the inscrutable drystan b. fawcett (brythonichero) wrote in valesco,
@ 2012-02-28 21:31:00

Entry tags:

adrian mattias, anton chang, arista sykes, billie trimble, carys llewellyn, delilah spinnet, derek dobbs, drake parkin, drystan fawcett, galvin gudgeon, geoffrey brand, glenda prewett, griffith kirkham, group, hamilton nott, holly troy, iwan quigley, joey jenkins, magnolia mattias, marissa macfusty, michal conway lynch, miles lufkin, mirabelle jasper, odette boot, rose knightley, rupert brookstanton, savannah davies, seth wadcock, veronica zeller, victoria cadwallader, zoey moran

End of Season party! For the 3rd

Drystan did not usually consider himself a sore loser. He had experienced enough defeats in his career to understand that winning was sometimes as much luck as it was skill—the latter of which he had plenty, the former he was starting to doubt he had any. He would even go so far as to say this was one of the top seasons he'd ever played. Losing the Cup might not be such a hardship, in that light. But to lose to the team he considered the most unsportsmanlike in the League was just an insult to injury. To have lost to them for the third time in the season was, in his perfectly reasonable and justified opinion, grounds for murder.

But a lifetime sentence in Azkaban would leave behind a wife and three children who would likely be just fine without him, but he'd miss them. So mass murder was off the table for tonight, at the very least.

Press snapped pictures outside the admittedly-abandoned looking building of 23 High Street, and Drystan knew there were more inside. Entering the rundown lobby, by-passing the elevator with the out-of-order sign, they made their way up the long flight of stairs to the grand doors of the first floor landing and into the—holy Mer—

Of course, the invitation specified formal wear, but Drystan hadn't honestly been expecting a high-brow formal occasion from the Kestrels. It was a ballroom. There was emerald green positively everywhere. There was something that looked suspiciously like a string ensemble. A bar, where he fancied he would spend as much time as possible, was in the corner. Platters with hors d'oeuvres and glass flutes zoomed by. Having stopped moving, wearing a stupefied expression, Bess had to tug his arm to get him to continue his stride.

"Hell," he muttered, pulling a grim face at the ostentatious yet somehow tasteful décor. Lifting their linked hands, he kissed the back of hers while surveying the spectacle before him.

"Five minutes? Five minutes isn't too soon."

ooc: Quidditch players/personnel + their guests! BLACK TIE! Party is on the first floor in this cool but creepy rundown building. Have fun! :D

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bestzeller
2012-03-01 05:40 am UTC (link)

Her arms slunk around his neck to encourage the closeness, and Bess let her face press into Drystan's chest as she had no concerns about makeup or her hair being mussed. It was to be a bittersweet event if they stayed through the night, she knew that for sure. Drystan had been marvelous all year, and for it all to come down to the one game when the United had ended up scoring more points than any other team in the league. They had thrown a match and still ended up ahead of the Kestrels by more than a hundred and fifty points. It just wasn't fair, it didn't make any sense, and this was why she could never play sports.

Even two minutes was too long to bear. They shouldn't be out at a celebration when they didn't feel like there was anything to celebrate. Bess let her head drop back, unwilling to let the rest of her body pull away from her husband's. They'd done the publicity shots, she had smiled and rolled her eyes as some reporters asked if her dress was to cover up a baby bump. No, there were no big end-of-season reveals, no controversies to deal with, no little sisters who were going to cause an explosion of a fight.

Well---maybe. Who knew if Penny had started seeing Spinnet again, and with that thought, Bess pushed herself a bit too inappropriately close to her husband, needing to get her mind off things in a more entertaining manner.

"It's been two minutes and you haven't whisked me off to a dark room to have your way with me," Bess said, batting her eyes, "or is that not what you were implying?"

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brythonichero
2012-03-04 11:18 pm UTC (link)

Knowing that she was on his side, that she shared in the loss as much as the win, did wonders for his snarling temperament. Winning the Cup or losing it mattered, a lot, because it was his livelihood. But Drystan considered himself fortunate enough to be in a position to be shown it just didn't matter the most out of everything in his life. Some people—some teammates, he knew—might go their whole lives never knowing the subtle distinction.

"Just considering my options," he said freely, busy fingers drawing lazy circles between her shoulders. As good as being on the dance floor, he was content to keep his arms close around her while his gaze slid from one corner of the ballroom to the other, taking in the sights, the sounds, the celebrations. The trophy in its place of honour on the stage behind the band only gave him the briefest of tinges. "The alcove at the other end of the lobby."

Nodding and lifting one hand to greet a passing acquaintance, his free one skimmed two fingers considerably lower down her back. In casual observation of the decorations, he scoped out the ceiling, the wall sconces, the small effects no party-goer gave much thought to, and wondered at the attention to detail of the planning committee. Knowing after the last guest cleared out that it would all be dismantled in the blink of an eye made it that much more appreciable. "There was that out-of-service lift…"

Now with his left hand resting comfortably on her hip, the other was free to trek up the smooth protrusion of her shoulder blade, down, to the side, tracing the collar bone graced by yellow and diamond. "Then," Drystan mused in consideration, flipping his hand so the knuckles drifted smoothly down her breastbone, drawing away before they met her neckline, "the entirety of the second, third, and fourth floors…"

Easing back a step, his other hand fell to her waist too, holding it in a light grip as he gave her a rare, easy smile. "It's a big decision."

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bestzeller
2012-03-05 05:41 pm UTC (link)

His touch always made her lose her focus. It was hard to keep up arguments in this relationship if they were within a foot or so of each other, it was a testament to how good Drystan was at making her feel like she was the most important person in the room, in the house, in the bloody country. If she wanted to keep her senses she had to stay out of arms' length when it came to her husband, but right now she was more than welcoming the soft caresses and not-so-subtle slips of his hand.

They were very good at slipping away for private rendezvous at these events, or even at smaller ones where it was noticeable that they were missing. If either of them lacked the poise and control that was needed for these kind of seductive adventures, things would all go to hell quickly. Bess had never had this innate need to be with someone at nearly all hours, all times of the day but she could not pull herself away from Drystan and only did when absolutely necessary and...it was very hard when her husband was, to put it simply, just as possessive as she was.

When she let out a breath, Bess was surprised that it was a shuddering one. She blinked slowly up at Drystan, knowing that she was always the first to lose her composure when it came to this kind of fun. She smiled, pushing close to him to mimic a slow dance, but putting pressure in all the necessary and telling places.

"Wouldn't want to go too far from the party," she said lowly. The excitement (or fear?) of getting caught always heightened the experience, and she was feeling a bit like causing trouble, especially when the Kestrels were involved in the evening.

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