Charlotte’s outfit

The elves had scrubbed every last surface. Charlotte could see her own reflection in the bit of silver that wasn’t covered in biscuits and cakes. The table was lined an array of such trays, as well as hors d’oeuvre, fresh vegetables and sushi aplenty. Three large glass cauldrons and a pyramid of goblets flanked by pillars of silver plates completed the appetizer table. One cauldron contained spiked pumpkin juice, one a spicy, liquored cider, and the last a fizzy, gingery concoction. A manned bar on the opposite side of the room awaited custom orders.

Charlotte’s penthouse sat on a pretty street corner, overlooking London life. The crips, clean shabby-chic and floral decor were offset by a modern windowscape made of floor-to-ceiling glass. The space in front of it had been cleared so that guests could chat and dance.

A dining room had been converted into auction hall, and the lavatories had been charmed into proper, mutli-cubicle washrooms, one for men and one for women.

The lights had been dimmed, replaced by floating candles reminiscent of Hogwarts halloweens. Coutureish Jack-O-Lanterns sat aglow in every corner, and delicate, glittery cobwebs had been laced around the furnishings.

At the door, a pair of suited bouncers on loan from Finn Grosvenor were ready to keep guests in check. A giant marble tombstone witch thick parchment pressed to its surface sat on an easel in place of a guest book; party-goers could ink their names with an array of black feathered quills.

Niobe Apparated into Charlotte's neighborhood and adjusted her hair as she entered the building.  It was a very very nice neighborhood because well - the St. Jameses were very very well off.  Niobe didn't know Charlotte directly, but she'd been at these sorts of parties before.  And in recent years on the arm of some dark and dangerous sort.  Dominik Wiedman, for one.  And in a terribly display of hubris, Cinaed Tawse another year.  However, recent bouts with that prideful streak had left her inches away from suffocation and one finger short - Niobe was growing up.

Or was she?  The witch arrived alone and on-time (aka: early).  She did have bigger plans than just going stag.

She was wrapped in a sleeveless, night-blue toga that hit her mid thigh.  Sinched at the waist with a wide leather belt.  Her dreadlocks were lashed in place with silver bands.  She was the picture of her ancient Greek namesake: Niobe struck down for her pride.

She faintly recognized Charlotte's bouncers and they her; she was allowed to enter unencumbered.  The apartment looked fantastic, and there was young Charlotte - dressed as sexy kitty?  Niobe held back a feeling of superiority with a friendly sort of grin.

"Charlotte, thanks for having us," she said in her North Irish accent, kissing the hostess on both cheeks, "you look well.  Here: it's an ice wine.  Very sweet and never needs chilling."  Niobe handed her the bottle and nodded.

"Kind of regret I'm not on the job tonight - rumor has it this event's going to be as interesting as the rest of the month has gone.  Any comment?"

[Costume]

Dominik Wiedman was drooped across the bar with a whiskey, where he was getting a head-start out of angst.  His dark-haired Summer Love was far away and had, for some awful reason, gone cold on his sorry arse.  So following several months spent predominantly off the radar, basking in the glory of a budding romance, Dominik was making his first public appearance in quite some time -- at the gala of Charlotte St. James, an old family friend. 

He was hiding behind the mask of a crow and cloaked in drapey, bat-like attire.  Rocio had been kind enough to fashion his wardrobe for the night, despite the fact that she had turned to stone and seemed to no longer want to see him. . . .  He figured it may be temporary -- she was trying to be nice about it.  Who knew what it was.  Perhaps it had to do with her unfortunate widow status (he swore -- if he wasn't already dead, he'd kill that twat for up and dying on his Rocio).  The woman still slept in her bridal bed and hadn't even removed Zachary's knickknacks, for feck's sake.  Half her things were tainted with the old family insignia.  It was heart-breaking. . . .

Dominik felt sour.  He'd pleaded with her, but she was so pragmatic about it all.  After a certain point he couldn't bear to disagree -- so he'd slumped back into his bachelor's lifestyle and spent his nights hoping she'd owl. 

She.

And despite having been rather preoccupied with his affair of the heart these last few months, Dominik hadn't failed to notice his sister's extended absence.  He was in fact, furious with her.  He'd rained down a few howlers and banged at their door at the Shodding Arms.  And Dom wasn't so happy with Nate -- who apparently had no idea where his sister was or had been.  Dominik had gotten pretty angry with him, suggesting he take better notice from now on.  Dom knew she was off the leash, but he also knew the kinds of traps she could get in and, if he didn't know where she was, he couldn't very well go and save her, now could he.

As he relished in the strength of his drink, Dominik tried to shed both his psychic damage and his mental baggage.  He was content to watch Charlotte from across the entrance room, greeting guests in that cute little get-up of hers.  He'd had his share of disappointments, and he'd had his time to mope around and harp on Dazzie and threaten Briggs.  Now it was time to either get rowdy and faced -- or take it out on someone else.

And that someone else was sticking out like a sore thumb.  Fecken right, he thought.  Niobe, Niobe. . . .  Who had been, by the way, both the love of his life and his number one critic.  He squinted his big black crow eyes at the Grecian goddess with her beautifully mocking mane of brilliance and her higher-than-thou stance, his feathers ruffling.  Leave it to her.  To rub his furry face in his pale, sorry solo status! -- he was a right git sitting at the bar before the party'd even started!  Although, what was this?  She appeared to be . . . alone.

This confused Dominik.  Where was her arm candy?

His cloak spun as he turned from the bar with his drink and another, fresh, taking a metaphorically low swoop toward Thursby -- imagining himself getting some pathetically belated revenge or -- what, he didn't know.  But in a flash, he was there, crisp and black and feathered -- and still with all his demons -- greeting his old flame with a fanged grin.

"I've a comment, love --  take a bloody night off!" he handed her his gift of a fresh whiskey and took a generous sip from his own, looking curiously door-ward.  "Where's your Niobids?" he asked shamelessly, as though they still were the best of friends, as though she didn't make her bloody living hyping up his antagonists, as though no time had passed at all.  And he made no move to unmask himself.  It simply didn't seem possible that she wouldn't immediately recognize him.

Costume

Halloween was not a holiday in which Liadán found much joy. With so many other women dressed so well, and their looks clearly rivaling her own, she could not find much to be happy about. Skimpy costumes and barely there outfits made her more aware that her small stature and lack of feminine curves would always leave her wanting. Standing at under five feet tall, and the eternal body of a young girl made Liadán feel out of place. Although the dress she was wearing was intended to be sexy, it did not cling to her body the way it would cling to other bodies in the room. It bared far more skin than Liadán had ever shown in the past, and although she knew she looked good, she was well aware that most women in attendance would catch more attention.

The wig and head piece of writhing snakes (fake ones which had been enchanted, although she had wanted to wear real ones her friends had not allowed her to) was an uncomfortable accessory. She would rather be in a form fitting dress with a simple ball mask, but she had not wanted to be far too outdone.

It was usually her own personal rule not to drink too much at public events. Typically she had one or two drinks before moving back to non alcoholic beverages. Tonight, though, was going to be one of the rare occasions where she gave in to the vodka and let it have its way with her. As such, she made her way back to the bar for her fourth cocktail of the evening. She flashed a broad smile at the few gathered at the bar before getting more of the gingery fizzy mix in the bowl. "Good evening!" she greeted, raising her glass in their direction.

"What lovely outfits you have!" she cooed. Though, personally, she thought her own was better than Niobe's. Likely because she knew there would be a lot of goddess types hanging around this evening, and she wanted to believe she was the best dressed. (It seemed perhaps her insecurity was going to come and go.) "And how mysterious you look!" she said, addressing Dominik. "Wonderful, really."

James was not fond of costume parties.  It usually required something resembling effort to get a decent costume that was not something out of an adult magazine (which James thought was fine for the witches).  However, James did not like to see males dressed in such a manner.  Unfortunately, James did not have the time to invest very much forethought into them.  He debated not showing up in a costume at all before he finally settled on wearing an obviously fake beard, and a robe with a bunch of clocks showing time going forwards and backwards.  It showed some forethought, and kept him in nice, comfortable set of dress robes.  Admittedly, James probably could have come up with a better costume for “Father Time”, but did not want to exert the effort.  He just hoped no one showed up as “Mother Nature” otherwise it would be harder for him to find companionship this evening.  As he scanned the room, he was suitably impressed.  He had no idea Liadán could pull of that number.  While he doubted that he could get into her knickers without repercussions, he would at least make an effort in the future. 

Another thing that worried James is he had no idea how much Liadán had told the present company about their conversation regarding dates for his parents New Year’s Eve soiree.  Unfortunately, as informative as that conversation was for him, he also was probably a bit too free mentioning that he did not intend to marry.  The fact that he did not show up with a date only cemented that fact further.  So he doubted he would try anyone in high society, but there were always one or two people that managed to sneak in to these things.  He wondered if it might be worthwhile to have Liadán introduce him to a few of her friends so he knew who would be off limits for the evening.  He doubted he could keep up the pureblooded pretense at a level suitable for Liadán though. 

Glancing around the room, he saw the bar.  He frowned slightly.  As much as he would like to get smashed when someone else was picking up the tab, he could not afford to let his manners drop too much.  As he realized that meant he had to stay somewhat sober throughout the evening, he let out a small curse underneath his breath, making sure no one could hear it. 

He then heard someone speak the name “Charlotte” and turned towards the voice.  He assumed that the person speaking was addressing the hostess.  He needed to introduce himself to her.  He was about to walk to where she was when he got a good look at her.  James idly wondered if it would be possible to convince witches to dress like this year round.  ‘No wonder the Wizarding world loves halloween’ James thought to himself.  Though he doubted he would get anywhere with her this evening, he still needed to walk over to her and introduce himself.  It was her party after all, and an invitation was sent to him.  Whether it was because of who he was or because of his family’s status, he did not know.  He debated that for a minute, before deciding that he could worry about politicking later.

Deciding to ignore the other girl initially (and be polite if she joined in the conversation), he spoke up.

“The fine folk gathered here tell me you are our hostess this evening.  I do not believe we have been formally introduced, though I have heard much about you.  I am James Forrester.  Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” James said with a semi-sincere smile on his face.  He offered her his hand, though he did not know if he should kiss her hand or just simply shake it.  He decided to see how she reacted before he did anything.

Dominick!  Niobe's charismatic smile tightened into a false, close-lipped grin as she cut off saying the crow's name out loud.

Instead, she touched Charlotte and James Forrester lightly on the arms by way of polite farewell and then turned to walk past the small gathering.

And on the way, she took Dominick Weidman by the long crow's beak to lead him away.  She only held onto it for a couple of steps, and when she released him, she turned around to kiss him on both cheeks in a dangerously polite greeting. 

"You're not dead. How very lucky for us both," she said ignoring his question about her comrades.

It had been a long time since Niobe had even seen Dominik. Yes he was in the papers from time to time for some bloody foul, brawl or odd whatever, but she hadn't stood face to beak since probably 4 years ago. 

She'd hungrily pursued his attentions when he was just starting to make a name for himself as a ruffian in 2000.  He was a minor celebrity then, having been a teenage aggressor in the Battle of Hogwarts and then turned the first legal ward of the Falmouth Falcons instead of prison time.  There was no doubt in anyone's mind his highly influential familiy had a bit to do with that.  But he was young, smoking fit, and every mother's nightmare. 

Turns out they were not meant for sweet matrimony, to put it mildly.  They'd posed for camaras, attended parties together, but it all ended explosively and Niobe swore off men for quite some time.

She hated that he looked so dashing tonight.  "You're not with St. James, are you?"

Charlotte knew better than to be anything less than submissive to a reporter. At least for the moment. She’d invited Thursby, whose journalistic ambitions she rather admired, and was none too pleased to see her among the first arrivals. Returning the customary kisses in an aura of perfume and appearances, she pulled back, grabbing the woman’s hands, and grinning mildly. “A party isn’t a party without a sharp set of ears.”

She accepted the bottle with an improving nod. “Wonderful,” she said in thanks, summoning a bartender and handing off the bottle. But before she could say anything else, Niobe had fallen back into her expert niche: the investigator.

Laughing, Charlotte shook her main and readjusted her mask. “Come, now, it’s far too early... wait until I’ve had a few glasses, yes? I’m much more entertaining then. But not too many,” she added quickly, raising a brow. “Have you heard about our charity?” She gestured to the room where the auction would be held. If anything were to receive press, the endless social causes of Charlotte and her friends would fair well on the society page.

Another person joined their ranks, and Charlotte turned with gleeful surprise toward the high-profile quidditch player. He’d made it after all. Excellent. Cool smile masking her delight, she extended a hand and placed it on his shoulder. “Dominik, you look dashing. I hope we’ll see your sister, too?”

But then the revolving door of guests to greet gave a whirl, and Niobe and Dominik moved aside, to be replaced by the presence of Lia and James Forrester. Charlotte showered her dear friend with lingering kisses, sincerely shocked at seductive costume. Perhaps Melanthe and Charlotte were rubbing off on their chaste comrade. “If you go home alone tonight, I’ll have no choice but to drag you off to the psyche ward at St. Mungo’s,” she warned.

Forrester had her attention next, and Charlotte found herself momentarily (if only privately) enthralled before she remembered she had a very handsome date of her own that evening. If he decided to show his face, her cheeky lover.

Extending her hand, and expecting it to be met with quidditch star lips, Charlotte smirked, a sort of pouting, pursed-mouth smirk that showed she was both pleased to make his acquaintance and deliciously flattered at what he’d presumably ‘heard’ about her. Oh, there were rumors...

“I have heard a few whispers about you, too, Mr. Forrester.” She tilted her head a bit. “James.” That sounded less formal. “I hope you’ll enjoy our... hospitality.”

Costume

Candice Stevenson had been incredibly unsure as to whether or not she should go to the Halloween party she had received an invitation to. She did not personally know a Charlotte St. James. Oh, she had heard of her- everyone had heard of the more prominent purebloods. Mostly she had been concerned none of her other coworkers would be there, and that she would end up in a party full of suspected criminals. Then again, she knew that since it seemed everyone else she knew had been invited, Candice had a strong suspicion that there would be at least a few other people there that she would be familiar with.

Besides, her birthday was the following day. She was going to be twenty-seven. Candy had always taken advantage of the proximity of Halloween when celebrating her big day. Though she rarely was the sort to go out on the town and party, she always made an exception for her birthday. And this year the whole weekend just happened to be hers for the taking.

Candy was somewhat self conscious in her costume. Although she thought she looked cute, and her friends had assured her that she did before parting with them from their own private party. She had used the time with her muggle friends to build up some liquid courage before going to the wizarding party. The problem with high society was that they were all so very attractive, and Candice knew that in comparison she was so very... not attractive. At least, if nothing else, people who worked with her would understand the level of irony to her chosen costume.

She was nervous after arriving, and going inside, and then looking at everyone else. All of the girls were so pretty! Not only pretty, but they were all very thin. She chewed her bottom lip, frantically searching for a familiar face but finding none. Well, that was inconvenient. The only convenient part of this was the open bar. More liquid courage was needed, pronto. Wandering over she got a drink and then settled herself into a seat so that she could survey the crowd and hopefully catch sight of someone that she knew rather soon. If no one showed up, she would probably leave and just go home, ringing in her birthday with a cupcake and a sad romance movie.

James was not surprised by the swarm of well-wishers and other people greeting Charlotte.  After all, they were getting plastered on her expense account, so they should at least greet her.  He was surprised by that scene with Falcon beater and someone he wasn’t sure he recognized.  If James had been more focused on that little scuffle, he would have eventually recalled Niobe from his night at Signature.  However, that had been over a month and a half ago and it would have taken him sometime to for James to recognize her in costume.  If he had a chance, he would talk to her later since she was kind enough to give a tactile farewell.  He might catch up with the Falcon beater as well, though James would worry about that later.  As it was though, he had to concern himself with Liadán and Charlotte. 

The hostess offered her hand, and she seemed somewhat flirtatious, so James gave a genteel kiss to the back of her hand, before returning it to her.  While James was well aware of what whispers she was referring to, he was internally debating whether he had a shot at her or not.  He really could not tell one way or the other, for a number of reasons though mainly because her manners were masking her body language.  James was doing the same thing, and responded to her little insinuation by trying to paint them in as favorable a light as possible, especially since she called him by his first name within a few seconds of meeting him. 

“Hopefully all those whispers are coming from the sports section,” James quipped with a small smirk on his lips.  His face slipping back into a more neutral expression, he continued, “I hear that you have been doing a large amount of charity work.  I believe I have seen both you and Liadán in the society section several times,” James said politely.  Though James usually did not read anything besides the sports section, James sister-in-law had seen them in the society section and had informed him of this ad nauseum the last time he had visited his brother.  ‘I guess she is useful for something.  Besides spell fodder,’ James thought to himself.

After Charlotte made a comment about hospitality, James wondered if he should go get a drink from the bar.  A couple of drinks would not hurt him, but he would have to revert back to water or non-alcoholic drinks fairly early in the evening.  He had run out of witty things to say however, and just decided to compliment her on the party, “I am fairly confident I am not the only one enjoying myself.  You are a good hostess,” James commented. 

He felt like a damn penguin.  He would have much more comfortable in his regular clothes, but he couldn't very well go to a costume party without a costume.  Not going had quickly become something that was out of the question as more and more of his employees said they would be attending.  It was a nightmare for anyone involved with confidential information.

So, from the back of his closet came the formal wear he hadn't looked at in ages.  It was the only thing that at the last minute could possibly pass as a costume.  Given the fact that it was Halloween the white half mask hadn't been difficult to find, completing the look.  The character of the Phantom of the Opera was classic and well known.  Almost no one would have to ask what he was supposed to be...he hoped.  At least most people would have to actually work to recognize him this way and he didn't feel like a complete nutter parading around in Merlin knows what.

He wasn't personally familiar with the hostess, so upon entering he made his way to the bar feeling he would need a strong drink to get through the first part of the evening.  The key was knowing ones limits, something he had become quite familiar with over the years.  At times the only way to get the information he was searching for was through drinking, and keeping his wits about him had been key.

Firewhiskey in hand he took in the party around him.  Across the room he saw a few of his fellow Unspeakables, but remained in place for the time being.  Raising the glass to his lips he spied another familiar face from outside his department.  He couldn't help but smirk slightly at the costume choice.   Standing there he took another sip of his drink, trying to decide if he should approach Stevenson or leave her be. 

Finally, deciding that it would be better to actually talk to someone and preferring it not be a direct coworker, he moved down the bar.  Something clicked in his mind from their previous conversation and stopping next to her he said in his always serious tone, "Ms. Stevenson, enjoying the birthday festivities so far?"

Felix was nervous. There was no other way to describe the annoying flutter of pixie wings in the pit of his stomach. He hated that he was nervous. Why should he be? The only person he was going to this party for, was Charlotte. And he had nothing to prove to her. But others would be there. Oh yes. Liadan, for one. Most probably Melanthe with her scowl of doom. And others that Felix had perhaps nodded to in passing, or read about in the papers but never actually introduced himself to. Tonight would be the night where all that would change.

He straightened his cape before sighing and making his way out of his apartment in Notting Hill, and apparating to the front door of Charlotte's abode. A couple of people he didn't recognise were making there way through the door, and as Felix made his way briskly up the steps, the door slammed in his face. He stopped and stared at it momentarily, blinking at the door as though it would make a difference. "Bloody brilliant," he muttered to himself with annoyance.

His hand reached for the door knob, unsure of whether his position of power, namely the hostess' bedfellow, meant that he was immune from having to be polite and ring the doorbell. She would probably laugh at him for being so courteous. Then again, if he just let himself in, she'd probably hex him to the moon and back. Such was Charlotte's way of keeping things 'interesting'.

With a final sigh, Felix pushed open the door and let himself in, resigning himself to whatever fate lay instore for him behind the large antique door. He made his way up the stairs, taking two at a time until he reached the top floor. He could already hear the music inside, though his attention was on the bouncers at the door. He gulped slightly, but moved forward, concentrating on the fact that he was on that list.

"Name?"

One of the men grunted the word at him with very little emotion. "Uh...Felix. Marren." Felix shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other as the less bulky of the bouncers ran a gloved finger down a list of delicately cursived names. Charlotte's own handwriting. Felix's face lit up as a cross was placed in a box next to his name, right near the top. He grinned with a somewhat cheshire-cat appearance, as the bouncers eyed him suspiciously, clearly confused as to why this man was so important as to be at the top of the list, and how they had never heard of him.

With a triumphant nod, Felix made his way into the hall, first and foremost seeking out Charlotte. This was the first time they would be seen publicly together, and Felix didn't want to mess it up. His expression lifted immediately as he saw Charlotte looking exquisite in a cat costume. He chuckled slightly as he made his way over to her, completely ignoring the fact that the gentleman she was talking to was a) a quidditch player, and b) assessing whether he would be able to find himself in the cat's basket by the end of the night.

"For me?" He asked with a roguish grin, snaking an arm around her waist and half pulling her into him, whilst trying not to seem possessive over her. Which he was, naturally. But jealousy was not something that looked good on a person. He wasn't entirely sure how they were playing tonight - yes, she had asked him there as her date, but did that mean they were exclusive? He didn't want to come on too strongly in front of other people, if she was planning on playing it cool. So, for now, an arm around the waist would have to suffice.

Liadán returned the kisses from Charlotte, smiling broadly the whole time. She was in her element in public parties, and the fact she was in costume and had already consumed more drinks than she normally did. "I only wish that I had the body to wear a costume as wonderful as yours, Lotte! I have always been so jealous of your good looks!"

She turned to see James Forrester approaching, smile never faltering. "Mr. Forrester!" she greeted, inspecting his costume. It was not as elaborate as she would have expected, but it was, at the very least, somewhat creative. "What a costume!" She fell silent as he greeted Charlotte, fighting back a slight blush whenever Lotte informed him that she had heard rumors about him as well. Naturally Liadán had told her friend what she had learned, but she had hoped that Charlotte would be a little more discrete about it. When they were done with their exchange, Liadán placed a hand lightly on his upper arm. "You must save me a dance," she told him with a smile.

Her attention was diverted as others entered. A rather plump girl in a nurse's costume caused her to arch an eyebrow, and immediately her mind began racing. Hopefully the alcohol wouldn't loosen her tongue too much. Lotte might not be happy with her if she went about insulting her guests. Besides, Liadán had been aware that there would be a mixed guest list when she had originally been invited... And then a phantom entered. She did not know who he was, but he was most certainly a handsome man. She gave him an approving gaze, and when she looked back to her friend there was a new man.

Liadán assumed that this must be the one that Melanthe had told her about. The man that she thought was not good enough for Charlotte. Sadly, he did appear to be a handsome man. That would make it more difficult to get their friend to realize he wasn't good for her or for her reputation. She did not like the way he snaked an arm around her waist, and crossed her arms in obvious distaste as she watched him. Liadán literally had to bite her tongue to refrain from verbally abusing the man.

"You must be Felix Marren," she opted for saying instead. "I have heard quite a bit about you." Quite a bit of things that she definitely did not want to know. Why couldn't Charlotte at least have lied to them and claimed he was a pureblood? That would have worked well enough for her, she never would have questioned her. "Aren't you two such a charming couple?"

((hair:)) http://i253.photobucket.com/albums/hh54/Puddytat_03/sandokan.jpg
((outfit))http://i253.photobucket.com/albums/hh54/Puddytat_03/outfit.jpg

Ahmed had everything he needed for his costume in his own wardrobe. The only thing he needed help with was his hair. So...he made an appointment with a magical cosmetologist. However, when he arrived at the door of the salon he paused uncertainly. It was full of excited witches getting their hair and nails charmed in a rainbow assortment of colors, their faces slathered with green goo, their eyelids covered with cucumber slices while they giggled and gossiped with Andre, Pierre and Francois.

Ahmed nearly turned and fled, but the receptionist said, “Francois will be right with you.” So he had spent the next hour in Francois’s clutches...erm, hands....while the hairdresser grew his hair longer, charmed it to a sunbleached auburn, and barbered it for just the right disheveled look. When the work was done he called his colleagues over for a critique.

“Mon cher,” said Andre, “why do you not keep your hair like this all the time? It brings out your eye color...”
 
“C’est ravissant!” agreed Pierre.

Ahmed...who was not used to twenty-year-old men saying that he looked ravishing...edged away uneasily. “I am...in the military,” he explained.

Francois grinned. Turning to his co-workers he said, “Back off, you sillies, I saw him first!” He winked at Ahmed, who paid his bill and almost ran from the salon.

Arriving safely at home, he changed into his costume, threw a cloak over it and took the floo network to the address on the invitation. He did not know any of the Saint Jameses, and could only assume he owed this invitation to his friend Dragulias, who was from an old Pureblood family and knew everyone. Vlad was on a mission to get Ahmed remarried and at times it was downright embarrassing. If his experience at the salon was any indication, this was likely to be another of those times.

Emerging from the fireplace, he brushed the ashes off his cloak and handed it to a waiting House Elf. As he removed the cloak he looked around the room. His heart sank. Most of the men he saw were half his age. And they were dressed in fashionable costumes that showed off their physiques to the best effect. Ahmed was tall and lanky; and though he was very fit from running up and down mountains for most of his life, these young men made him feel like the geeky kid at the beach. The one the others point at and laugh...

“I look ridiculous,” he thought. “No one will know what I am...” How would they? Westerners expected Djinn to be one of two types: cute little blondes in harem pants or huge, blue and shirtless. They would not realize that the most powerful class of Djinn, the Marid, were indistinguishable from humans. Unless of course you offended them...

But now that he was here it would be rude to just leave. Sighing, he waded into the crowd, hoping to find someone he knew. When a House Elf came by with a tray of drinks he spotted a tall glass filled with shaved ice and what appeared to be blended fruit juice.  “What is in this drink?” Ahmed asked warily, as he did not drink anything alcoholic.

Bubbles was a very old House Elf, wise, kind and caring. As major-domo of this house she had of course researched the guest list, resorting to the servant grapevine which for House Elves was exponentially faster than even that of their human counterparts. So...she knew that Ahmed was a widower, just starting to go out with women again. He had done well in choosing his costume; ladies went for the sexy pirate look and he quite fitted the part. However...she could see that he was terribly shy.

Bubbles also knew that as a Muslim, Ahmed abstained from intoxicants of any kind. So of course she knew why he asked what was in the drink. “Orange juice,” she said thoughtfully. “Fresh-squeezed of course. Fresh pineapple, papaya, mango. All blended  together with crushed ice. With a bit of brown sugar for flavoring.” Of course she did not mention that the brown sugar was in the form of rum. What Ahmed didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him...

Ahmed sipped at the drink as he made his way through the crowd, recognizing Candice Peterson. She was dressed up as a nurse and while she was not so stylish as some of the other women there, he remembered that she was easy to talk to.  So he made his way over.

“Hello,” he said, smiling. “Small world.”

He took another sip of his drink. It was very good...

What girl didn’t enjoy attention? Charlotte didn’t blush away from the greeting, an innocent kiss to the hand. In fact, she’d expected it. It was what a proper gentleman should do, no? She continued to grim at the dark-featured Quidditch player, and made to flick her hair so that she could give a quick wink to Lia. “The sports section...” She grabbed a fresh champagne flute from a passing tray. “Naturally.”

Practice. Practice had sharpened her skills. Both Lia and Charlotte had attended, hosted, and gracefully escaped any number of soirees, benefits, balls, and premieres. A flash of purple smoke, a magazine smile, and a good supply of alcohol were really the only necessities.

Skimpy costumes and gourmet desserts only made it easier.

Charlotte was too busy enjoying Mr. Forrester’s compliments and Lia’s coy chastity to notice the string of new guests. Including the one she’d dressed for especially. The warm hand snaked around her waist, making her skin flush secretly through the thin material of her feline ensemble.

Her cheek turned and she stared at his masked countenance in overflowing approval. “What’s for you?” She asked in mock innocence, offering him a hand as she had with James.

But then Lia spoke up and Charlotte laughed silently, her lashes meeting her cheeks, lips touching the glass of her drink. Her free hand slipped behind her, as cool as a cat’s paw, and trailed down Felix’s back. “Aren’t you the genuine lady?”

Turning slightly toward Felix, she murmured near his ear. “There’s something you must see. In the... kitchen.” Leaning forward, she gave Lia’s shoulder one last, gentle grasp. Her more chaste, traditional friend would surely know she’d been teasing her out of fun...

Leading Felix in the opposite direction of the kitchen, to a more private corner, but one still more than visible to guests, she took a selfish moment to soak him up. All for her and none for them. “You’re not nervous are you?” She set her champagne glass down on a nearby table. Glancing into the decorative mirror beside them she tugged Felix into the frame. “I have the foxiest date in London.”

Candice was nearly finished with her first drink when she heard someone address her. Attention diverted momentarily from the alcohol, she smiled when she realized it was Dante Ward. "Mr. Ward!" she greeted warmly, surveying his costume with obvious approval. She noted that the formal wear suited him rather well, and appreciated the character he had chosen to portray. The Phantom of the Opera was a bit mysterious and it seemed to match the fact he was an Unspeakable rather well. She decided, after just a few moments of deliberation, that she rather liked it.

"So far, yes. I had a few drinks with the girls before I came here. And now here I sit, at the bar, drink in hand and chatting with you." Before that, though, it had been drink in hand and debating on whether or not she was going home. "I really like your costume," Candy informed him, very matter of factly. "It fits. I just hope you're not carrying around a punjab lasso. Luckily, as long as I'm drinking, my hand will be close to the level of my eyes." She giggled at that coment, then turned up her glass, draining it of the small amount of liquid left. As soon as she placed it back on the bar, it was refilled. Marvelous service, she thought to herself.

Candice then turned her seat so she could better focus her attention on him and get a good view of him. (She had also decided that he was a good looking man when she decided he liked his costume.) "I thought that you weren't going to come?" She remembered their previous conversation as well. "Nothing exciting enough to brew to keep you away from such an event? Or are you chaperoning?" She wanted to ask him next where his date was, or if he even had one, but somehow managed to bite her tongue and refrain from prying into that aspect of his life.

She was just about to ask him more about brewing, more specifically when he was free to aid her, when another voice was addressing her. Candice remembered the man from Diagon Alley. Another ministry worker. There seemed to be quite a few in attendance! "Good evening," she greeted with a friendly smile. "And yes, I suppose it is."

Remembering her manners, she gestured toward Dante. "Mr. Ahmed, this is Mr. Ward- a colleague of mine. Mr. Ward, this is Mr. Ahmed." She was not certain if they were acquainted or not, but she did not want to exclude either of them from conversation. Truth be told, she was more interested in chatting with Dante, but she would never snub anyone. Besides, Kabir had been a very kind person when she had fallen down that day, going out of her way to help her with her things and had been a perfect gentleman. She had marveled at it, really.

Picking up her drink, she took another deep gulp. Drinking too much too fast could be a very bad thing. However, she was in public, talking to two men, while dressed in a form fitting, semi-revealing costume. Plus, it was her birthday. In her mind, that meant it was quite alright. "What are you drinking?" she asked, posing the question to both men. "I'm not sure what mine is, but it is a very tasty concoction." Yes, Candice knew she should be smarter than to drink something if she didn't know what was in it. But she highly doubted she should be too worried. The bartender had suggested it, after all, and he was the one who knew what he was doing. (She also didn't find herself to be pretty enough to be the victim of any sort of potion tampering with her drink to lure her into bed. The other girls, they were the ones who had to worry.)