Drystan didn't normally care for parties.
His friends and family could heartily attest to that fact. Under the best of circumstances, socialising bored and exhausted him. With the state of their house, the
last thing he and his wife needed to be doing was attending a party, but, strangely, he could think of nothing else he would rather do.
Something, anything, to ensure that 1983 went away forever most likely had something to do with this change of heart.
He couldn't say he had been
enjoying himself, necessarily, but there were worst things Drystan could have been doing. Such as taxes, or trying to explain to the crup why he couldn't come into Drystan's study and chew up his slippers after having rolled around in mud.
The sense that he was missing something, or had forgotten something, plagued him suddenly, and he was about to ask the person he was conversing with (who was it? He couldn't remember—surely his short-term memory was not so poor—) when he realised the person had left. Confused, he turned about to see if he had missed something.
And as he turned, he saw a witch in a red and gold mask sizing him up, and, naturally, appearing to like what she saw. His ego had never needed stroking, but open admiration didn't exactly put off a wizard like
Drystan Fawcett. He had the brief impulse that she wasn't something that should interest him, but then he scoffed at himself. Why
wouldn't he lay his sights on someone who found him attractive that he did as well?
After all, everyone knew he preferred blondes.
"Is staring all you're going to do?" he asked, smirking beneath his mask.
