「ℛhea → чaxley」 (![[info]](https://www.scribbld.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} headbitch) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.scribbld.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} valesco, |
Well, this had certainly been a mistake.
As she stepped gingerly around the edges of the crowd of ball attendees, one could immediately pick out the identity of Rhea Yaxley from her arrogantly upturned nose at the general atmosphere of the place. For something as classy as a masquerade ball, one would think that there would be standards as to who was allowed through the doors and not--but then, that's what she got for coming to any event held at Hogwarts. The place was practically a breeding ground for Great Britain's dirty and diseased population of mudbloods, and unfortunately it seemed that those same loathed group of citizens were the same ones making up the majority of the crowd tonight.
She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and sidestepped a tipsy teen who stumbled past her, scrunching up her nose. It took Rhea no time to make up her mind---Octavia could have all of the fun she wanted, but she would be leaving without a companion. This was terribly beneath her in all senses; there wasn't even anyone worth speaking to there.
Or---well, maybe that wasn't entirely true.
The moment the thought had crossed her mind, Rhea noticed a familiar face on the edge of the hall, a certain hitwizard who seemed rather amusingly agitated and out-of-place. It was Thorfinn Rowle, a relative acquaintance whom she knew from a different number of places, although she had probably only spoken to him twice in her life. He wasn't a particularly polite or gentle man, as men went, and she might not have bothered knowing his name if he weren't quite as handsome as he was. But as it were, maybe there was still a shard of hope left for this night in the form of pureblood society's resident crazy.
Untying her mask--they were honestly the stupidest things--, Rhea made up her mind and stepped up beside him. "Don't look too elated to be here, darling."
As she stepped gingerly around the edges of the crowd of ball attendees, one could immediately pick out the identity of Rhea Yaxley from her arrogantly upturned nose at the general atmosphere of the place. For something as classy as a masquerade ball, one would think that there would be standards as to who was allowed through the doors and not--but then, that's what she got for coming to any event held at Hogwarts. The place was practically a breeding ground for Great Britain's dirty and diseased population of mudbloods, and unfortunately it seemed that those same loathed group of citizens were the same ones making up the majority of the crowd tonight.
She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and sidestepped a tipsy teen who stumbled past her, scrunching up her nose. It took Rhea no time to make up her mind---Octavia could have all of the fun she wanted, but she would be leaving without a companion. This was terribly beneath her in all senses; there wasn't even anyone worth speaking to there.
Or---well, maybe that wasn't entirely true.
The moment the thought had crossed her mind, Rhea noticed a familiar face on the edge of the hall, a certain hitwizard who seemed rather amusingly agitated and out-of-place. It was Thorfinn Rowle, a relative acquaintance whom she knew from a different number of places, although she had probably only spoken to him twice in her life. He wasn't a particularly polite or gentle man, as men went, and she might not have bothered knowing his name if he weren't quite as handsome as he was. But as it were, maybe there was still a shard of hope left for this night in the form of pureblood society's resident crazy.
Untying her mask--they were honestly the stupidest things--, Rhea made up her mind and stepped up beside him. "Don't look too elated to be here, darling."
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