Psyke winced at the sound of her name. Yes, her appearance at the gala had attracted attention (but seriously, when didn't she capture everyone's attention?), but to actually call her out---she'd lost something? Psyke listened again and looked around for Tristan but could not find him. Great. He left now, when she was basically being called upon stage for something with her name on it?
She moved through the crowd, blushing as people murmured and Psyke was ready to push Tristan into the punch bowl for taking so long and not being with her at this really awkward moment. She stood on the floor, in front of the stage, reaching up to Carys so she could hand her whatever it was. Maybe it was...Psyke couldn't even stab at a guess (but maybe that was the champagne impairing her thought).
"Nooo, no," Carys said, pulling her hands to her chest to hide whatever it was, "Get up here, will you?"
Psyke wondered who this tiny quidditch player was, but smiled as if she was in on the joke and came around the stairs, taking her time. If someone was going to play a trick on her, she was going to act as suspicious as possible so to not look like a fool. Once on stage she put her hand out again, and the other woman grinned brightly and she dropped whatever had been clenched in her fist into Psyke's open palm.
"Holy shit!" she squeaked, causing the audience to laugh. Cameras were flashing as Psyke's hand flew to her mouth, her other grasping the---the ring tightly to her chest. What--what---what? Her eyes frantically scanned the crowd for Tristan, ready to burst into tears from excitement and----"Holy---"
"Keep it PG, please," Carys laughed. She grabbed the mic and looked out into the crowd, "I think there's something Mr. Bardera wanted to ask you, if you don't mind."
Psyke gaped, shaking, wondering if she was going to be able to keep her balance in these heels. Not for long!
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