17 October, 1895 — Velvet Veil — Monster Melee

Over the past month, Don Juan Dempsey had perfected an odd kind of dance at society events where he was constantly picking up and putting down drinks, gesticulating with them and dropping them off on the nearest surface in order to divert his attention somewhere else, all in service of one goal: not letting anyone catch on to the fact that he no longer drank. Dean was the only person who knew, and him only because it was impossible to dodge that many offers of a nightcap without eventually offering an explanation. He hadn't told Dean that he was trying to keep it a secret, and didn't know how he would have justified it had the subject come up. Maybe he was afraid of inviting too much scrutiny when the root of his sobriety was an experimental charm he was meant to have had reversed by the Ministry ten months ago. Maybe he was worried that everyone would think he'd changed; become less fun, less interesting. Maybe he'd lose friends over it, or (somehow worse) people would become curiously interested in this new version of Don Juan Dempsey. He had to avoid the mortifying ordeal of being known, because he didn't know who the new version of Don Juan Dempsey was yet, and he would rather not have anyone's company while he muddled through trying to figure it out.

The champagne-glass choreography he had mastered to disguise his alcohol aversion didn't help in the Velvet Veil tonight. He'd been jostled towards the bar immediately on entering, which was hardly a surprise. A mere sniff was enough to confirm the drink he ordered was strong enough to turn his stomach. He'd gone with the translucent one, thinking it would at least be less immediately obvious that the glass was full, but judging by everyone else's commentary that seemed to be the strongest drink on the menu tonight. This all would have been fine except that the club was unusually crowded, and rather than being able to meander around flirting with people and finding an opportune moment to discard his drink he was quickly forced into a crowded booth. He tried his usual tactics of getting wrapped up in conversation, but there was nowhere to put his drink down that wasn't still in reach. As the first dance show began on the stage he tried to put it out of mind, but the full drink felt more conspicuous by the second.

Someone jostled their way into the booth, apparently already drunk. Don Juan swerved his weight on instinct, keeping his drink from spilling on the person next to him, then immediately thought what an excellent opportunity he'd just missed. He entertained the drunk woman for a few minutes, making idle conversation around her giggling while an idea formed in his mind. His recent companion got distracted by sighting a friend and darted off in that direction, leaving her half of the seat unoccupied. (Don Juan missed being drunk). He languidly expanded to take up the full seat in the booth again, then cast a subtle glance around. No one else at the table was looking at him — the vampiress dancing on stage had just torn off a sleeve, which had captivated most people's attention. Being reasonably assured that he was unobserved, Don Juan leaned on the edge of the table and sloshed some of his drink out onto the floor. He eyed the puddle critically, checked the level of the remaining drink in his glass, then spilled a little more. He set his drink back down on the table and sloshed the edge of his shoe into the small puddle he'd created, to scatter it around and make it less obvious... and realized at that point that he hadn't gone unobserved after all.

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