Welcome

[Quinn Sinclair]

The burst of laughter Quinn involuntarily let out at Florent's abuse had nearly been subdued. Unfortunately, clamping a hand over her mouth and tightening her jaw had only resulted in the laugh coming (a bit painfully, due to the air) out of her nose. Quinn coughed in an attempt to regain her composure and her ladylike air. She was about to hail Trenton's little girlfriend with a very immature and very non-Regency era thumbs up, because it was better for a stranger to stomp on Florent's foot than for him to stomp on her own, but decided against it as Trenton made lewd gestures and suggestions.

For the second time that evening, Quinn wished she had a fan to beat people with. Ladies always smacked scoundrels with fans, because it was just proper and classy. Some contemplation was given to thwacking him squarely against the back of the head, but the vile cad had scampered out of her reach during the next dance move. Scowling without much conviction or contortion of features at Trenton's receding back, Quinn crossed her arms and ignored their conversation after Trenton's date did a fantastic job accessing the typically annoying comment Jane Fairfax would make. Boastful with the face of humility. Nice Jane impression!

"We should put ice down his collar after this dance," Quinn offered to Florent, turning her attention back to her dance partner.

[Florent Mercier]

Florent stared scornfully at the professional dancers whom Quinn had suggested they follow. "Uh, no thanks", he said with a tone of distinct finality. "I want to have fun!" True to his word, he raised one of his arms and turned Quinn around in an exuberant twirl. Twirling partners till their heads started spinning was always a good start. At this point, however, he was distracted by one particular professional couple that was engaged in clapping and kicking. "Well, I'm okay with the kicking", he amended. "The kicking looks like fun."

Before he could attempt the new move, he found his foot being very firmly stepped on. Looking up in order to identify the culprit, he found himself facing Trenton's date. He had heard about the girl but hadn't met her. The fact that she was willing to go out with Miller even after getting to know him a little better was quite strange. He'd have to track Trent down at the end of the evening and find out how he'd wangled it.

Normally, he would have waved the incident off, or perhaps, if Trent had been dancing with one of the fire-station's inhabitants, initiated a foot-stamping competition. Given the occasion, however, he decided that it would be a better idea to impress Quinn with his impressive Regency vocabulary. "It is no matter, madam!" he said, breaking off the dance to sweep her a grandiose bow. Nor, clearly, was his partner, but Florent was digging the chivalry thing too much to want to insult her at the moment. He addressed Trenton instead. "I shalt accept your apology this time, but have a care, thou clumsy clod, and do not importune yon good woman any further!" he said severely.

He was about to turn back to Quinn and resume the dance when he happened to hear Miss Fairfax's playful banter with Sir Collins. He stopped short and gaped at her with open mouth. "What the hell, man?" he demanded. "First the bible and now Christians? This is not what I signed up for! We have to do something, man! Next thing you know, you'll be dancing with Pearce while he waves a crucifix in your face and talks about Jesus!"

[Viviane Winter]

Viviane had not had time to proceed any further to the dance floor when she was beset by one of the guests, a fellow ex-Ravenclaw. She didn't know much about Cece apart from from her capacity as Anne's head cheerleader and her tendency to gossip and call everyone 'darling.' She blinked at her slowly. Had she not seen Anne flounce out of the ballroom? She seemed like the type to keep track of things.

"Miss Woodhouse is unfortunately indisposed at the moment and has retired for a brief spell to rest her nerves", she explained. "But there is no cause for anxiety, I assure you! Indeed, I daresay that she will soon recover her health and spirits, and return very shortly to delight us all with her cheer and vivacity."

Looking up as another guest approached them, she swallowed a sigh and worked her features into an expression of bland politeness. She could not claim to regard Dunstan Qydlock with any great degree of affection. At least, there was some personal amusement to be had at his character assignment. She supposed that Quinn or Anne must have had something to do with that one, for it had not been her own idea, but she could barely deny that it was a particularly apt one.

Regardless, the stream of interruptions was getting a little wearisome. Clearly, she would have to take it upon herself to introduce the party guests to each other so that they might enjoy the benefit of that refinement of every polished society. In Qydlock's case, it would probably be far more appropriate to state that every savage could dance, but naturally, she was not about to say so. There was no cause to be ill-bred about these things.

An idea started dawning in her mind as she gazed from Dunstan to Cece. Rapidly, she proceeded to resume her conversation with the latter. "I pray that you will not allow Miss Woodhouse's minor indisposition to mar your own enjoyment of the evening, Miss Lydia", she continued. "For I do believe that a young woman such as yourself must find great enjoyment in a ball. I am sure you are very fond of dancing, and there is such pleasant company to be had!"

She turned to smile brightly at Qydlock. "Ah, Mr. Thorpe! Do allow me to introduce Miss Lydia Bennet to you." She flipped open her fan and fluttered it quickly. "I do hope you have come eager to dance, for the music is lovely, and I assure you that the company is most superior", she said, looking at him meaningfully.

[Marcus Mordred]

Beset by gypsy vagrants and beggars, Marcus denied the urge to slap his palm against his forehead. Cece looked all too familiar for his likings and the same could easily be said of Dunstan. Quickly Marcus searched back to his infrequent visits with Qydlock in order to determine if Cece's name in conjunction with "one-night stand" had ever come up. While it was not likely Marcus would give out names - especially not to a person who so enjoyed lording information over people - he wanted to be prepared to do damage control if needed. After a moment of contemplation, he convinced himself the incident had never even been mentioned to Dunstan.

He scanned the room for Qydlock's date. Who in Quinn's, Vivy's, or Anne's circle would dream of bringing Dunstan to a party for Quinn. A party themed around Jane Austen and chick literature? Failing to locate a person, he managed to discreetly roll his eyes while Dunstan bowed. It was only a matter of time before he broached an entirely inappropriate and uncomfortable subject. Marcus could certainly deal with the situation, but he would have preferred to be on the floor doing some fruity dance instead.

To his great surprise, Vivy made a move to manipulate the scene. Marcus kept the shock from his face, mostly, and smiled appreciatively at her suggestion. He struggled for a way to sell the idea to either, neither seemingly particularly compatible with the other. "A fine suggestion, indeed! It has been reported that the younger Miss Bennet does not share the standoffish nature of her elder sister." Marcus tried speak meaningfully to Dunstan, but was not sure that he would be able to interpret his mind.

Instead of trying again to tell Dunstan that he might get lucky, even if he most certainly would not, Marcus opted to make an exit. "Miss Elliot and I were just on our way to join in with the dancers," he explained, making a small move away from the crashers. "I hope you do not think me to be rude, but I have given her my word of partnering for this dance, and I would never dream of upsetting her." Marcus lied easily with the assistance of showing off Regency manners. Only minutes ago he had been intentionally and happily teasing her.

[Harry Scoleri]

From his place at what passed as the bar, Harry frowned into the crowd. He had retreated to his current position almost as soon as he had been forced into the ballroom and wasn't planning on moving. Scratching at the breeches he had been forced into donning (and straining his slightly too small jacket in the process) he slowly shook the (entirely decorative) glass of well... whatever the hell it is these wizards drink. He didn't even bothering sniffing at the glass as his attention shifted to watching the dancers on the floor. The first dance was beginning, and despite himself, Harry couldn't help but feel some interest in the display. He had already heard enough about the party to know that Sinclair's friends had hired professionals for the occasion, and he was wondering what they were planning.

Listening with what (he thought) was an open mind as the band struck up something a bit too heavy on the flute and fiddle and decidedly lacking in brass, Harry watched as the couples took the floor, lining up for the dance. Shifting his position so he could get a better look, he watched as the line of ladies and gentleman bowed and curtsied to each other and then began to... skip? Horrified, Harry's eyes followed the line with astonishment as they continued their way through the dance with an excess of clapping, circling, and clasping of hands. What in the hell?

Harry knew Sinclair could have her odd tastes (she clearly didn't appreciate good prose for instance- a fact he knew firsthand from her snickers and decidedly unappreciative comments over his work that he had shared with her one night on his guard duties at Dewhurst's office) but this was too much. Taking in a short breath, he quickly located her scent, and followed it unto the dance floor, pushing through the couples.

Reaching her in time to witness the foot stomping that occurred (clearly yet another monstrosity of this dance) Harry listened in on her conversation with the French nut, as he pushed through the last line of dancers to reach her. "What the fuck is this, Sinclair?" he practically shouted over the noise. "You make me wear some damn pansy ass pantyhose to your party and now you're making them dance like this?" Appalled at the younger generation's complete lack of taste, Harry shook his head in disgust. "This was not the party I was promised, Sinclair. Not at all. How the hell am I suppose to get Jack accumulated back into society with this crap to work with? The ladies aren't even showing any leg!"

[Quinn Sinclair]

In typical Florent fashion, his attention had been tried too sorely for there to be any hope of continuing with the dance. Quinn had known better than to ask Florent to dance, but she had ignored her good sense for the sake instant gratification by way entertainment. At least he didn't kick me in the shin, stomp on my foot, elbow my stomach, poke my eye, pull my hair, flick my ear, knee my groin, or otherwise accost me. Upon assessing the situation, Quinn decided it certainly seemed to be an excellent time to be grateful for small favours.

"Next thing you know, you'll be dancing with Pearse while he waves a crucifix in your face and talks about Jesus!"

Quinn shook her head at the accusation and quickly corrected Florent "That only happens after the third date-" The much needed trail off to her facetious statement was interrupted by the very solid form of Harry. Along with copious stubble, Harry had decided to bring the gift of even more ranting. Clearly he had missed the shout of "surprise!" a clear indication that her hand was missing in the precise planning of the party. Sure, he could blame her to an extent for the theme, and she did love the theme, but Harry's current bought of impassioned oration failed to hit the appropriate target. Not that Quinn had ever really doubted Harry's capacity to overreact to anybody about anything.

"What can I say, Harry? There's nothing I won't do to see you in a pair of breeches." She gave an exaggerated wink while lightly pawing at the air with her right hand. With the same mocking, sex kitten enthusiasm, Quinn added a "Raawr" for good measure.

[Viviane Winter]

"Oh come, Mr. Willoughby", Viviane remonstrated, feeling that she should defend her friends. "It would be unfair to call Miss Elizabeth Bennet standoffish." She gave Dunstan the once over. "Although she might possibly be described as discriminating", she allowed, perhaps a little snidely. She contemplated adding something about how it was a trait she shared with Miss Woodhouse - with whom he was doubtless acquainted - but decided against it. There was a strict limit to how nasty she could be to the guests.

"Regardless, we must not allow such insignificant little details to cloud our evening! Mr. Thorpe, I believe that you and Miss Lydia will deal famously. I fear that I must excuse myself now, for as Mr. Willoughby has noted, the next dance is about to start." She linked her arm through Marcus', taking care to give him a sharp jab in the side with her elbow as she did so. "Miss Elliot?" she demanded, lowering her voice to an appropriate whisper. "I can't believe you forgot my name already, you great clod!"