It had been a long, long year for St. Mungo's. Mark stood with a long flute of champagne in one hand, taking slow, deep breaths. The rearing of the ugly virus' head had given the year a bad, bad start, but here they were. Lives had been lost, but so many had been saved. Mark felt bittersweet about celebrating the year, but he knew events like this needed to be held to keep the hospital running. The donations were used to buy new supplies, potion remedies, and to provide for better training for their healers. Everything was being spun into a positive manner, Mark just wished that it didn't have to be such a lavish event to do so. "Do you think it's too much?" he said to his wife, looking down at Hannah with a worried smirk. If anything, the night provided a reason for his wife to doll herself and look even more fantastic than she normally did. They deserved a night out, especially now that their trio of children was complete. |
He stared at his reflection in the back of the bar area, his face refracted by the different panes of glass. Henry had long left his assigned seat at a table full of some of the highest donors of the night. They had found it to be such an honor that he was seated with them, that to be dining beside someone who must be so strong to go through this travesty was something to brag about. Henry had silently and barely acknowledged them, allowing their obsession with themselves and their egos to draw the conversation away from him. The empty glass cracked loudly against the counter of the bar as he finished the drink. Henry could feel himself starting to feel slow and sluggish, but if he was forced to be here then he was going to do it on his own terms. If that meant getting so pissed that he slept under the bar for the rest of the night, then so be it. Someone slipped onto the stool beside him, but seeing as there was no one that Henry wished to speak to tonight, he dropped his gaze back to his empty glass and tapped the side so that it could magically fill up once more. |
