He stared at his reflection in the back of the bar area, his face refracted by the different panes of glass. Henry had long left his assigned seat at a table full of some of the highest donors of the night. They had found it to be such an honor that he was seated with them, that to be dining beside someone who must be so strong to go through this travesty was something to brag about. Henry had silently and barely acknowledged them, allowing their obsession with themselves and their egos to draw the conversation away from him. The empty glass cracked loudly against the counter of the bar as he finished the drink. Henry could feel himself starting to feel slow and sluggish, but if he was forced to be here then he was going to do it on his own terms. If that meant getting so pissed that he slept under the bar for the rest of the night, then so be it. Someone slipped onto the stool beside him, but seeing as there was no one that Henry wished to speak to tonight, he dropped his gaze back to his empty glass and tapped the side so that it could magically fill up once more. |
 But a lifetime sentence in Azkaban would leave behind a wife and three children who would likely be just fine without him, but he'd miss them. So mass murder was off the table for tonight, at the very least. Press snapped pictures outside the admittedly-abandoned looking building of 23 High Street, and Drystan knew there were more inside. Entering the rundown lobby, by-passing the elevator with the out-of-order sign, they made their way up the long flight of stairs to the grand doors of the first floor landing and into the—holy Mer— Of course, the invitation specified formal wear, but Drystan hadn't honestly been expecting a high-brow formal occasion from the Kestrels. It was a ballroom. There was emerald green positively everywhere. There was something that looked suspiciously like a string ensemble. A bar, where he fancied he would spend as much time as possible, was in the corner. Platters with hors d'oeuvres and glass flutes zoomed by. Having stopped moving, wearing a stupefied expression, Bess had to tug his arm to get him to continue his stride. "Hell," he muttered, pulling a grim face at the ostentatious yet somehow tasteful décor. Lifting their linked hands, he kissed the back of hers while surveying the spectacle before him. "Five minutes? Five minutes isn't too soon." ooc: Quidditch players/personnel + their guests! BLACK TIE! Party is on the first floor in this cool but creepy rundown building. Have fun! :D |
