Log In

Home
    - Create Journal
    - Update
    - Download

Scribbld
    - News
    - Paid Accounts
    - Invite
    - To-Do list
    - Contributors

Customize
    - Customize
    - Create Style
    - Edit Style

Find Users
    - Random!
    - By Region
    - By Interest
    - Search

Edit ...
    - User Info
    - Settings
    - Your Friends
    - Old Entries
    - Userpics
    - Password

Need Help?
    - Password?
    - FAQs
    - Support Area


h e n r y ([info]fictitious) wrote in [info]valesco,
@ 2013-03-29 18:41:00


Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry
Entry tags:delilah spinnet, elizabeth fortescue, group, henry wadcock, ian bell, kendall broadmoor, miles lufkin, mirabelle jasper, rian kettleburn, richard house, rose knightley, rupert brookstanton, scarlett rabnott

Charity Dinner! Open to All! For Saturday!



for more information

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.


(Read comments) - (Post a new comment)

Ian!
[info]ringmybell
2013-04-01 12:17 am UTC (link)
Liz squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, lips twisted and ankles crossed. She had not been to one of these fancy events in a long, long time and the alarming number of celebrities, dignitaries, ministry officials, it was---overwhelming. There were cameras, their flashes going off rapidly with each swirl of the dance floor, and Liz could barely move to pick at her food in fear that they were going to photograph her and plaster her face all over those rags for--for no reason at all!

She was here for Katie, she's here for Katie, Katie, Katie. The mantra was in a continuous loop in her head, a constant reminder as to why she had accepted the invitation from the Ministry of Magic. Her daughter had survived the virus outbreak, thanks to the healers at St. Mungo's, the least she could do was show her support here in a dress that was on loan. Liz shut her eyes to try and force down her anxieties of being in this situation, as the large crowd wasn't helping, and she must have looked like a mad woman.

Air! Maybe she needed some air? Liz scooped up her ruffled skirt and moved as quickly as she could through the crowd. She'd go outside just for a moment, a moment was all she needed---there had been a quiet lobby where she'd checked her coat, she could rest on one of the unnecessarily lavish couches.

(Reply to this)


(Read comments) -



scribbld is part of the horse.13 network
Design by Jimmy B.
Logo created by hitsuzen.
Scribbld System Status