16 November, 1892 — London Ballet

Part of the reason why Oz had abandoned early drafts of his letter to Sophia Voss after the ball was that he couldn't decide what it was he wanted to explain to her. A week later, he still hadn't worked it out. How much ought he to reveal? How much did she really want to know? She had made her point perfectly clearly that he needed to offer something of himself if he expected her to do the same, and it was clear that the two of them couldn't continue to see each other unless they were more careful with how they proceeded. He needed to know who her connections were within society, rather than assuming he would never find her there. On the other hand, he was under no illusion that she would want to hear everything. There was a reason she'd never asked about his wife before, surely. It would have been unappealing in the extreme if he had used their time together to air out dirty laundry.

He'd decided that he would let her take the lead with questions, and hope that she didn't ask him whether or not he loved his wife. People generally didn't ask him that, given what they all knew of the Dempseys' behavior towards each other at social events, but it was perhaps a natural question for someone in her position. Ozymandias wasn't sure what expectations, if any, Sophia had about his level of regard for her. She had comported herself throughout all their previous interactions like the sort of woman who did this all the time, but as her last letter had pointed out that wasn't true at all. He had admitted to being obsessed with her during their liaison in the manager's office; perhaps she had made the leap from obsessed to some other adjective. Perhaps she felt she had a claim to his feelings, and reason to be justifiably jealous of any strong show of emotion, positive or negative, directed at Thomasina.

She didn't, of course. This was a casual affair, he had convinced himself. What Ozymandias had originally classed as guilt the night of the ball he had since redefined as merely a symptom of being surprised to see her. He had no reason to feel guilty about interacting with his wife in whatever way he saw fit. She had no true grounds to be angry, but he could weather her being annoyed at him and make whatever small explanations and minor apologies were required to move past it. He'd indicated to one of the staff that he expected to stay at the club tonight and not to expect him back home; in actuality he expected to end the night in her arms, after they'd reconciled. He did not entertain any thought of the future that did not end in their putting this unpleasantness firmly to bed by the end of the evening.

He'd debated buying her jewelry to expedite the process of forgiveness, but remembered how she'd bristled early on in their interactions when he'd offered regular gifts in exchange for her company. She didn't want to feel bought, so anything too lavish might backfire and create more strife. He'd foregone flowers as well, but brought a bottle of quality wine. He apparated into the empty audience of the theater — partly because it was chivalrous not to apparate directly into a ladies' rooms no matter the situation, and partly because he'd only been in her dressing room while under the influence of strange magic and some intoxication and didn't fancy splinching himself whilst trying to recall the room in fine enough detail to apparate. The theater felt bigger in the dark, with only the solitary ghost light dangling over the stage. Ominous. He hurried to her dressing room.

"Sophia," he greeted after knocking on her door. "You have wine glasses, I hope? I didn't think to bring any."

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@"sophia voss"

  

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MJ is the light of my life <3

In truth, Sophia barely had a spare moment to put more thought into what transpired that night at the ball. Initial anger ebbed slightly when she received his letter, appreciating Ozy’s accountability towards clearing the air between them. Improved further still when he agreed to meet her, because at the end of it all… Sophia missed him. But this was the extent of her fixation on Mister Dempsey. The whole affair was already far too distracting from the preparations that went into an onslaught of performances across two productions from Thursday to Sunday. But then they received a threatening letter from an anonymous critic, and in refusing to be distracted again, Sophia made a grave mistake.

A mistake that saw an innocent woman killed.

The news of the lead costumer’s death by suicide was received with a healthy dose of skepticism from those who knew her best, and those who payed more credence to the strange happenings around the theater leading up to it (the lead dancer’s blue costume, for example, found slashed). Sophia could not blame them, rattled enough herself that she failed to put on a reassuring act. The ballerina stayed behind Seamus, silently smoking her cigarette while he delivered the news on Monday morning and worked through everyone’s shock, dismay, and questions. She had not slept many winks this week.

Morale in the tight-knit group noticeably dimmed after, as evidenced by the management’s general interest in closing their doors to rehearsal spectators and dancers who were quick to leave after rehearsal in groups of three to four. For her part, the theater felt more like home than her actual one shared with Lydia and her family. So she had no qualms staying back, even if it meant dramatically keeping a cursed dagger within arm’s reach at all times because she had yet to replace her wand. (With what time? worse - with what funds? the snapped pieces lay in a neglected corner of her vanity, Soph still grieving its loss.)

She frowned at the dagger from her position in repose on the chaise, sitting with her feet propped up where her head ought to be. This may send him the wrong message, she finally decided, and so she rose to tuck it into a drawer unseen. Wincing a bit as she stood to do so, briefly wondering how she’ll make it through the punishing pace of this week’s shows. Deciding to send politeness to hell. Oz has seen her bare feet before, he could stand to witness them again.

It was then that she heard a soft knock at the door, and a strange lightness filled her chest. The woman waved to bring the door open, and turned her head from the vanity to look at him directly (she did not much trust reflections anymore). “Ozymandias," she greeted, momentarily forgetting her supposed fury altogether and throwing him a genuine smile. "No self-professed artist could survive long without wine glasses.” Indicating a small circular table with two chairs at the corner of the room, “Come in, come in. Enjoy the view.” A smirk, because although hers was the only dressing room with the pleasure of a window, the ‘view’ was nothing more than a narrow side street along the back of the theater, towering buildings choking out the sky. The curtain was generally kept closed. But this evening the cracked window let in cool, refreshing air, and the streetlamps gave the room a reassuring yellow glow.

Sophia glanced into the mirror to watch Ozy as she retrieved the glasses. A real sight for sore eyes, not that she thought he deserved to know at the moment. No - if she were truly being honest about her feelings, she would have already crossed the distance between them and thrown herself into his arms. An impulse of the habit they’ve developed– civilized gestures colored with flirtations, words swallowed by kisses. But tonight, Sophia was determined to keep her hands off of him… mostly. At least until she had a bit more clarity around who this man was, and what was important to him. What was important to them.

Ah, but it's also entirely possible this was a lost cause before it could even begin. Having brought the glasses to the table, she now found herself standing entirely too close, close enough to smell his for-Sophia cologne.

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thank you gin for the set<3

Oz glanced at the window as she drew attention to it and returned her smirk. He decided to play along, walking over towards it and dramatically looking out over the expanse of the alleyway. "How cheeky of you to have kept this hidden," he teased as he set the wine bottle down on the table (nevermind that the last time he'd been here there had hardly been any time to even look around at the furniture, much less a window). "I'll have to ask someone else to accompany me the next time I visit the Alps; I'm afraid you might find the sunset over snow-capped mountains anticlimactic."

Not that he had any imminent travel plans, and not that her work schedule would have allowed her to get away for long. In the spirit of making amends as quickly as possible, though, he didn't think it could hurt to dangle a possibility like that out; subtly reminding her of some of the advantages of this type of relationship that she had yet to experience.

Once a corkscrew had been produced he opened the bottle of wine, but didn't pour yet. "Let's give it a second to breathe," he suggested, taking one of the seats. He noticed her bare feet and raised a brow, but didn't comment on it directly. "Long day?" he asked instead.

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MJ is the light of my life <3

Sophia reminded herself that she was still supposed to be cross with this man, and thus his sentiment of her little alleyway rivaling the Alps was not supposed to earn the laugh that threatened to bubble up her throat. Or the thrill of imagining taking a trip together, easily one of Sophia’s most favorite things to do with the luxury of free time. So her smile flickered a bit, somewhere between what she ought to feel and what she truly felt.

“Hm, I have been to the central eastern Alps in Austria, and I assume they haven’t changed even a little bit,” she cast an aloof look over her shoulder to the window behind to play along with his act while he uncorked the wine. And perhaps, sneak in the suggestion that she was rather well-traveled for a lady of her station. “There was far too much fresh air and open sky.”

Speaking of air. Sophia took his suggestion for the wine like an instruction to breathe herself, something she’d oddly not been doing at all in his presence. So she took a seat, sucking in a metered breath. Took great interest in the wine he brought - a varietal she did not recognize. Glanced up only as he asked about her day. She took a beat to consider how much he really wanted to know about her, and how much she cared to share. “Ha, is it so obvious?” Her toes reflexively stretched before she promptly tucked her feet on the rails of the chair to hide them under her skirt. (For a moment, she even felt a bit self-conscious about looking as exhausted as she felt. Sophia could not remember the last time she cared about such things at all.)

“It’s been a long day, within a long week,” she finally admitted with a sigh. This felt like the less treacherous topic they could discuss, so she latched on to it. “Perhaps you saw that we added a show this week, a small production of Le Diable amoureux. I suppose you could call it my directorial debut,” she added playfully. This technically was, not that it felt that way. A vision entirely hers. Continuing absently, “We’re looking to draw more people, put on more performances. Figured that adults might like to have a thought-provoking alternative to the Nutcracker’s saccharine sweetness for the season."

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thank you gin for the set<3

"Mountains usually don't," he quipped in return to her line about the Alps not having changed. "That's one of their definitive qualities, if the poets are to be believed." He didn't miss that she seemed to be showing off a bit with the line, but he didn't mind; he'd been showing off, too. The next bit, about her directorial debut, was more surprising to him. He had known that she had lived abroad, so seeing scenery that was out of reach for the typical working English woman wasn't the most shocking revelation. Crossing the line from performer to mastermind behind a production felt like more of a taboo in the society they lived in, and was therefore far more noteworthy than being well-traveled.

"The devil in love?" he asked, one eyebrow raised. He wasn't familiar with the source material, if there was any. She mentioned the production as though it was an established one, not something she had written herself, but given how well surrounded by writers he was in all other areas of his life it did cross his mind that she might have penned it as well. Wouldn't that have been ironic, for him to have ended up wooing a writer himself after all his dismissive comments to his siblings about the craft?

"It seems like a sound move from a business perspective," he admitted, waving his fingers idly over the open bottle of wine as though this would speed the oxidization process along at all. "Though taxing for the performers, assuming you're using the same dancers for both shows. Are they going to be able to keep up with a more robust schedule?" The ballet was physically taxing, of course. Ozymandias did not expect that he would be pointing out anything that Sophia hadn't already considered; it would have been arrogant in the extreme for him to believe that his role as patron gave him any actual insight into the business side of things that someone working in the industry for years did not already have. He did think it might earn him some favor to show that he cared about the wellbeing of the dancers, though. Given that he'd come tonight planning to smooth over an argument, any favor he could curry would only be a boon. Though it was hard to tell at this point if she really was still angry with him. She'd certainly been angry at their parting in the ballroom, but she hadn't been showing much sign of it yet tonight. Maybe all was already forgiven?

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MJ is the light of my life <3

“Based on a French novella of the same name,” she confirmed, pleased that he expressed as much interest in it. Of course this interest could be perfectly fabricated, but it was endearing all the same. “An adaptation of the choreography I saw in a Viennese production some seven years ago, to the music of Reber and Benoist.” Already, Sophia’s passion for the art was palatable; her entire face lit up as she envisioned it.

“The corp de ballet are generally up for it, as they are paid by the performance.” She watched Ozymandias’ fingertips attentively, eventually setting her elbows on the table and tenting her fingertips, giving a cradle for her chin. “It would have worked perfectly, but we’ve run into troubles with our lead soloist for the piece. Have a guess who will be filling the gap while she gathers her wits.” Sophia briefly stuck out her foot again, designating the reality with her pointed toes. 

Of course, they were here to discuss something else too, weren’t they? Sophia wasn’t sure how to broach it, primarily because she did not wish to break the bell jar that kept their affair undisturbed. But it was clear that this would continue to pose a problem, for as long as the two of them continued to have any intention of being anything besides a social recluse. Was he waiting for the shoe to drop as well? Or did he intend to find an opening? She didn’t want to be the one interrogated first. She did not like the anticipation or anxiety of waiting for the drop, either.

So the woman’s head tilted slightly, brown hair spilling over her bare shoulder. “Though I suppose this will put an end to my attendance at balls for the rest of this season,” she carefully watched his expression.

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thank you gin for the set<3

Oz's eyes tripped down to follow her pointed toe and he frowned faintly. His concern for the dancers of the ballet corps who might overextend their capabilities had been feigned, but when he realized it applied to her as well it crystalized into something more genuine. The internal shift caught his attention, but he didn't have time to properly interrogate it before she had turned the conversation around to ballrooms. Ah — they had arrived, though much less forcefully than he had been anticipating. He'd expected to walk in any be confronted with questions, demands of explanations; this was almost tiptoeing up to the issue, as though she was apologetic about having to bring it up at all.

"There aren't many balls worth attending this time of year, anyway," he said impassively. He almost wanted to add a comment about Thomasina — she worked, and could sometimes be convinced to take days off for particularly interesting social engagements, which as a general rule never took place between the months of October and March. But bringing up Thomasina would invite questions too directly, and if Sophia was hesitant to bring it up he was inclined to follow her lead.

"Should I come see your new performance?" he asked instead, skirting back towards safer territory.

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MJ is the light of my life <3

Well tiptoeing came naturally to Sophia, after all. But she ventured forward with trepidation less for Ozymandias’s sake and more for her own. On one hand she desperately wanted to ask him the questions – what he thought of her, how many mistresses he had, what his family was like, what drove him away from his wife. All perfectly legitimate and reasonable territory to stray into given their… arrangement, but on the other side of the coin… a perfect invitation for him to interrogate those aspects of her life, as well.

And Sophia was apprehensive. That he might think worse of her, perhaps. There was certain comfort and safety in remaining the poor little ballerina wasn’t there? Even if she was so much more.

“Hmm,” she gave him a rueful look, as though she didn’t entirely buy his rationale. “Well I do enjoy taking the invitation on the rare occasions that I receive them. I like dressing up.” Somewhere between her coquettish flutter of eyelashes, hoping to nudge a reaction on that impassive face of his, was a point she wanted to make: she had as much a reason to be at these parties as he did.

As for her performance, Sophia shrugged. “It’s a story of love, desire, and morals, with plenty of room for interpretation. Perhaps you’ll like it. I play a sultry Satan.” He certainly had enough personal experience with all these themes, anyway.

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thank you gin for the set<3

She liked dressing up. On the one hand it was a rather trite explanation to give for why she might like attending society events; it was the sort of thing a man might say about a female relative's motivation for attending parties if he either wasn't particularly close to them or didn't think much of them. On the other hand, a part of Oz's mind couldn't help but see it as an invitation to picture her dressed up; in that sense it was almost flirtatious. He could buy her something pretty. Maybe she would wear it to an event they both attended. The prospect was exciting — but that was the whole crux of the matter, wasn't it? Anything exciting had an element of danger.

He shifted his attention away from her (and his mental image of her in ballroom finery) while she continued, and instead poured two healthy glasses of wine. A sultry Satan, she said as he offered her one of the glasses, and he couldn't help but laugh softly.

"Of course you do," he murmured before raising his wine glass. He swirled the glass gently and inhaled the bouquet. "I'll see it," he declared before taking a sip. "Alone, probably. It doesn't sound like the sort of performance best enjoyed with a sibling sitting at one's elbow."

He considered the wine in his glass for a moment, then set it back down on the table. "I don't believe any damage was done last week in the ballroom. I understand your concern, but —" Oz hesitated, unsure how to phrase this to both put him in as positive a light as possible but also leave no room for misunderstanding of what he was trying to convey. "— nothing that occurred would have seemed noteworthy to those who know me only through society."

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MJ is the light of my life <3

Sophia practically beamed at his laugh, though kept herself in check. What was it about his smile? Perhaps it was that he was so reserved in other circumstances, and so riling the proper socialite and making him smile felt like a conquest? The woman averted her eyes from him as he accepted the wine glass, not wishing to betray how much she appreciated that he’d like to see it. “It was meant to be another dancer,” Sophia pointed out as though the fact might absolve her from all prior demonic tendencies. A nervous tick in the back of her mind wondered if she ought to tell him everything that happened – but shelved it for another time.

Their little arrangement was already complicated enough as it was.

And now they were getting into the meat of things, it seemed, and Sophia took a sip of liquid encouragement. It tasted like a delightful Cabernet Sauvignon she’d enjoyed before, aptly named Le Prisonnier. “I supposed that it was another typical evening for Ozymandias Dempsey,” she relented, swirling the glass absently. “Though what was the reception for those who know you better?” The question came out sharper than Sophia would have liked, and she grimaced slightly over it.

This wasn’t about jealousy, though, but a matter closer to home. It would be impossible for him to know that, of course, unless she gave him an indication otherwise. Blue eyes reluctantly turned from the wine to him. “For me, it caused a bit of turmoil. My family would prefer that I avoid being the face of scandal, and they fear I have a knack for it.” Arrive in Britain, find scandal in short order. There was a reason Sophia had avoided being here for a decade and change.

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thank you gin for the set<3

Oz considered that with a hint of amusement. Of course she had a knack for scandal. She had family in society and she was a ballerina. He didn't know the exact history that had led to this arrangement, but he knew it could not have come about without a scandal of some sort. And from what he knew of Sophia before seeing her in the ballroom... suffice to say, she didn't seem the sort to deny herself something she wanted, and so much of polite society depended on everyone pretending they wanted nothing at all.

"Your family is short-sighted," he said, picking up his wine glass again and leaning back in his chair, one arm tossed over the backrest. "Cultivating one or two minor scandals insulates you from speculation about any others." That had been his experience of things, anyway. He leaned in to the perceptions society had that he and his wife never got along and that he was always on the hunt for new women to flirt with, and no one suspected him of anything else — or if they did they didn't dare mention it loudly enough that it would ever make its way back to him.

"Did you reassure them that I'm merely a poorly reformed rake, with no serious intentions to seduce you?" he goaded lightly.

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MJ is the light of my life <3

“Is that how it works,” she remarked as though he’d just explained the intricate mechanisms of a pulley system. She could see how this was a tried and true method for him, having heard a fair amount of gossip about the Dempseys simply by existing in the same room as them at a party. “And so you pick the red herring that suits a narrative you’d like others to see, and take care to hide away what you don’t.” Of course as a performer, she understood. And years ago, she would have wholeheartedly embraced this philosophy. But nowadays, the dictates of her life created higher stakes if things went wrong. “Unfortunately that would never work for me. I have much more at risk,” she admitted, hoping he would not dig into her two little risks at home. It helped slot into place in her mind, though, why he felt wholly comfortable asking for their dance.

The woman took a thoughtful sip of her wine at his goading, eyes taking care to study his broad shoulders as he angled himself on the chair. She considered herself well seduced, and offered him a wry smile. “I reassured them that I’d only met you once prior, briefly at a party hosted for our patrons. It is not so far-fetched to claim that one of them is already obsessed with me.” His words, slipped back to him over the wine glass.

Setting it down carefully then, “I am beginning to think that you are not an inventor at all, but perhaps a barrister of some kind? Do you realize you never answer my questions?” Sophia sniffed, all indignant-like. “Your entire family was present. They find this to be all standard course for you?” That much was perhaps obvious, but the knowledge Sophia really hoped to sink her teeth into came next. “Does your wife know about us?”

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thank you gin for the set<3

It felt as though she was making fun of him, and Oz wasn't sure whether to roll with it or feel slightly put out. He wasn't sure he appreciated the narrative she'd spun for her family that he'd met her once and become obsessed (because it was unflattering, or because it was too close to the truth of the matter?) but he couldn't control how she chose to spin their interaction. He'd given up any rights to opinions on that when he'd asked her to dance without having discussed their stories beforehand.

He didn't think he liked the implication that she had more at risk than he did, for all it might have been true. Women always had more to lose in these types of situations, but her stating it so baldly made it sound as though she didn't think he was risking anything with their encounters, and as he thought he'd made clear with his pointed questions during their dance, that simply wasn't true. But he couldn't respond to any of these points, because he'd been prevaricating enough already, and she was calling him out on it now.

Oz frowned faintly. He took a sip of wine to avoid looking too eager to either answer or avoid the question, then set his glass down. "No, my wife doesn't know. She might suspect in the abstract —" You only like shiny things, she had accused him once, and he had never gotten a straight answer on exactly what she'd meant. "— but certainly nothing specific. She knows I've become a patron of the ballet. That's all." As for the rest of his family, it was bold of Sophia to think any of them knew him any better than general society did. He kept them at arm's length — though in fairness, how would she know this was his custom when he had evidently welcomed her in with such little ado? Nevermind that she didn't actually know him well at all; the whole point of seduction was that she would feel as though she did.

"My family has lost interest in our arguments," he offered with a shrug. "Particularly with everyone focused on the wedding. If you asked one of them now I'm sure they wouldn't recall anything out of place from the party."

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MJ is the light of my life <3

In all fairness, the only family Sophia still accounted for besides her children included her sister and her father. And father still lived in St. Petersburg at the moment. Her sister though, she could hide nothing from. A biological impossibility, perhaps, having been born from the same womb. Sophia’s grave error was her foul mood after departing Oz’s company, a vested interest in a ballroom dance that Sophia never normally possessed. From then it didn’t matter how much she insisted to Lydia that this was nothing— nothing at all, a good conversationalist at most! Lydia didn’t breathe a word to her on the carriage ride home, only to round on her at the staircase upon arrival and issue her condemnation wrapped in acid. This road can only ever lead to bad outcomes the longer you walk it, Phia— do you really think a rake like this would lift so much as a finger to help you the moment you create any inconvenience for him? And who do you think will be left to pick up the pieces!

Sophia didn’t know. Though didn’t agree that it would be Ozymandias’s sole responsibility to dig her out of… poor choices, she hoped he would not strand her entirely. A rake he may be, but she never considered him cruel. That was until she heard him degrading his wife in public… Now, Sophia felt like she knew less than when she started. The best outcome: things would never get to that point. Something they both seemed to agree on.

Perhaps he had more to say; she could see the way his lips turned down with her line of questioning. But at least he finally gave her an answer now, and it struck her as honest. This was all quite normal for him, the same song and dance.

“I see,” the woman relented, fingertips idly strumming along the wine glass. It made Sophia look more thoughtful than satisfied to know to answer, and only made her wonder more. A slippery slope of how often he did this, how long she might suit him, but above it all, why? It was easier for Sophia to feel at ease when The Wife was a faceless and nameless entity. She could suppose the woman was horrifically disfigured from disease, or ugly and dowdy after producing endless children, but she was none of those things.

“I recognized her,” Sophia finally offered, because it seemed like the right thing to admit. It was hard for Soph to place it at the ball, though the answer revealed itself in her row with her sister. “We were at Hogwarts together. Hardly the same social circles, and I left after my fifth year. But I’m certain of it… same year, if not one above. Thomasina, and the Pomfrey family of healers.” Sophia regarded Ozymandias unflinchingly, fingertips folded around the glass. It was curious, wasn’t it? For an gentleman of leisure to pursue someone with such work ethic? It made Sophia suppose that there was love of some kind there, at least once. “My sister Lydia may have been a colleague, at least in the periphery. She worked at Hogsmeade Hospital for some time before having children.”

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thank you gin for the set<3

Oz stiffened slightly when she said she recognized Thomasina from Hogwarts. He supposed this was bound to happen eventually, there being a finite amount of women in magical England and an even smaller pool whom he was interested in sleeping with, but it hadn't happened yet and it rattled him now. He liked being in control of the narrative in situations like these, and of course that depended on the two worlds not overlapping. If she was already familiar with his wife, even without ever knowing her as his wife, there was some preexisting story there he couldn't dictate, only influence.

Not to mention how dangerous it made any future interactions in society. This took matters from Mr. Dempsey's wife and the ballerina exchanging greetings to old acquaintances catching up, which was a much different — and more treacherous — dynamic. He ought to have called the whole thing off. If he had been giving advice to someone in his situation, it was the only sane thing he could have recommended. Ozymandias shifted in his chair, uncomfortable, and let his gaze slide off to somewhere across the room.

"That's her," he confirmed quietly. "This does complicate matters."

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MJ is the light of my life <3

Sophia took a heavy swig of her wine to help swallow her sigh; this was exactly the situation she’d been dreading. The disintegration of their serene bubble, willful ignorance of the reality of what they were doing. An affair. His wife’s supposed ignorance (but a woman can always intuit, can’t she?), their social circles running just barely close enough... The ballerina worried her lip a bit over how this could all spell the beginning of the end. A reality she vehemently did. not. want. Not yet.

Twisting at her hips to the corner of the room, Sophia splayed her hands, “Music.” The little gramophone she had set up roared to life, a french ballroom song. Something to help fill the silence as they ruminated. In the end, Sophia felt better for being honest with him – the sort of thing that could only blow up otherwise, given the right circumstances. It also showed to him her levelheadness, when it came to all this. The woman turned back to looking at Ozymandias, assuredly avoiding her gaze. She crossed her legs, skirt shifting to reveal her top dangling foot which bounced a bit anxiously.

“I suppose it does,” she finally broke the silence. “But it doesn’t have to be a thing.” The woman tilted her head imploring him to look at her; she was wholly prepared to negotiate.

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thank you gin for the set<3