June 28th, 1894 - Spellcraft Ball
Roulette Shenanigans

This was utterly ridiculous. How in the name of Merlin's lacy underpants had she let Lorie talk her into this? Her sister's participation in the event was no excuse to drag Greer to this sort of torture. Greer made the dresses for people to attend events like this, not go to events like this. Half of the things that were commissioned from her were not exactly things she would put on her own body after all. Her taste was much more subtle, Greer liked to let the little details speak for themselves. Tonight her dress was a dusty sort of blue, tailored to perfection of course, embroidery along the neckline, bodice and sleeves all done by hand. She had only used scraps from the shop to put it together, but it still worked nicely. Hopefully she wouldn't need it again and maybe she could sell it with some more tailoring.

The farce continued with a dance card being tied to her wrist and Greer felt like she'd been shackled instead. Merlin she just hoped she could go home reasonably soon, this was absurd. The only thing that had kept her from saying no to dances was that it was rude and while Greer, ostensibly, did not have a problem with this, she needed her public reputation to stay in tact. Being attached to the Greengrasses left her with no choice but to play along for a little while. Gigi was nothing if not loyal and she would not add to their stress.

The first two dances on her card had been with total strangers, the first had at least gone by mercifully quick, but the second nothing short of a disaster. She absconded to the refreshments table without a backward glance after the last note rang out over the dance floor. Where was the gin when she needed it? Surely Noble was here somewhere with a flask of it? She had half a mind to find him, when her next dance partner materialized out of nowhere. "Oh, you again." She sighed. It was hard to forget Mr. Lochrin and his metal spiders after all.

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Protego Lochrin c/o Henry Berkwood

  

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Protego didn't go to many balls, truth be told. He wasn't opposed to attending--or at least, he'd never given it nearly enough thought to be opposed--but he tended to be busy enough that it was an effort to pull him away. Especially for something he didn't have much enthusiasm for. That said, occasionally he attended and he usually enjoyed himself enough that he didn't think it a waste of his time. And for tonight in particular, celebrating an event that involved spellcraft--something of a special interest of Protego's--it seemed like a natural enough fit for him.

He was making his way through the crowd now to claim his next dance. This time, it was with someone he knew--for a certain definition of "know," he supposed. "Miss Owens," he greeted with a little bow. [b]"Are you enjoying your evening?"

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"Not particularly, no." Greer was also incredibly honest, almost to a fault, but he'd asked, and she was not in the mood to play too nice. "I prefer to make the dresses one wears to these, not attend them myself." She would have been much happier at home with a book, or some needlework and a glass of some sort of liquor. She did not have access to Noble's stash anymore, but had invested in a bottle of good gin with some of her spare money. She would certainly need a glass when she returned home tonight.

Still, she needed to mind her manners tonight, so she turned the question around on him. "And yourself?" Champagne was not going to cut it tonight, not at all.

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Protego laughed--he wasn't expecting such honesty, really, but he couldn't say he didn't respect it. "Fair enough. I suppose I should be offering you any of the compliments I would give out tonight, then, since much of it is your work." He wasn't an expert, but he was fairly sure that it was generally uncouth to reference other women when paying compliments to a particular lady, but perhaps the rules ought to be different when the lady in question helped those others look as nice as they did.

"I confess this is not my usual choice of activity either," he said. "But it's had its moments."

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Greer eyed Mr. Lochrin curiously. "I will take them." She could see three dresses she had worked on, one with extensive embroidery, in a ten-second scan of the crowd around them. But Greer really wasn't one for the spotlight, she was much more comfortable behind the scenes. Solitude was better for her mouth anyway, she could grumble and complain all she wanted and nobody could hear or hold it against her.

"What is it you'd be doing then? Not more mechanical spiders I hope." Greer could live without experiencing that again.

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"No mechanical spiders," he promised cheerfully. He got the distinct impression that Miss Owens didn't like him very much--though he couldn't tell if this his fault or just her general demeanor. Either way, Protego was too inherently contrary to react to this with anything but cheeriness. "The fellow who ordered it has already picked it up." He paused. "Though I can't make promises about what he chooses to do with it, I suppose." It was, of course, none of Protego's business one way or the other. "But I suppose if I wasn't here tonight I would be tinkering in my workshop."

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Any relief she might have had at his completion of the spider fled when she learned it was just rehomed. At least she would know what to do if she ever saw it in Hogsmeade again. If she was lucky, it went elsewhere.

Greer could more than sympathize with tinkering in a workshop. She didn't tinker per ce, but she would rather be in her room working on something, occupying her hands instead of exercising control of her facial expressions. "What do you make, besides heinous arachnids?" She was curious to see if there was anything else more normal that he worked with or if he was some sort of mad scientist engineer of some kind.

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"All sorts of things," Protego said, "as long as they're of a security bent." He smiled wryly. "That spider was a special order. most of what I make are less... inconspicuous." That was usually the point of protective items--they were usually supposed to do their job without being obvious or obtrusive. Though Protego supposed there was a certain kind of use to things intended to scare people off. Like the magical equivalent to a guard dog. "You know, charms and the like."

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Mr. Lochrin was making little to no sense to Greer, but she supposed it wasn't of any concern to her. People would try just about anything these days, it seemed. Thankfully she was saved from having to say anything about it, by the sound of the band starting up again. "I do believe we are set for the waltz?" It had been a while since she'd participated in a full ball like this, but she was not so rusty that she was going to completely disregard the decorum. Hopefully they could get it over with and maybe Greer could find a corner to hide in for the remainder of her social sentence.

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"Yes, I believe so," Protego said. He was, thankfully, not completely useless as a dancer--moreover, if he was, he wouldn't go around embarrassing himself by asking unsuspecting ladies to dance with him. He was not, in fact, so socially inept. You know. When it suited him. "Shall we?"

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Greer sure how this was going to go. Her dance skills were passable erring on the side of good, but Mr. Lochrin seemed somewhat dubious in his attention span and she wasn't sure she was patient enough to handle getting stepped on again. It would be fine, surely. "Certainly," maybe after this she could escape for a little while and nurse a glass of gin.

She held out her hand and let herself be taken to the dance floor. Fortunately the waltz was not too complicated, it wouldn't be that bad, right?

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As they took their positions, Protego offered Miss Owens a smile. He was, if nothing else, affable. Often regardless of how others felt about it. He was affable, not thoughtful. "I promise to not tread on your toes," he said lightly. He was joking, of course.

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It took more willpower than she would have thought necessary not to roll her eyes or whine at his comment. The faster they got this over with the better. The music tuned in and she swung into motion, nearly forgetting to let him lead and not do so herself. Luckily keeping up with the count and the steps did not lend itself for conversation if one did not want it and Greer certainly did not.

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As the dance went on, Protego grinned at his dance partner. "See?" he asked. "I'm not that bad." This was probably meant to be a reassuring statement about his dancing, but she could take it to be about himself if she'd like. Protego certainly thought he wasn't so bad, after all.

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Greer had to begrudgingly agree. It was a surprise, and fortunate, as it would make her even less agreeable if he wasn't. "A surprise to be sure." She managed without scowling. He seemed awfully proud of himself for an expected skill.

As they wound themselves around the dance floor in time to the music, Greer steadily found herself less annoyed by him, still not impressed, but leaning toward neutral, to at lest amiable if nothing else. She could give him points for not embarrassing her.

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As the dance progressed, Protego found his smile becoming a little more genuine. This was actually more pleasant than he'd expected it to be, even if it wasn't perfect. Eh. Few things ever were, so Protego was happy to take what he could get.

"You aren't so bad at this, either," Protego said, because, well, it took two to... er... waltz.

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