"The use of dance cards has died out in the last few decades, however," Tarron said, sitting back in his arm chair with a soft sigh. Ball etiquette! There were tomes on the subject, but somehow the reality was always far more simple - and the rules had changed recently to become even simpler. Personally, he'd liked dance cards. They made things so simple.

He was in the armchair that sat opposite and to the left of the bed in the master bedroom, legs crossed at the knee.  Clothed in his dressing-gown and slippers, he watched his wife and her box as she opened it. The bedroom was something of a mess - for their home, anyway. The house elf was fussing about in the shadows on the other side of the bed, trying to corral the bits of tissue paper that had packed his wife's new dress.

His own garb was set out, carefully arranged on the bed in perpetration for him to change. He was in no rush to dress - not yet, with the day only halfway towards when they were really needed. He intended to be punctual, however; it said nothing good about them to be late. Thus, he planned to be fashionable late.

"My nephew seems to have outdone himself," he commented, as the dress was revealed. It was quite lovely, if not what he'd expected (but then, when were any of Darian's creations quite what he'd expected?). "I do hope it matches the proper style...?"

"It does, yes. I have no interest in wearing something inappropriate to any event, let alone one so important." Aisling shot him a reassuring, if somewhat groggy, grin. Given all the time she'd spent the previous evening on preparations for the ball, she had allowed herself a bit of extra sleep. At this point, she was still wearing the robe[1] and slippers she'd slid on when she'd rolled out of bed.

She gave the dress[2] a light shake to knock off any errant tissue paper, then turned to admiring the fine blue accents edging the petals of its skirt. "I am looking forward to wearing it. Once you've finished the instruction, of course."

The dress was carefully moved to lay on an open section of the bed. Aisling smiled at Tarron's outfit for the event-one not that different from his usual clothing, then turned towards him. "The dance cards aided with making the process clearer, I presume."

1.	Outfit
2.	Ball Dress

"Mmm. Good," he said, answer more grunt than anything else as he picked up the Prophet from the table next to him. The paper's front was decorated with the usual huge headlines and moving photographs, this one announcing some news about the Ministry. Unsurprising, really. A headline about the Yule Ball came just below, promising full coverage.

He resisted the urge to sigh. Of course the press would be there! They loved to linger, like hovering little mosquitoes. He knew the uses of the press - his wife knew more, naturally - but he didn't have to like them. He'd had a kinder view of them before joining the Wizengamot. Now...

"Hrm? Oh. Yes, yes they did," he said, folding and putting the paper away as she fussed with the dress. He stood, walking to the bed side and eyeing the dress. It looked pretty enough, he had to admit. A bit odd in style, certainly, but something he had no objections to. Darian had certainly designed it, though. It had his nephew's touch to it - that odd blend of muggle and wizarding styles.

"They died out when my parents were young, however. I was taught about them and we did put them to use on occasion, when I was a boy. But now it seems to be the fashion to chose your partners at will." He sniffed.

"You're not to dance with the same person too much, you see," he said, sitting on the bed. "Two dances in a row is toeing the line. The traditional rule is to dance with a different partner for every dance, and only repeatedly dancing with those whom you are particularly fond of."

The dress, given the lack of objections, seemed to meet with Tarron's approval. Enthusiasm was something Aisling did not expect. Nor was it something she tended to possess too strongly herself. The rest of her clothing for the dance had been set out in the bedroom previously, with most of it on a small table near the bed. "I am terribly fond of you, but I suppose there is no need to rub the noses of everyone about in that fact."

This was accompanied by a wink and a blown kiss before she moved to fiddling with the small bits of jewelry that matched the dress. The small eagle ring was the only true surviving indicator of her house allegiances, but it would serve. It would be rather tasteless to display such in too blatant a fashion. "And it will give me an opportunity to interact with some of the Professors. Perhaps some of the other dignified guests as well. At least those among them who will acknowledge my presence." Tarron's position had, in some cases, simply served to make the snubs subtler.

"Perhaps we'll be able to see the girls there, though. It seems as if so much time has passed since they left." The last few months had seen, among other effects, a bit of an increase in how often Aisling used potions of dreamless sleep.

Tarron chuckled at her gesture, his return to it being an unusually full and warm smile. If left to his own devices, he'd have stayed with his wife throughout the night anyway, but such were the rules - or, rather, the rules he (and anyone sensible) followed. No doubt some of the students would shirk the rules if given the chance. Children these days! And for that manner, most adults, who really ought to know better!

"Certainly, though depending on the choices of dances, they tend to be difficult to converse during," he said - though the last time he had danced properly and with people he did not know, talking hadn't been the first thing on his mind so much as hurriedly trying to remember the steps. Childhood dance lessons had only gone so far.

"I certainly hope that is the case, yes," he said, though he couldn't help but wonder if their daughters would be glad to see them. He certainly hoped that was the case, but still - he knew as a first year student he had rather enjoyed the time away from home. "I look forward to seeing them, regardless.

"I wouldn't recommend dancing with all of the male professors," he said, with a slight sniff. "I would rather you not be accidently injured by Professor Hagrid or over-enthused by some of the younger ones. It is acceptable to sit out of certain dances, I should add."

Aisling's response to Tarron's concern, as well as his instructions, was a short nod. Simply because she might be able to stay on her feet the entire night was no reason to actually do so. And with the niceties regarding who she should dance with, to sit some of them out seemed the only true way to accompany Tarron for a reasonable portion of the evening. "Of course, dear. I am occasionally capable of remembering my limits, or at least doing so in public."

Her voice was amused, that of someone all too used to their own weaknesses. Occasionally even she had to allow herself some form of rest. Thus the sleeping in and potions. And a few other things. She had her methods.

"I also believe that I promised to rescue you from the gentle attentions of the other Wizengamot members should they become too overbearing. Though such will be much easier once I understand the rest of the etiquette, not just that for the dance." In all likeliness, it would be rules she had already adjusted to years before, but it was better to be certain.

And she did so enjoy hearing Tarron go on about such matters, at least in private. There was something appealing about his particular approach to snobbery in such matters.

Again, Tarron smiled slightly. His wife was being sarcastic, though gently so - but she did tend to exhaust herself, if truly driven on some topic or issue. With their years bringing the both of them closer to old age, it was a tendency he both found endearing and worrying and one that he couldn't claim complete innocence from himself.

"Yes, that would be... appreciated. Perhaps I will be lucky, and they'll have their heads on something other than politics." Unlikely. They almost never did, in his experience - at least, not to him. It didn't help that he himself tended to steer the conversation there whenever he wasn't sure what else to talk about.

"The vast majority of formal etiquette applies to the young and unmarried," he said, swinging his legs onto the bed and laying down, fluffing the pillows up so he could sit mostly upright. "But our age, we're supposed to have internalized it, I suppose. I could tell you about flirting with your fan, but that is a skill," he couldn't help but smirk, "I never quite mastered."

Everything seemed to be in order for the evening, and so Aisling added a bit of truth to her earlier comments by allowing herself to sit down on the edge of the bed next to Tarron's feet. "Either way, I do have to ensure that you have a bit of energy left for cake and gifts after the ball. Just the two of us." The cake was already made, and was being carefully stored until later that evening. Simply because Aisling had never cooked much didn't mean she was utterly incapable of such acts.

His comment about the fan brought forth a burst of laughter, and Aisling gestured with her elbow towards his feet as she considered a response. There was something dreadfully amusing about the idea of Tarron coyly hiding behind a fan and winking at her or some such.

"We seemed to have plenty of methods to talk past each other without fans, so perhaps it is best that your skills with it remained limited." Fan techniques were not something she would have known back in those days. At least Tarron had understood riddles then, even if he did not always notice them.

He moved his legs slightly, so that she might have room to sit, and sat up a bit more as his back protested. He was in good health for his age, but damned he was if his back didn't seem to be the first thing going. It'd be his knees next, he was sure. Must have been all that leaning over he had to do in the Warlock's stall - whoever had built that thing had not designed it for comfort.

"Ah," he said, voice polite but not exactly as enthusiastic as it could have been. "Yes. Of course." It wasn't the birthday, or the time spent in her company, that he minded; Tarron simply hated people fussing over him. Ironically, this usually ended up with him fussing right back.

He quirked an eyebrow, though, and smirked slightly. "Hah! As you wish. I had some pride in my limited techniques, I'll have you know," he said, with mock hurt. Then he sniffed, returning to normal. "Thankfully, we are both well past the age of flirting being on anyone's mind, I should hope." Though he still wasn't the sort to tolerate even joking passes being made as his wife, and she had certainly been aging better than he.

The lack of enthusiasm from her husband led Aisling to respond with a raised eyebrow and her own mock hurt expression. "Well, the girls can eat the rest of the cake tomorrow so that it is not inflicted on you again. I've rather been lacking in someone to fuss over recently, though." She lowered her voice and glanced down. "Nor have I had many opportunities to do this without them about. May as well take advantage."

When he mentioned flirting she smirked a bit and stretched out. "But I so enjoy flirting with you. You're such wonderful company. Even without bringing the fans into it."

She collapsed backwards onto the bed, taking advantage of the space Tarron had left. "Hmm. I think that I will have to sit out some of the dances. It seems that I am tired already."

Tarron smiled slightly, the expression faint but assuring. "I truly appreciate it, my Dear," he said, then sighed, the tone switching to echo her mock hurt. "I am merely...you're well aware of how I feel about being fussed over." He sniffed. He really didn't entirely mind his wife's fussing, most of the time - but where would he be if he didn't at least grumble about it a little?

He all but preened  - which, this being Tarron, wasn't actually that much of a preen - mostly a slightly confident shift of his shoulders. He wasn't exactly a...flirting sort. At least, not a flirting sort the way these crass and modern men thought of flirting. They were so focused on..well, on sex. That was not what a proper gentleman ever had on his mind when in the company of ladies, in Tarron's view.

"Did you not sleep well?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Perhaps you should take a nap," he added, tilting his head slightly.

Well, now, that was hardly fair. That particular preening look was one which Aisling had never had any desire to resist, as subtle as it might be. "I slept in, even. Could hardly sleep again this early. Perhaps later, we do have most of the day for ourselves still."

She forced herself to sit back up. Perhaps she did need to exercise more regularly, among a thousand other things. Though the dancing would account for such for that day. "Seems we haven't had as many such days as I had hoped. It will be nice to enjoy this one." The hints in her voice were rather subdued, but that was one of the benefits of knowing someone for near forty years.  And at times, one of the trials of it.

"I do so enjoy it when you tease."

Fade to black, and....

END