the inscrutable drystan b. fawcett (brythonichero) wrote in valesco,
@ 2012-02-28 21:31:00

Entry tags:

adrian mattias, anton chang, arista sykes, billie trimble, carys llewellyn, delilah spinnet, derek dobbs, drake parkin, drystan fawcett, galvin gudgeon, geoffrey brand, glenda prewett, griffith kirkham, group, hamilton nott, holly troy, iwan quigley, joey jenkins, magnolia mattias, marissa macfusty, michal conway lynch, miles lufkin, mirabelle jasper, odette boot, rose knightley, rupert brookstanton, savannah davies, seth wadcock, veronica zeller, victoria cadwallader, zoey moran

End of Season party! For the 3rd

Drystan did not usually consider himself a sore loser. He had experienced enough defeats in his career to understand that winning was sometimes as much luck as it was skill—the latter of which he had plenty, the former he was starting to doubt he had any. He would even go so far as to say this was one of the top seasons he'd ever played. Losing the Cup might not be such a hardship, in that light. But to lose to the team he considered the most unsportsmanlike in the League was just an insult to injury. To have lost to them for the third time in the season was, in his perfectly reasonable and justified opinion, grounds for murder.

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

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bratemius
2012-03-10 04:24 am UTC (link)

A strangled screech fought to release itself from her throat, but Arista was honestly too paralyzed to do even that. "You—" she gestured violently with the hand that was unfortunately holding the glass Seth had pressed into her hand moments before this unfortunate encounter began, upending its contents on Seth and herself (mostly on Seth).

"You—they—they weren't even looking!" she hissed, punching him in the arm with more vigor than was strictly ladylike for a woman to reprimand a man with. Perhaps she'd gone along with the ruse, WHICH by the way, he had not even bothered to explain to her, but simply pulled her along and assumed she'd go along with it (which she had, for the most part), but she that did not mean she was party to any kissing or any such nonsense happening!

Arista threw her hands up disgustedly, "I—you—I cannot deal with you!" and all but wrenched herself away from Seth's vicinity. Fine. Her other fake date had been scores better, at any rate. Miles was too busy mooning after a married piranha of a witch to try and grope her.

"I hope you splinch yourself or—get stuck in the Floo!" she tossed hotly over her shoulder, sparing just one vain moment to wish her hair was down and glorious curled so she could really disdainfully toss that over her shoulder. Fake-smiling brightly, she shoved a Cannon out of the way and snarled beatifically at the stuttered reproach, wondering how long it would take her to talk Miles into leaving now.

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