Event #1: A New Year's Fête

[firejay1]

The dawn of the new year was heralded by the lightest sprinkling of snow that did nothing to deter the crowd of people, both on foot and by carriage, arriving at the townhome of the Duke of Westclere. The doors were opened wide, and despite the cold of the night air, heat and light spilled from them. A grand chandelier lit the large central hall that would serve as a ballroom tonight, the effect magnified by torches against the wall, mirrors behind them to cast their light wide. A large fireplace was situated a room over, in a smaller sitting room where card tables were laid out, but most of the warmth seemed to come from the crush of bodies bustling about the ground floor, nearly suffocating in the dining room further in the house, where food was laid out freely. An extravagant staircase led to the second floor, and not far from its base was a band whose music could only be heard in strains over the sound of human voices. The host of the night, his Grace Thomas Caldwell himself, was not far from the entrance, greeting those of his guests he could while others swarmed him, demanding his attention both as friends and for business.

 

[Noctis the Devious]

Raina Somers

Female | 24 | Lady | CS

---

If Raina could feel only one emotion at a time she may admit to feeling nervous. But no, not once in her life has Raina just felt nervous. She was a high strung individual that hardly believed relaxation was a thing that existed, a myth people liked to tell her just so they could be rid of her temper and have her lower her voice. No.

So she stood at the edge of the ballroom, barely having the mind to properly greet their gracious host instead of barreling passed, feeling nervous but above all else frustrated - feeling the need to grab the nearest sharp object and start slashing anything slashable not withstanding.

Her arms were crossed, fingers tapping against the her folded arm as she surveyed the filling room. Where the fuck is he? She didn't know what expression she had but it had to be quite striking for some of the guests to keep a wide birth. Just as well. She wasn't exactly in a conversation mood, not after hearing a particular rumor while trying to find some wine. That's all she wanted was some fucking wine. She might have even scoped out a chocolatey desert and humored some conversation but no.

Apparently Caleb went and got half his face blown off.

 

[Nemopedia]

August (Yilmaz)

Male | 24 | Sultanzade / Mr.

---

Different from the west, the islamic new year was celebrated in the summer, when the holy month Muharram came around and peace and mourning was expected rather than celebrations. The distinct contrast, despite the years spent on the foreign island, forever stuck with August as he found himself on top of a balcony, looking down at the crowd moving in and out in fascination. The Duke of Westclere had outdone himself, providing for all classes high and low to gather together to celebrate the turning of a year in this bitter cold that this country was known for.

It was from this high point of view that the prince also noted a particular angry figure marching through the mass, pushing and moving with such aggression that it could only be one lady which earned a smile on his face before turning towards the guards that stuck close to him at all times. A calamity that came with being one step away from a diplomatic disaster.

"I see Lady Somers," is all he announces, which should be enough for both the English and the Ottoman guard to understand who he meant, as evident on the way the Ottoman's face scrunches up at the mention of the lady. How often she had tried to challenge his Ottoman guards to a duel, not mentioning the times she tried to force it out of them.

And though it was uncommon for the Ottomans to do so when their new year came to pass, August, now fully accustomed to his new home, or as much as one could be after all these years, made his move towards the stairs. "I wish to pass on my best wishes, I hope you will as well."

While understanding Caleb's situation August knew that it was stretching the inevitable, though he wasn't entirely above helping the man. "And if not, that lady over there seems available for dance. Lady Somers could forgive you for that entertainment., the words smoothly left him with that adopted accent the people spoke the language in here, another result of years of training, before disappearing into the crowd himself with or without the care of his guards following him.

 

[Nemopedia]

Albert Rosier

Male | 29 | Lord/Duke

---

The invitation had come from Thomas, the party at Westclere, the ancestral home of the Caldwell's. There was a certain obligation for Albert to at least show his face despite his many duties and even if he had sworn off all pleasures in life for the duration of his own personal investigation. As a friend at least and as a fellow Duke who had received a direct invitation accompanied with a thinly veiled threat.

"Was that necessary, Lord Caldwell?" Albert is quick to greet his friend, a strained smile on his face while making sure not to touch shoulders with any of the masses, the invisible walls high up surrounding his person while at the same time blending so perfectly fine within the crowd. "A simple 'please' would have sufficed, really," Albert continues while his eyes scans the crowd, hoping to find Julia amongst them, if not Soleil in tow, so that he could relieve himself of the duty of a first dance.

Both knew that a simple 'please' would not have sufficed, with how Albert has tried everything possible to disengage from his societal duty to marry or court any lady of any worth. As was proven now with how desperately he was searching for the viscount's daughter.

 

[Nemopedia]

Melinda Wellington

Female | 21 | miss

---

Five years had passed since Melinda had been introduced. Five years without a marriageable prospect secured and new year's rolling by. It was disheartening to count those years and see the fresh faces floating around in the room securing their first dance while her only promise was perhaps her brother, who no one wished to dance with unless their toes were made of wood.

With the lack of an option to give up Melinda unfortunately had to go on, knowing that, as her age advanced, her options grew more limited and the date of expiration closer. An awful prospect, especially for a Wellington that already didn't have much and whose family was already deep into scandal. All factors that she could not help.

There was one thing she could help, though it was admittedly a challenge, and that was her temper. A temper which was already rising at the sight of her sister Eloise playing the charlatan by making up big tales about fortunes and luck, unbothered at the attention she attracted of which none was good.

"Oh, Ellie, not again," Melinda groaned to herself, before realising that she had lost sight of both Euphy and Penny as well.

One had to wonder who was the eldest daughter of the Wellington, for Melinda wasn't, not in height or in age, though she tries. How she does.

"This shall be the reason why there are no prospects," Melinda laments to herself, wondering how she was to find the time to dance with all of the mischief surrounding her.

 

[Nemopedia]

Eloise Wellington

Female | 16 | miss

---

Evidently the only Wellington worried about marriage were Daniel, the oldest, and her sisters Melinda and Penelope. Even Eloise couldn't be much bothered, more concerned about being bored rather than the prospect of being an old spinster, which her sisters were already threatening to become.

She wasn't even concerned about her first dance. As shown when she dismissed a young male approaching her by promptly turning around her heels and joining a crowd of gossiping ladies with such fervour and grandeur that the ladies themselves all focussed themselves on her. As intended.

"Who wants to know their fortune for the new year?" Eloise announces, instantly catching both attention as scepticism.

Ah, perhaps she should consider one dance, at least. So not to be considered a total social pariah.

 

[Nemopedia]

Ondine Fear

Female | 20 | miss

---

The Duke of Westclere, how fanciful a name and how generous the invitation extended to all. Ondine was already fancying herself with men of rank fawning all over her even before she had entered the party, dreaming away at the possibility of becoming a true lady of status as she was meant to be. Dressed in her best dress, a soft honey toned white dress meant to exemplify her purity and innocence and accentuate her skin, Ondine was already marvelling at the sight before her, quickly scanning out who was worth her attention and who wasn't.

Most importantly, she was looking for a particular friend, who could hopefully introduce her to one of these fancy misters in attendance to score herself a dance and to exchange pleasantries with.

"No, thank you darling," Ondine tells a new debutante that asks if she wants her fortune read, a boorish activity in her opinion, to which she rather not associate with as she moves herself out of the way quickly, heading closer to the dancefloor in the hopes of catching the eye of a gentleman of standing.

 

[DayDreamer]

Caleb Browne

Male | 26 | Sir / Lieutenant | CS

---

Life in London had been quite the change in pace for Caleb. Less than a year ago he had been in the frontlines, fighting, scouting and living the 'carefree' life of a soldier, as his older brother Patrick had once mentioned in his correspondence. Now, with a knighthood to his name and an injury that had branded him as one branded cattle, Caleb found himself back to having to navigate the etiquette of London's peers and to find himself a wife as soon as possible.

At least this time he had some people he could count on not being judgemental. He had a few friends to count on, despite leaving his company across the Channel. One of those friends he was tasked with keeping safe. It had been quite the shock when he had found out that his new duties had been those of a bodyguard, instead of more menial tasks in and around Horse Guards. It was not an unwelcomed arrangement though. It had a certain feel of nostalgia for Caleb. They had spend quite some time trapped together in Mrs Clark's etiquette lessons in their teen years.

Being personally requested by Sultanzade Yilmaz bey to fill in the spot of the British guard in his entourage had boosted his status, but Caleb had yet to understand just how much that boost in status had allowed rumours to circulate about him and his adventures in the 4th Royal Irish Dragoon Guards. As he looked down the balcony, after August mentioned spotting Lady Sommers, Caleb shook his head. He had not kept in contact with Lady Raina, but the way she had managed to create quite a large personal space in a room otherwise overflowing with people, confirmed that she had not changed much since he last spoke with her.

He gave August a funny look, not really understanding why the Ottoman Prince would suggest he escaped Lady Raina by joining the dancing. "It has been a while since I last had contact with Lady Somers. This is becoming quite the reunion. I wonder if she has changed at all." Caleb fell in line with August, navigating the crowd with the firmness of a soldier rather than the practised ease of a gentleman whose battleground was none other than the ballroom floor. His military uniform made such a task easier, the red of his coat standing out from the rest of the gentlemen roaming around in more muted civilian coats.

 

[firejay1]

Julia Nicholson​

Julia navigated the crowds with more unfazed comfort than she was sure her mother would approve of. The viscount and viscountess never joined this party, as they didn't really approve of the host, but whatever his reputation the fool was a duke; they were more than happy to send their least favorite child as a representative, and her parents' snootiness had worked in her favor as far as Julia was concerned. It wasn't hard to find the duke by the crowd of people begging for a greeting of some kind. Ah. And there was Bertie. She pushed through the crowd without much decorum. It wasn't as though her reputation was of much concern now that she was more and more firmly ending up on the shelf. All she needed was an acceptable gentleman, who had no interest in her as a woman and with already old enough children to be more than satisfied about an heir without her contribution.

She reached the two men, and curtsied shortly. "Your Grace Westclere. It's been some time. Thank you for your invitation." The greeting was polite, but her eyes were digging into Bertie, who she also gave a nod, with a somewhat sarcastic, "your grace." It had been months. Hadn't they made any progress at all with the investigation?

@Kuno @Nemopedia

 

[firejay1]

Elizabeth Dey​

Elizabeth couldn't believe she'd been sent to this party without Charlotte. The chance to meet a duke and who knew who else, and Charlotte had been left at home because "I'm sure so much excitement would be a bit much for her, dear, and she hasn't anything to wear that would set her apart from the peasants in attendance!" Elizabeth made a stink eye at the baroness who was attempting to make their way through the crowd to the main room where the dancing was being conducted, introducing her to everyone of "proper" character they came across. She couldn't stand the woman. Charlotte refused to let her complain, since being sponsored was such fortune for their family, but the woman had been nothing but unkind and superior to her sister. It was almost more than Elizabeth could stand some days. Elizabeth looked around at the party, hoping that at least one of the many people she was being introduced to would take an interest in her. She needed a good marriage, and fast, if possible.

 

[firejay1]

Estelle Prince​

Estelle was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, her brothers not far behind as she dashed through the crowd, zipping straight for the food tables. In the two years since she'd debuted, this had been her favorite event. They'd been so lucky as to receive an invitation because her father had been friendly with the previous duke, Duke Caldwell's older brother. Estelle loved the environment. The commoners, the dancing, the food, the warmth of the hustle and bustle in the cold of winter. It was all perfect. Her soft blond hair was flying in the cold air, and her ballgown was simple in design, but a beautiful shade of blue and made of extremely fine cloth. She was determined to have a good time today, and the sentiment was evident by the broad smile on her face.

 

[firejay1]

Averill Trevelyan​

Avery had had some trouble deciding how he wanted to come today. His Grace the Duke of Westclere had never seemed to much mind who arrived and if they had an invitation, so previous years he'd come in his commoner's disguise, to mingle with his more lowbrow contacts. However, his mother had admonished him to be more visible as the future earl, both for his own benefit in high society connections and to assuage any potential rumors about what he did most days. He hated being on the marriage mart as an unattached earl-to-be, but the annual Westclere townhouse party at least had more things to entertain him than dancing, so he'd geared up and gotten dressed in his good clothes, cravat perfectly and extravagantly tied by his valet. He arrived at the party and at first made for the gentleman's room, where he could relax and game a bit, but hesitated. It was probably better manners for him to dance a few rounds with any wallflowers. He'd always thought it somewhat sad how women were left to be humiliated simply because they weren't quite as young or pretty as the favorites of the season.

 

[wren.]

hh

hh

PARRIS

In fairness, he has done many things throughout his life that have inspired God's wrath. Still, he hadn't expected to be Damned until he was six feet in the ground (assuming his corpse doesn't get left for the strays). Yet, there's no other explanation for Lord Micah Snow's presence in his life. He should have put a knife through his heart the minute those glazed brown eyes turned to him (well, more like an inch to his right, really) and never looked back. Instead, here he is, attending a New Year's ball for no other reason but because the man had invited him.

He hates crowds, especially of the upper-class sort. He hates their odor and their passive aggression. He hates their meaningless pleasantries and pitying looks. He'd rather scrub dogshit from his boots than spend a minute talking to some posh Lady and her unfaithful husband. When Warren had invited him, he hadn't hesitated in telling his friend to politely piss off. It hasn't been long since they've reunited (if you can call it a reunion when Warren has no memory of him), but they do work together consistently now. Surely Warren has learned enough about him to know that he'd rather hang himself?

No, probably not. Warren invited him as a pleasantry within itself, the both of them knowing that beyond a small greeting from across the room, they would be entirely separate the entire night. Warren tends to behave naively with little thought of how his actions will leave others between Scylla and Charybdis. Then Micah asked him to come, and he knew he meant it, so he couldn't find it in him to disappoint the man. At least, that's how he prefers to frame it because he'll genuinely be Damned if he misses him.

He's at least glad to be away from the biting cold once he gets inside, taking up residence in one of the nearest corners of the ballroom, meticulously scanning the swarm of people until he finally finds Micah among them. Regrettably, the man looks as splendid as usual. Smirking, he sneaks up behind him, trusting the prattling of the other guests to mask any noise his shoes might make against the floor. Arms crossed behind his back, he stands on his toes to speak into the taller man's ear. "Boo."

「 @PavellumPendulum 」

code by wren.

 

[TerraBooma]

Alexander Dean
21/Navy Midshipman
​

For his debut in big society, his brother had said that he could do no worse than mingling with some of the rich and elite at a New Year's Party. Alexander was still woefully inadequate in his knowledge of fine dining and true formality. But the sailor was stalwartly determined to make a splash, to be noticed somehow. If he could make the right connections and ingratiate himself into the right families, he may have influence to cut against his family's enemies. Against those who would deny him his birthright, his ambitions. Despite the relative comfort of his military dress, and the safety that came with the small group of navy men that he had joined in coming here, he couldn't help but feel out of his depths. Alexander was a natural on a ship- for just a second, he felt hesitation looking at the sea of people slammed into confines that made the narrowest of galleons look roomy.

He pushed it down. What had he to fear! He had faced steel and shot and cannons and the waves. He could manage that, and he could manage this. With a stiff upper lip and a charming smile, he would surely be able to navigate this...web of characters. Despite the bubbling feelings inside of him, he had to admit he was feeling excited. He had always enjoyed interacting with people; getting to know them, meeting them and make acquaintances.

And so, he did his best to flitter around the room, falling in the bootsteps of others. Mingling and making small talk with the men he had kind of sort of knew from his time at the docks. They were all like him, brothers in ambition. A common group of sailors looking to make a mark on the social season and get taken in by some of higher political interest. There had been a small amount of peacocking, but aligned in their need to be some kind of somebody, they got along well enough. He wouldn't call any of them his true friends, but birds of a feather could find a place in such unfamiliar territory such as this, and their limited connections pooled together might give any of them a ghost of a chance of success in this world. None of this was spoken out loud; a quiet understanding. But Alex was starting to suspect that quiet understandings were what made the rich and elite world. How well could he play along?

Only one way to find out.

Mr. Dean had found himself idly socializing, flitting from place to place and trying to get into some kind of communication without much success. As the hours weaned on, he found less and less of his group in the main room, all being dragged this way and that as he attempted to find someone to talk to. For a moment, he felt disheartened, but again decided to soldier on. Something would...surely happen, no? The marine was left almost dwidling his thumbs, trying to look engaging. He was sure he stood out like this, but was that such a bad thing? Standing out was probably a way to get noticed, and it made him look different from the rest of his squad.

Maybe...it was just the right trick? He had to hope. If this didn't get him at least a few connections, he wasn't really sure what he was going to do anymore; it would require a whole wack of improvising, he here's hope it didn't come to that.

 

[PavellumPendulum]

hh

hh

MICAH

Social gatherings were a mixed bag for Micah. Though he quite liked listening to music being played for those who danced and yes, sometimes he did run into an interesting person or two, he did admit that the upperclass could be quite boring. Some of them had never enjoyed a day in their lives, he was certain, since it showed in their boring, flat conversations and their hesitancy to do just about anything that could be possibly seen as an activity for the lesser folk. When his father had first passed away, every gala, party and ball had been open to him, invitations extended out of courtesy, but as the years passed, he found the invitations diminishing. His reputation claimed them for him, it seemed.

No matter. He rubbed his right thumb along the smooth wood of his cane, feeling how the the years of use had worn down the material. He had to replace them every few years and this current one was on its last legs, he was certain. His left thumb busied itself with rubbing along his waistcoat, the fabric pleasant to the touch. The crowd itself was a bit maddening, especially for someone who had to navigate his surroundings through touch or sound, so he'd positioned himself near a wall, on the outskirts of the crowd. He'd gone through a few pleasantries with a person or two, but none of them had really piqued his interest. After all, there was nothing really memorable about the subject of candied fruits or-

"Boo."

Micah jumped slightly, heart in his throat and cane coming down a bit hard against the flooring. Despite his shock, he knew that voice, well enough to not need to hear another word to know who it was. A faint smile bloomed across his lips, as he was not one to shy away from letting the other know how pleased he was to know he was there.

"Parris. You came."

Instead of teasing him or berating him for that scare, he skipped straight to being genuine first, allowing a few sweet moments of peace to tick by them before he continued, smirking, "I trust you'll be the one to replace my cane when it inevitably shatters from you taking advantage of my poor, defenseless ears."

「 @wren. 」

code by wren.

 

[Noctis the Devious]

Raina Somers

Female | 24 | Lady | CS

---

Raina sighed through her nose. Watching everyone meet up was some how wearing on her nerves in a way she couldn't explain. But let them form their groups and exclusive cliques, who she was looking would hardly blend in with them - a fair amount of this crowd here wasn't his preferred company anyway. She spotted Julia across the room going through her pleasantries but stubbornly turned away--

And got a glipse of red in the corner of her eye. "Caleb!" she barked, before immediately making a line for the stairs. "C'mere you stupid fucker!"

 

[Kuno]

Marianna Lambert

Balls were a terrible bore without proper young gentlemen to make it worth her while. Thankfully, the Duke of Westclere was not known for throwing a party anything close to boring.

"Your Grace."

Marianna curtsied as low as her sumptuous dress would allow, the crown of pearls woven throughout her head gleaming under the soft lights. She kept her gaze modestly low as the young Duke kissed her hand. He was a handsome prize worth its weight in gold; lo, he was forbidden treasure. She'd heard the rumors–not that it'd stopped many a young woman from stumbling into his honeytrap. But she was not to be swayed by a pretty face. The Lambert name could not afford any more indiscretions; her silly brother had done enough damage.

Speaking of. She hoped she didn't see his face there.

"Is your brother going to be here?" Lisa, one of her friends, spoke the thought into existence, and Marianna hid the unladylike roll of her eyes behind her fan.

"Who cares?" She replied airily. "Come–let's just find good partners for the night."

For the home swelled with festive music. In the ballroom, a whirlwind of activity dominated the space. The turns and swirls of dancing ladies and their men was a hypnotic sight, and those in the audience kept up the ambience of pleasant noise with light conversation, their voices overshadowed only by the violinists in the corner. Marianna took a leisurely turn about the room with her ladies in tow, engaging any who greeted her with a polite warmth. By now she was good at hiding her displeasure with large crowds, but she could feel her smile growing tense at the amount of faces there. It had seemed that nearly everyone in London had converged on Thomas Caldwell's home.

By the thirtieth sweaty mustache touching the back of her hand, Marianna felt an escape was in order.

"Let's go to the balcony," She urged Lisa. She was the last one left, as the two others had let lesser men twirl away with them. Marianna tried not to let it bother her that they had gotten dance partners before her. "I'm sure we'll spy out someone interesting from there."

 

[Kuno]

Thomas Caldwell

Naturally, Thomas Caldwell was right in the mix of things.

He did not believe in bucking tradition nor shirking his duties as host. Every guest was personally greeted upon their arrival into his home upon the moment he laid eyes upon them, even if it meant cutting short a conversation with whomever was his eager audience. This, of course, had led to him taking up permanent residence near the grand doors of his London home. There was a tantalizing, charismatic energy the man exuded in his words and expressions; the guests were drawn by it even more so than his title or looks, and the young Duke found himself to be called upon at all angles, never alone for more than a moment or so.

It was the perfect situation for him. Frankly, he would even dare to call the experience orgasmic, but he would never dare to air such thoughts in the presence of ladies–especially ones whose husbands had never let them discover the meaning of such a word.

He was on his third glass of wine and a fresh circle of patrons when Albert approached him. Without hesitation, Thomas raised his glass to him, a sardonic twist to his lips.

"There he is! The man of the hour," He exclaimed, winking. "I've been waiting for you. After all…"

He leaned in close, his smile widening.

"I've never known my best friend to be a recluse."

Was that an edge to his voice? It went unheard by the others; Thomas took a sip of wine in the intermittent moment, his eyes still on Albert.

Before he could go further, Julia arrived. The sharpness seeped from his eyes, replaced instead by a faux warmth.

"Miss Nicholson. I'm very pleased that you could come. How fares your mother and father?"

As if he gave a damn.

@Nemopedia @firejay1

 

[TerraBooma]

The party had, needless to say, not been going particularly well for one Alexander Dean.

Despite the informal alliance of sailor men that he had been part of, his introductions had been few and rather fraught as far as social interactions went. Plenty of family members and interesting folk, but nobody of real importance politically or socially. Not to mention they all seemed a little stiff as well. He was unproven, untested, and that was an alienation all its own in a scene such as this. Rather unfortunately, he had been unsuccessful in forming any real connections. And...perhaps a bit too slow to the draw, he'd been unable to put his name on any dance cards either. That was a secondary, less important matter of course but it was...disappointing all the same.

And now he found himself largely alone, the crowd he'd come in with scattered out into the room and leaving him a party of one. Without anyone to act as an in, he'd mostly hung off to the side and hoped one of his "friends" would give him the in he so desperately needed. At this point though, it seemed he was one his own; and his night was very well completely sunk.

Somewhat crestfallen with failing his sole mission for the evening, Alexander Dean decided to make for the balcony. Some fresh air would do him some good, and it'd give him some time to recouperate his thoughts- come up with a game plan. Perhaps someone he knew would arrive late? And he could salvage the night then. Or he could attempt to insert himself into a group again...it was all risky, but he was too desperate not to try something at this point.

So lost in his mind, Alexander wasn't entirely aware of his surroundings. He was used to moving through a crowded ship, and navigating tight spaces seemed to be almost rote to him by now. What his training hadn't factored for however; were the fairer side of society, nor to be prepared for when others didn't have the same instinctual navigating rules drilled into them by the officers of a ship and the roiling of the waves.

It all happened rather quickly; and he was far from sure how he got to that point, but where his feet found wood and rope he instead found an altogether new material; the dress of one Marianna Lambert. It would have been a sudden thing- one moment they were heading the same way. The next his foot on her dress, perhaps causing a rip in the delicate fabric. More importantly however was the sudden weight that would have thrown her off balance.

Balance was a delicate thing on a sailing ship, and quick reactions had saved many a sailor's life. As he felt his gait slip under something alien, Alexander quickly realized what was happening and sprung into action, turning to stop his fellow from sailor from toppling into the brink. The end result was that Alex was able to halt his fall in time to spin and catch whomever he had sent tumbling in turn, only realizing what he had done when he was face to face with a very beautiful, very noble looking woman with his arms braced on either side to stop them both from tumbling to the floor. Strong arms, to be certain, but ones that had perhaps moved before realizing the full depth of the situation.

"I...ah..." He stopped- both taking in her visage as well as the rather large error he had made. A blush shot across his face as he attempted to straighten up, and the poor man finally realized what he had done. "Ah! I...I'm quite sorry my lady!" He had mostly recovered at that point- taking a step back so as not to be any ruder than he had been accidentally. "My thoughts. They...get away from me you see. I'm usually much more steady on my feet. Either way I offer my sincerest apologies." He bowed before her- introduced, but how could he give her anything less than his name as recompense? "Alexander Dean. Humblest apologies."

 

[MaryGold]

John Lambert

As long he remained John Oliver Lambert, heir of the esteemed Lambert family, honored knight of the Royal army, and stealer of sons, he missed no ball. And least of all when it was hosted by his friend, the Duke, Thomas Cadwell. The drinks were sure to be optimal, ever flowing, and the company was just as supreme. When that man, John was not so sure he could call him a true gentleman, hosted an event it was sure to be the talk of London city. It was one of the things he was superb at, a strength that may be close to outweighing his flaws, and if not that it made John temporarily blind to them.

The only downfall of these functions was that at such a large scale, his parents were sure to show. He narrowly escaped arriving with them, the carriage ride would have been suffocating. His mood for the night would have been ruined for the first half, which would have been awful considering how well he dressed for the occasion. Hair tied back, and badges pinned to his coat -- he may have been discharged a while ago but he still had to remind others of his accomplishments --, and boots perfectly shinned.

He was ready for dancing.

Upon entering the room, he was swift on his feet, having difficulty finding the host, the blond with an even bigger attitude problem than himself. John had to speak to at least three folks who stopped him, wanting to flirt, chat the weather as an opening, or knew his father -- what a horrible fate, until he found Thomas. He was always excellent at holding the attention of the room, charming folks around him before they really got to know what a cursed case he was. Though the company he held at the moment wasn't looking as charmed with him.

The perfect time to join in.

John floated over, grabbing a glass of wine on his way.

"Your Grace," John greeted Thomas, he was a man who followed their customs (in public) even if he had drawn comical pictures on the chalkboards of the boards of their schoolteachers together or watched him lose a game of cards as a teenager. "I've been looking all over for you. I was beginning to fear you had already snuck off." He left it there. There was no need to elaborate.

His gaze flitted over to Albert first, "Lord Rosier, it is wonderful to see you." then to Nicholson, "and you too, Miss Nicholson. I hope I am not intervening. I can always steal away our gracious host later, but I at least wanted to give my greetings first."

@Kuno @Nemopedia @firejay1