’d come up with something, but – for now he looked her up and down instead, indulgently. “And what have you got planned, when you’re let loose on the world?” Merlin, he hoped she wouldn’t ruin things by saying something banal and boring like get married and have children with some pathetic little man. Poppy Dashwood, though he scarcely knew her, seemed very much like a debutante-to-be in desperate need of a little corrupting.

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   Poppy Dashwood

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Poppy couldn’t help the amused grin that spread across her face at Mr. Lestrange’s callous response. It must have been nice to have such freedoms to do whatever he liked, whenever he liked. She was envious in so many ways but the look on her face only betrayed sincere amusement. Perhaps with more genuine emotion than she was wont, but still mostly amusement. Poppy had decided she rather liked Mr. Lestrange. He made everything seem so much less… mundane than it ought.

As he continued speaking, her eyes grew wide and a slight glimmer touched her expression. He’d traveled! So many questions flew to the tip of her tongue, but Poppy held them back, breeding more than restraint keeping her from babbling like a rambunctious puppy. She smiled at him so eagerly however, as he commented about causing trouble. It was downright indecent to be so obvious! “I’d adore to hear some of your stories!” she said, imploringly. “The more troublesome, the better.” She added with a laugh.

“I’ve no such exciting plans come my debut, unfortunately. At least not yet.” She sighed a little wistfully. “I would so love to travel!” Poppy grinned broadly, pleased they were in the hall now and not in the crowded ballroom. She leaned closer to Mr. Lestrange and whispered near to his ear. "I very much would like to cause my own mischief and get up to something downright indecent in the name of adventure,” she said conspiratorially. “Perhaps explore some fantastic isle off the continent all on my own, or see Paris and walk in on someone in the rafters of the Palais Garnier doing something quite improper!” She laughed again, this time bowing her head discreetly as she leaned away. It was mostly jest as far as Mr. Lestrange was concerned, and her tone indicated as much, but Poppy would have loved to wander the streets of Paris or Rome unchaperoned and free to explore and take in what she pleased. If she came across a silly young soprano ridiculously in love with a vicomte, all the better.

“You know,” she said more seriously then. “I’ve always wanted to see the grand foyer of the Palais Garnier in person or pen a letter under the cherry blossom trees along the parc de sceaux. Ideally the letter would be about something utterly fascinating and be sent off to a tall, handsome stranger.” She grinned again. Poppy didn’t know what it was about Kristoffer Lestrange that bolstered her confidence and made her want to share so much. Perhaps it was that Mr. Lestrange represented so much of the world she wanted to be a part of that she hoped, by sharing with him, she might experience just a taste of it through daydream. She also hoped he wasn’t getting the entirely wrong impression of her, but in a small way - she also supposed it didn’t much matter in the end.

“But you must think these such idle, ridiculous dreams for a woman.” She blushed then, head turned away from him in embarrassment. “I promise you I am not so very strange,” she forced a small laugh. “I will likely be up to to the same domestic frivolities as the other debutantes come spring and later summer. Buying new frocks and flirting with tiresome gentlemen looking for a wife.” Poppy rolled her brown eyes a little impatiently as she turned to look back at him, hoping in some small way the blonde beside her might understand the gesture. For only a moment, he was privy to the true underlying desire of the Ravenclaw to cast aside societal norms and be so much more than she was expected to be. Like a veil, however, the expression was soon gone and Poppy saw with it the last of that confidence flicker out. In retrospect, she supposed she really ought to hold her tongue a bit in future. But she didn’t regret a single word.

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Kristoffer Lestrange (fyi - Elias Grimstone)

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   Kristoffer Lestrange

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© Fox

Kristoffer had hoped to encourage her, a little, and that she might prove an admiring audience to his escapades – but he hadn’t expected for Miss Dashwood to be quite so openly enthusiastic. He felt like he had hit a nerve, or a vein, unleashed something startlingly sincere.

But, a cascade of sincerity or no, Kristoffer was perhaps more affected by the way she had leant up to whisper things like getting up to something downright indecent. He had certainly felt that in his... bones. Still, he laughed along, just a little bit taken by her conspiratorial grins and the jabbering on about her innermost dreams and the way by the end of it, there was a blush brushed across her cheeks. He felt as if she had been just waiting for someone to ask her about the future, had had it all ready to spill out.

But why wait until the future? Surely he could give her just a taste of an adventure right now. “Come on now,” Kristoffer admonished, stopping in his tracks when she ceded to speaking of domestic frivolities. “You shouldn’t waste yourself on tiresome gentlemen.” She was much too entertaining for that. He slipped his arm free from hers, as they’d been walking, and instead placed himself in front of her, so they were face to face again; and he snaked his hand about her waist again, to better hold her there. They were much too close for this to be proper, of course; but there was an opportunity in this deserted hallway, and Kristoffer would be damned if he didn’t make use of it. And she had practically been egging him on.

Fortunately for her, he was the least tiresome person he knew. “I can probably help, if you ever need a quick escape off to cause trouble in Paris,” Kristoffer pointed out, still smirking slightly; but his mind was only half on the conversation now, his gaze falling to her lips instead. “I could give you a portkey to wherever you want.”

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Poppy couldn’t help but smile again, wistfully, as they paused and Mr. Lestrange emphasized that she shouldn’t be wasting her time. She knew it was all frivolous daydreaming that would get her nowhere, but she appreciated his agreeing with her as much. Big brown eyes looked up at him trustingly as the gentleman came to stand just before her, and Poppy swelled a little bit with embarrassment, especially as he wrapped an arm around her in what was most certainly an inappropriate gesture.

While his quiet words then pleased the mischievous, hellious side of Poppy - the rational, propriety-minded side of her rebelled. Offering the gentleman a soft tinkle of a laugh, and a very adamant roll of her eyes, Poppy let her open demeanor drop and put up a guarded wall. She appraised him carefully, knowing full-well this little escapade into daydream was dangerous here in this locale where, quite frankly, she was not supposed to be in the first place! Still, Poppy hated to admit that deep down his words - and that look on his face - stirred something inside of her she was quite uncertain she wanted to set aside.

This time, she couldn’t help herself.

“Mr. Lestrange,” she replied quietly, slowly. “Are you propositioning me indecently?” A twinkle of mischief lingered in her tone, even as Poppy held his gaze firmly. Defiantly. She was not that kind of woman, and he would find that out sooner or later.

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Kristoffer Lestrange (fyi - Elias Grimstone)

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© Fox

She looked suddenly – careful, and cautious, and very unlike the girl he’d witnessed scarcely a moment ago, spilling out her dreams of Paris and the life she wanted to lead. He had even almost meant the offer of a portkey sincerely, and sincerity was a strange taste on his tongue.

Indecency was much more like him, and the slowness of her question set him off again. She had meant it as a reprimand, he thought, that look in her eyes an attempt to chastise him – but she had come this far along with him, and ladies made little excuses like that all the time, and if he was not mistaken (he might be), she did not sound entirely unamused by the idea.

And she had spilled her drink all over him, so indulging him for a moment more was the least she could do to make amends. “And what if I am?” Kristoffer countered, raising an eyebrow in unspoken challenge. He was pleased she had figured that much out: he absolutely was propositioning her indecently. So now they would see if her protest was just for show, wouldn’t they? He fancied he could call her bluff. A smirk curled at the corner of his mouth for a moment again and faded; with that, he leant in deliberately, moving to close the distance and press his lips to hers.

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Poppy could feel herself coming to a cross-roads. However, and whatever, had brought her to this precipice, she had nobody to blame but herself. She knew better than to meander around without a chaperone; she knew better than to sneak into parties she had no business attending as she’d not yet debuted. And still… the young Ravenclaw couldn’t find herself too terribly regretful for the actions that had led her hence. Perhaps that was the nature of the hellion that twisted and slept so soundly within her person.

Eying the handsome Slytherin before her as he admitted his very ungallant, ungentlemanly behavior, Poppy resisted the urge to laugh at him. It said something that Mr. Lestrange could be so honest about his intentions, whatever side of propriety they fell upon. She debated chastising him formally or simply rolling her eyes, but before either could come about, the gentleman leaned in with intention and actually kissed her! What gall!

Poppy felt herself tense under his touch and everything decent and well-bred in her determined to pull back and give him a good slap! She knew it was what he deserved, despite her own folly for leading them astray. Still, she couldn’t help but marvel at the sensation of him flooding all her senses. It was nothing like kissing Ida or June. It was… all encompassing, inviting even, and not at all how terrible and ruinous Mama and Aunt Viola and even society made it out to be! Poppy lingered for a moment too long and then pulled back abruptly, a dazed look on her face.

Big brown eyes blinked once, twice, and three times before Poppy regained herself. She raised a hand then and gave Mr. Lestrange a good, flat-palmed smack right across the cheek. Her face, for what it was worth, was flushed and astonished - if not just slightly amused - and Poppy forced herself out of it. “Mr. Lestrange!” She admonished, aghast. “If you have such ungentlemanly intentions, I beg you to please reconsider.” The frown she’d forced wasn’t sustainable and Poppy tried to maintain it as best she could. “I should rather like us to be friends and this behavior of yours makes things quite difficult!”

The brunette eyed Mr. Lestrange then, carefully, for some semblance of return violence. For all the bluster that he carried about himself, she didn’t quite think him capable of it but one could never be too careful. After a beat, a half-abashed smile finally broke through onto her countenance. “Let us forget this ever happened,” Poppy offered gently, face still flushed. She dropped her head a little bit and looked down at her shoes then.

“I…I should like to have someone as honest and amusing as you to find respite in this upcoming season. You can continue to regale me with stories of your travels.” She said, quietly. “I have no need to hide from you how unamusing tiresome gentleman can be.” Poppy turned a trusting, mischievous look in his direction again. “So please, find a way to comport yourself in a manner that better becomes the both of us.”

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Kristoffer Lestrange (fyi - Elias Grimstone)

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   Kristoffer Lestrange

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© Fox

He hadn’t been shy, but the kiss had only been a very brief taste of the trouble they could get into before she was pulling away. His arm was still around her waist, and Kristoffer might have tugged her back in if he’d only had time to, but there was something in her look that suggested she might make that choice for herself –

Oh, no, she hadn’t. Instead, she smacked his cheek – it stung a little, but he’d been a beater at school, had dealt and received worse hits on the quidditch pitch – and Kris’ jaw dropped slightly, dumbstruck. She had slapped him, and he should be pissed off about that... but Miss Dashwood also didn’t sound entirely as offended as she should. She was reprimanding him, obviously, but Kristoffer had made (plenty of) passes at girls before and he was well-accustomed to being met with stuttering shyness or fiery impassioned loathing. This was a little different: he had kissed her, and Miss Dashwood wanted to be friends.

Kris blinked, his hand dropping back to his side. Friends? He didn’t think anyone had proposed such a thing to him before, and didn’t know quite what to do with it. What was he going to do with Poppy Dashwood as a friend? Were they just going to talk candidly and spill drinks on each other and flirt a little if they ever saw each other again, and Kristoffer was supposed to forget that he’d tried to kiss her and she had slapped him?

“You’re a real tease, you know that, Miss Dashwood,” Kristoffer said wryly, narrowing his eyes at her as if she had planned all this to the beat, as if she hadn’t known what she had been inviting with all that talk of trouble and adventures. But there was a part of him that couldn’t quite be angry at her, part of him that had already relented and called her Miss Dashwood as a sign he would be proper again, because she... she had given him a mischievous look that Kristoffer could only interpret as not today, but maybe another.

That was what he was counting on.

“Alright,” he agreed magnanimously, brushing an imaginary fleck of something from his shoulder, as if this meant nothing to him. “Fine. I’ll forget what you did,” he gestured at his reddened cheek, “if you forget what I did.” Then they could call themselves even, and this wouldn’t get out and humiliate one of them. What Kristoffer didn’t say, though there might have been a glimmer of it in his still-too-smug gaze or his arched brows, was: If you can forget that. She wasn’t out yet, this was hardly the sort of thing that happened to her everyday – so she could try to forget it, but he didn’t think she would.

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   Poppy Dashwood

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Poppy felt herself relax a touch as Mr. Lestrange dropped his arm from around her waist. He didn’t look… thrilled, but what man would after being admonished and then slapped right across the cheek? Poppy couldn’t blame him in the least. Instead, she simply laced her fingers behind her back as if to indicate that she had no more intention of smacking him around in such a vulgar way. She already was starting to regret the hasty slap and the pure lack of breeding it had shown.

When the blonde before her finally seemed to come out of his state of shock, Poppy eyed him warily. “I don’t mean to be,” she replied, delicatley. It was true, she hadn’t tried to be coy with him, to insinuate anything. She had just… trusted him, perhaps a little too freely with her sharing. She wasn’t sorry per se, but she had the decency to at least look abashed, despite her small smile.

Mr. Lestrange agreed then to let the moment pass in, quite frankly, the most gentlemanly like manner she could have imagined. Poppy felt herself release a small breath of relief, and she grinned at him openly. “I’m glad,” she said with all the honesty and genuine grace she could muster. “I should... go dry off.” Poppy gestured vaguely towards the restrooms just a touch further down the hall. (They had been lucky not have been caught thus far, but she wasn’t about to push her luck.) “Until next time then, Mr. Lestrange.”

Reluctantly, and with one last mischievous grin tossed in the blonde’s direction, Poppy turned and began to make her way down the hall to address her attire. She was glad of the narrow escape just there. The look that had crossed Mr. Lestrange’s face had sent a fluttering feeling through her already empty stomach, like doxy wings brushing against her intestines. She didn’t trust him, or herself, to make any more clever choices tonight.

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Kristoffer Lestrange (fyi - Elias Grimstone)

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© Fox