So its a dance? [Thread Five]

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So its a dance? [Thread Five]

So you're at the Hogwarts Ball and the dance has started! It's time to get on the floor with your partner, or mingle by the drinking area. It's all pretty normal, for a dance anyway. Course, what at Hogwarts ever stays normal?

Objective: In this thread, two applicable characters will need to dance or converse by the drinking area. When the Mini Event strikes, make sure you don't trip on your feet! A secondary objective will soon follow!

Reward: 200 galleons upon thread completion!

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Doreen knew she looked out of place and loved every second of it. Fitz had sent her a package some weeks ago with a beautiful period dress and instructions on how to alter it in case it didn’t fit her exactly. It hadn’t, of course, and she had spent a few nights in the common room trying to make a little tighter. The dress had probably been just something he had been working on to avoid schoolwork (she had seen some of his textbooks over summer, and they looked horrendous), and he might have set up his own costume for when she came to visit this summer. Once she heard about the N.E.W.T. ball, however, she knew she had to wear it, and now she looked like a proper Edwardian lady.

No one had asked to dance with her, which was probably for the best. She wasn’t much of a dancer even under the best of circumstances, and now she wore a long dress and heeled shoes. It would certainly have been an adventure, and not the fun kind. Some of her friends were around, and she had chatted with them in between their own dances. It surprised her a little just how many friends she had in her own year and among the seventh years; her throat was already starting to get dry. Perhaps she wasn’t as much of an outcast as she thought.

She made her way to a table with some drinks and grabbed a glass of some kind of punch. It tasted all right, but more importantly, it was cool. The night wasn’t going as badly as she’d feared. Going to a dance wasn’t a normal sort of dare, which had made her a bit nervous, but she found she was actually enjoying herself. Not as much as, say, spending a night in the Forbidden Forest (she hadn’t been able to follow through on that one, but it was still one of her best memories), but she doubted she would regret it.

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Daphne had a date, of course, but any interest she had in him had faded just after he had asked her to the ball. It wasn't like her to put all her eggs in one basket, and there were plenty of others interested in stealing a dance. At least, that is what she told herself. She was quite happy to find that, throughout the night, her assumption proved at least slightly accurate - she had done all she could to look the part of a picture perfect princess so that she might garner the proper, positive response. Her philosophy was, and always had been, 'everyone judges a book by its cover'. Anyone who said differently was stupid or lying.  After shaking her date off her arm for the tenth time that night, Daphne had found herself perched delicately on the edge of one of the well-upholstered chairs, eyes darting over the passing faces and couples. She quietly played her own version of 'hot or not', silently appraising every dress, every hair style, and every couple. She had nothing better to do, so why not?  For the most part, everyone seemed to be dressed well. There were always odd ones out, but that was normal enough; even Daphne understood that not everyone could be blessed and fortunate the way she was. It was only when she allowed her gaze to find the face of a girl donning old style dress that she truly scoffed. It wasn't that the girl - a Gryffindor, Daphne affirmed after a bit of speculation and a moment of wracking her memory - looked bad. In fact, the dress was rather nice and it fit her in all the right ways.  Daphne would never actually admit it, but she felt something akin to jealousy stir in her veins.  Toying with her wand between her two index fingers, the sixth year slowly dragged her way towards the punch table, tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth and brows raised slightly. "Look what the cat dragged in," She sneered, voice cold as she slipped up beside Doreen. "if it isn't Ms. Antisocial. Don't you know that we don't want idiot loners like you here?"

doreen

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Doreen glanced up as she heard someone mention “what the cat dragged in” and prepared to defend her cousin’s dress with magic, fisticuffs, or both. Hopefully both. After all, it was period-specific in every detail, and her cousin had probably spent hours on it. Then she heard the rest and knew that it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d worn the latest fashion from wherever it was fashion came from (Paris, maybe?). What mattered was that she was the one inside it.

“Leave it to you to make anything even remotely fun less interesting than Binns’s class,” she said, trying to remember who exactly was insulting her. A Slytherin, probably; they didn’t seem to like her for some reason, even though she was sure she had probably tried to be friendly once. “I wasn’t informed certain school events were limited to brainless social butterflies.”

Her wand was stuck quite conspicuously in her corset – you never knew when you might need to run off and do… something – so she couldn’t reveal it in a suitably menacing manner, which was disappointing. But then, perhaps walking around with it openly was just as good, like strolling into a bar with a sword at her hip.

“So tell me, pretty little princess, what made you decide to grace us mere mortals with your presence?” She was pretty, too, which was even more annoying. Doreen was not interested in questioning her sexuality for anyone she also wanted to punch in the face. “Thought you’d remind us all what we have to look up to? Oh, I know!” The sarcasm felt so good she wanted it to be physical so she could roll around in it. “Maybe, if we all realize that your opinions are more valuable than gold and we’re barely worthless scum, you’ll see fit to smile at us!”

Overdone? Probably. Worth it? Always.