Yuletide at Moredell Closed

"Mother," it was one of many pleas heard that day. "Muss ich gehen?" "Do I have to go?" Xailah leaned in the doorway to her sister's room, watching her mother tend to her sibling with a cool compress. A neatly folded parchment was clasped tightly in one clawed hand. Most of the morning had been spent in stagnant dread while exercising a silent prayer, in hopes it would provide a way to weasel out of another pureblood social gathering. The prayer went unanswered. Come afternoon, Xailah had accepted lethargy and wasted her time lounging around the estate like a distressed cat. Trepidation spiked at evening.

She had one last chance to get out of this, and so far things didn't look to be weighing in her favor. "You know how I feel about these events. They are always filled with elderly and none of them want to dance or do anything fun. They only drink and go on drunken tangents about politics." Xailah droned, exasperated. She glanced down at the invitation in hand, unfolding it slightly to peek at the same words she had looked over at least a hundred times that day.

Leveret. Leveret, Leveret, Leveret. That name was starting to have more prominence in her life as of recent months; which was a curious realization she wasn't sure she liked much. Up until three months ago, their son Avery had been but an idle crow on the outskirts of her field. Now he was in the crops, popping up when least anticipated. The scarecrows were becoming ineffective, it seemed. Admittedly, Xailah did not know her family's connection in relation to the Leverets- then again, she wasn't exactly one to show interest in Pureblood family affairs unless forced to. Were they old friends? An alliance to call upon? Just another rung on the ladder in the world of social circles? The specifics probably didn't matter much.

She wouldn't ask or ponder much over it, choosing instead to shrug off whatever the tie implied. Her family had lots of "friends"; and from a strategic perspective, it was wise to maintain a wide ring of connections. Xailah knew. She played a similar game on the daily with her own relationships. Opportunity became abundant when you had people willing to open doors for you.

"It's a dinner party, you don't dance at dinner parties." A pitchy voice called from an adjacent room, pulling Xailah from her contemplative trance. Her own seemed to lower an octave in response, coming across as slightly miffed. "But it is a party all the same, yes? Parties are for dancing." With that, her voice lowered to a hasty whisper before addressing her mother once more. "Please, if I must go on behalf of you and Father, at least let me go alone. I do not want to go with Tabitha, you have seen how she gets after too many cocktails."

Salaiah merely glanced at her eldest daughter; her silence echoing a resounding "no"- Xailah would not be getting out of this one. Her mother's quietude was something she had grown used to over the years, seeing that the woman had figured out all of her party-evading tricks early on. The false promises and faked illnesses had run their time and were no longer effective tools of evasion.

Reluctant, but ultimately understanding she had no other choice in the matter, the heiress sighed and accepted her fate. To the party then. Anything to maintain contentedness in the status quo. "I will finish getting ready." Xailah said, admitting defeat- not that she had put up a good fight at all to begin with. Silence befell her for a beat as she watched her mother leave her sister's side to get something from another room. Once her mother was out of sight, the heiress drew to the side of her sister's bed, looming over the small body embedded in the linens. "You owe me, Meadow." Xailah muttered, peeved in a way only a sibling could understand.

Meadow, the formerly bubbly flower girl, now lay motionless in her canopy bed, splayed miserably across several layers of thick bedding like a slug. She looked awful; her warm complexion was no more, the life in her cheeks having been replaced with pallid white. She shivered despite the warmth from the blankets she hid under, and her hair clung to her waxy skin in clumps, like algae on glass. Poor Meadow had been struck by the flu. Lucky girl, Xailah may have thought, if her sibling didn't look so... dismal.

The ill girl, having vaguely cognized the shadow hawking over her through half-shut eyes, lifted her weary head a few inches from her pillow- a feat she made appear far greater than it was, in actuality. "Euuuugh," she groaned pathetically into the air, "huh?" Her mind lagged massively as she strained to gather her thoughts, her words muddled and voice heavy with rasp. "I would go wiff you if I could." Meadow sniffled, her head rolling back against her pillow with a dense thwump.

"Well, if you hadn't gone and gotten yourself sick before the holiday, you would have been able to go." Xailah quipped, planting her hands on her hips.

Between the two sisters, Meadow had been the only one seemingly excited to attend the dreaded Leveret social gathering. And now, in an act of cruelty executed by some higher entity, she was the one that wouldn't be able to attend. As a result, Mr. and Mrs. Alptraum- the intended recipients of the invitation- were subject to tend to their sick child; meaning they too would not be at the event. It was a poor bout of luck all around for the Alptraums that evening.

"I didn't mean to, dere must be somefing in de air at Beauxbatons..." Meadow explained with weak desperation, although her feverish state and congestion did little to make sense of the words she spewed.

There seemed to be more she wanted to say- her lips moved as if they possessed a lazy mind of their own, but no discernable sound came from them. Xailah frowned at her younger sibling, her gaze gravitating to a relatively untouched cup sitting at the girl's bedside table. She hated seeing her sister in this state. "You should drink your Pepper-up Potion." She reminded.

Meadow shook her head- or at least to the best that her circumstance would allow. "No... it tastes like wet dog." She coughed dryly.

The eldest winced lightly at the crisp sound that came from her sister. "You need to drink it so you can feel better, and- why do you know what 'wet dog' tastes like, anyway?" Before she could pester the ill teen further, shuffling from a few halls down moved her mind away from her sister's predicament. Ah. Right. The party... And she wasn't done getting ready. "I have to go now, I'll see you when Tabitha and I get back. Maybe if the odds work out in my favor, I will be the only one returning." Xailah joked... mostly.

The heiress raced back to her room, her pearl jewelry jingling as she hitched up the hem of her snowy white dress to avoid tripping mid-flight. She ignored the blur of fiery red hair she passed in the hall belonging to her infamous aunt (or specifically, great-aunt) Tabitha. "You aren't finished yet? You've been getting ready for the past hour now." The prodding from the matriarch went unanswered and unacknowledged.

Rushing to her bedroom's vanity table (and finally setting down the invitation she had been toting around- for god knew how long- on its countertop), Xailah pulled open one of several drawers lining the front of the vanity and began hurriedly sifting through it. She hardly noticed Tabitha had followed her to the entrance of her room. "You should put your hair up, it looks nicer that way." The woman nodded in the doorway, seeking some kind of reaction from her niece. Xailah fed easily into the bait plainly laid out for her. Briefly, she looked up from her search of the dresser drawers, and venomously eyed the woman's reflection resting in the corner of the vanity mirror.

"Und du würdest ohne haare schöner aussehen." "And you would look nicer without hair." She retorted haughtily under her breath.

"What was that?"

She didn't look back up to meet her aunt's gaze, but she could feel the look the woman was giving her at that moment. "Oh? Nothing. Only lovely things." The metamorph added nonchalantly. "You needn't bother me is all. I am one step ahead of you, Tabitha." Triumphantly, she produced a decorative hairpin from the drawer and held it up to show the older woman, before sliding it securely into her long dark hair. "Why don't you go along without me? I will meet you at the venue. Unless, of course, you think you have the patience to sit around while I do my hair?"

⬩───────────────⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ᓚᘏᗢ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅───────────────⬩

Xailah had an inkling of how the evening would go before it even began; she'd be stuck at this party positively bored to tears, while Tabitha got her socially acceptable fill of liquor. Just like nearly every other dinner party she had been forced to attend. Needless to say, she was keeping her expectations low for this little venture. You just have to make it through the first half hour, she told herself while green flames bloomed around her, enveloping her body in viridian. They delivered her quickly and without trouble, unfurling to reveal her safe arrival in an unfamiliar fireplace.

Tabitha indeed lacked the patience to wait for her niece and had taken up lingering around the residential footmen for company, once she arrived at Moredell. When Xailah found her aunt (thankfully not too far from the floo, so she didn't have to wander long) she was met with a tense green stare overlooking the rim of a champagne glass. "Took you bloody long enough." The matriarch groaned. Her snakish eyes gravitated to Xailah's hands, both of which were wrapped securely around two items. "What do you have there?"

Shifting the curios around, the darkling lifted a little wooden box. "Gifts for the hosts and their son," she then held up the other object to eye level and pressed a small button on its top, flooding her aunt's face with a flash of bright light, "and a camera. Meadow was the one who wanted to come. I thought I would take some pictures of the night, so I could share them with her when we got home." A photo rolled out of the little slot in the camera. Xailah mused at the produced slip of paper with a tight-lipped smile. "Not this picture though. This one will be going into the nearest fireplace." She gave. The affirmation was one she would fulfill later.

Tabitha blinked at the surprise "assault" and rubbed her eyes with a free hand, muttering a slew of curses that would go unheard. Xailah watched as the woman came dangerously close to dropping the glass she held in her other hand. Her mind moved on from the camera and to the older female's apparent drinking problem. "I can see you won't be needing my company this evening." Her eyes honed in on the champagne clutched between devilish red nails. Much like the little golden bubbles twinkling in the fizzy liquid, a humored gleam rose and flashed across her narrowed gaze. "Seeing as you are so very... busy at the moment, I think it would be best for us to part ways, for now."

The redhead voiced no qualms at the proposal, appearing to encourage it instead. Still blinking to get her eyes to readjust from the camera flash, Tabitha waved her kin away. "Good, I think I will be needing another drink before I start mingling anyway." The matriarch muttered grimly. "Excellent, and I will go find a window to lament out of." Xailah cracked, relishing in her aunt's low, annoyed tone.

Leaving Tabitha's side was- simply put- freeing. Being in the mere vicinity of the woman constantly felt like walking on glass; jagged, razor-sharp glass. Every move was a gamble- a risk of setting off sparks around the powder keg of a woman. In the beginning, when she was still small, Xailah had been keen. Careful. As she grew she became clever and defiant; a creature the elder matron gradually lost control over. Tabitha didn't like that. Not a bit. Xailah, however, reveled in the distress it caused. Warmth was the first thing she felt when she ventured out to where the main festivities were being held. So much warmth. She hadn't even realized she was slightly chilled, up until then.

Like a moth to a flame, she was pulled deeper into the estate; taking in the radiance of the cozy colored lights displayed around the grand space. If there was one thing she could appreciate about pureblood parties, it was the homes they were hosted in. The architecture was always beautiful, albeit a bit underappreciated. Sometimes she felt like the only visitor that would stop for an unheard amount of time, to admire ceilings or the fine filigree that decorated the corners of rooms. Yes, maybe she looked odd with her face affixed to the manmade heavens, but the others who didn't do the same were really the ones missing out.

Although avidly interested in the architecture and décor, Xailah still managed to catch glimpses of the people in the space. There was indeed a fair amount of older folk (as expected), but the venue was also crawling with a handful of prepubescent teens. There didn't seem to be many wixes that looked around her age; an observation that made her frown slightly. She scanned the area for faces deemed familiar; and much to her surprise, there were a few.

Avery Leveret was easy to spot in his smart-looking suit and neatly groomed hair. His choice to wall himself off near a snack table also contributed greatly to his quick discovery. Finding him provided some idea of where his parents were; if he was there, it was probably safe to assume his guardians- the hosts- were somewhere nearby. A sharp eye would have to be kept out for them to issue greetings. In the meantime she'd brief past the Leveret heir, trying her best to avoid any eye contact with him. He may have been the host's son, but she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to be seen around him outside of school- considering their last interesting excursion.

A few peers flocked around the young man, both of whom Xailah also knew in passing, mostly. June Selwyn was an esteemed racing captain, and an equally fearsome racer. Off the track, she gave the impression of being an incredibly sweet person; she was no doubt someone bound to do great things. Seeing her at a place like the Moredell, and in such a stunning dress too, was not something the metamorph expected at all. The specifics of blood status, or the potential weight miss Selwyn's surname held, had never once crossed her mind. June was just... well, June. Really, the same was applied to almost everyone. She'd have to say "hello" to the girl before the night was over.

Shifting her sights to the other girl near June and Avery, Xailah would recognize her as the same girl who had assaulted her and a fellow Gryffindor with snowballs earlier in December. The fiery-maned youth had also been a temporary teammate for a mock broom race, where she had proven herself to be rather resilient and perhaps even reliable- a term Xailah staunchly tried her best to not toss around, especially when referencing strangers. Should time allow, and interest align, she would be glad to have the ginger by her side again. However, miss Norrick would be passed just as June and Avery had been. For now. Though, briefly, the darkling lady did wonder what business the girls had with the Leveret child.

Where was she headed to, if not a group to socialize with? While the desire to find a window had mainly been a joke to get on her aunt's nerves, Xailah still found herself beelining toward one. She simply had to get a glimpse out of it- and if the outside of the house was anything like the inside, she was surely in for a treat.

Looking out a window. June is right. The hills are nice.

Reducio

Hair || Additional Accessories
Outfit banner comes courtesy of the talented Percival Rainwood.

ℙ𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕐𝕦𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕊𝕡𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕥

Astra ∆ Raymond

Reducio

Astra

Raymond

From this distance, Astra could hear Raymond telling Cadence he'd check in with her later, in whatever she needed his help with that Astra hadn't heard, and began conversing with Willard and the unfamiliar man about dragons. During his long friendship then marriage to Aces, the man had been subject to Seren's fascination with dragons, and had learned a thing or two.

Avery did not show it, but the young redhead had a feeling she'd struck a nerve. It was a ballsy move she knew, and not entirely well thought out, but something shocking and strinking and memorable nonetheless.

Purebloods were like a different species to Astra. A study. Sure, she was related to some, but Elliot, Jesse, and Maria hardly counted. The Lerians, even before the most recent generation, had been considered lesser, almost, by many pure families, having never been particularly rich and influential among their peers. Their greatness lay in their loyalty to their allies, and their sway in non-pure communities. They had strong alliances and connections.

So Astra was seeing her first stereotypical pures this night, and she planned to make a study out of it. Oh, of course she would try to hae fun as well, but learning was the ultimate goal. And so, in this moment, her object of study was one Avery Leveret.

The boy's first tactic: target her family's obscurity. He never finished his sentence, being interrupted by one familiar looking blonde, but Astra's mind finished it. She knew this was important to the pures, this prominence. And she knew Norrick would not be well known. They had never been pure, though many generations had come close before a Muggleborn caught someone's fancy.

When June offered her hand, Astra took it with something she hoped was a warm smile, though with her mind distracted so, she couldn't be sure. "Yes, I remember. We've met before, I believe. Captain of the Brisk Basilisks, aye? You do a wonderful job," Astra said. Even though the snakes had lost the only race she'd seen, Astra knew they had given it their all. Just rotten luck.

Her jaw tightened at Avery's introduction. Unseen, yeah? Astra knew this was his ploy. Her pride was not happy to take the insult. The boy continued on quickly, however, before she could form a tactful response.

"Mine's set to be spent back in London. Perhaps a few days at the estate in Balquhidder if all goes well." In truth, Raymond was the one set for a few days in Balquhidder, to check up on his father and take care of the accounts. Astra had never been to the estate at Balquhidder and probably would not during the break, considering Evander Lerian had absolutely no idea who she was.

But that was something she could know and they could do without.

"You're right, June. The hills are absolutely stunning," Astra stated, turning to glance. There she saw Xailah Alptraum in her simply ethereal beauty. She was simply glowing, every piece of her tasteful attire accentuating her natural radiance.

So many lovely creatures in the room. All where they belonged. Xailah, June, the blonde girl with a smile made of sunshine, even Avery. The adults, mingling and in their element.

And then her. Astra Norrick. The half-blood.

Astra wondered if this was what people meant when they talked about imposter syndrome.

@Avery Leveret ∆ @June Selwyn ∆ @Xailah Alptraum ∆ @Madison Bennett

What was she doing here? The question continued to float around Beatrices head as she made her way up the front stairs of Moredell Manor. Granted her mother still had a few connections from her time before her father in pureblood circles, and many of her coworkers at the Ministry still adored her mother, whether Penelope was married to a muggle or not.

She glanced at her mother as they walked the stairs up. This was probably the first time Bea had seen her mother dressed to the nines, in well, ever. When the invitation had come to her Grandparents place in Salford, her mother had ferreted it away to speak with her husband privately. Something about an old work colleague wishing to catch up. Or so she was told when Beatrice had asked as they went dress shopping for the event. It wasn't for her to know as a fourteen year old. Either way, Beatrice got a new dress out of it. Fortunate that Penelope had squirreled away money in the events of the downfall after her own mothers death. It would come in handy now.

Breathing deeply, she stepped inside the grand building that was Moredell Manor and along with her mother, whose arm she took, was escorted into the Ballroom. Bea at once took survey of the room, her dress flaring around her as she stopped suddenly at the entranceway. Many of the particpants she didn't know. Many she could tell were around Leverets age. She did recognise Xailah, a prefect from Beatrice herself was one. The seventh year could be a possible friend in tonights party. Her mother hummed under her breath, her own green eyes doing a flit around the room. Promise and power were here tonight, and Penelope Menzies did well to recognise it.

Slipping her arm from her mothers, Bea smiled up at her. "I see someone I know (Xailah), but why don't you introduce me to the Leverets?" She had manners. No one could fault her for that. She would find Avery in this squall, introduce her Mother, make pleasantries with his mother and then be off. Find Xailah to help her get through this. Her mother might be a pureblood, and have grown up with this sort of thing before Beatrices grandparents slipped into obscurity, but Bea wasn't. She was used to running after chickens and playing in the vegetable patch. This was a whole other world. A far cry from farms. Maybe she could bully Leveret into telling her why the invitation had really come. A nod and sympatheitc smile form her mother in reply, they stepped into the Ballroom.

Open to all interactions although looking for @Avery Leveret
Mentioning:@Xailah Alptraum

· · ─▪───────────── ·· ─────────────▪─ · ·

• YULETIDE, A DAY LATE •

“After the longest night, tomorrow we sing up the dawn.”

─▪────────────────────────▪─

┏		┓
	December 23rd | Moredell Manor, Bath Avery's Hex #136b5c Cadence's Hex #6d80ab Barrow Beau-Bastian Leveret’s Hex #7f7e7 ─▪──────────────▪─ ----- Mere breaths had passed, still stolen in part by June’s arrival; quietly thrilled that she had attended. In the moments that Astra took to reply, when June’s attention was elsewhere, he seized a glance; masked by the simple gesture of taking the quail egg canapé to mouth. It was only then that he realised his treatment of the ginger could have backfired spectacularly; and that he wasn’t showing the best of himself, and yet Astra knew how to play as she quipped back. She, after all, had placed him on the backfoot; but he knew when to fold and he would not be condemned to use the tools of his enemies. After he’d politely swallowed, his smile finally met his eyes, recognizing in that moment that something was off about the girl and that conceding ground to her might just coax a miss-step if she wasn’t going to fall in line. Like the rest of him, his eyes lied; holding shrouded spite that would later come to bite, no doubt. “Balquhidder? Now that sounds a country treat, will you tell us of it?” He asked, scanning his eyes across to where her gaze had gone. Xailah was a white spectre, looking the part of a bridal ghost; she was pretty too but that was easily pushed aside given how the pair had met. Avery was keen to avoid her gaze too, as she slinked through the room; through all festivities as if the bottoms of her heels laid the thoroughfare. The bustle of the room and the shifting of bodies made it all too easy for her to miss the hosts, who were still engaged elsewhere, passing the threshold of a door which led through towards the atrium. The atrium was full of snappable sights but across the way she saw a corridor that ran along the front of the splendid manor; where a cushioned bay window overlooked the gardens at the fore. That place called to her, as if it was a gallery she had all to herself and her camera; for it seemed that not many had yet strayed beyond the ballroom. The promise was enough, and Xailah was away. The northern face of the house was the entry lawn; a long white-pebbled road led to Moredell through pristine lawns fenced by perfect hedges; the stone gatehouse a fair distance away. It was no wonder they invented the floo. Any wixen caught walking the lawn to the house may well have turned around and taken the long march home. The architecture itself seemed to seep with superiority; woven of magic and designed to make everyone feel smaller, to feel judged. She was the judge now, looking down onto the lawns that lay beneath a threatening evening sky. “If you think that’s picture-worthy, you should see the back of the house!” came the voice of a young man, who was striding towards her from the opposite end of the corridor that she had entered from; his earliest steps taken when her attention was squarely down the viewport. His approach was quiet, not like him. The young man was striking in that he seemed to have a spark in him, a bubble of happy-go-lucky springtide that was being held back by a slick stiff collar and plain evening suit. He had nothing on his lapel that identified him, and his smile would have her believe he was a friend. When he was near to her, he dipped his head as if they were sneaking; trying to glance out of the window to see what it was she had espied with a curiously goofy look. “Anything worthy of the National Wizarding Gallery?” He asked, smile present as he inquired. He would leave her to reply to the question, pondering if he should do the polite thing and introduce himself but he seemed to have a carefulness in his candour. Elsewhere, Cadence had gracefully dipped from whatever conversation she was having; leaving Willard, Raymond and some others to continue their talk of dragons. She was masterful and liked well enough to begin with, but in this place she was mastery, as if she was made for this kind of thing and yet keenly aware of how others were feeling. That is what she had been doing for the last handful of years, and it made her a better host for it, surprisingly. Her warmth was felt in her smile, that she awarded to several as she walked through to the ballroom. Her gaze was inviting, but there was something in her eye that told whomever wished to greet with her that this was not a good time; she had spotted something, someone. “Penelope, oh how the years have been kind to you.” Cadence blessed, beaming at Penelope. “It’s so nice you came. This is Beatrice, is it? You are very pretty, Beatrice; a gift of your mothers’ mh? — Oh how they grow. My boys are all getting too old. - Come, let’s grab you a drink and catch up. I’ve heard awful things about your farm, let me see if I can help you, if not provide a friendly ear?” She spoke between them, the latter addressed to Penelope as she gestured toward the atrium as if wishing to lead her away. Her interest was genuine, but perhaps misplaced. This was politics at work. “Avery, come and meet Beatrice.” She spoke across the room, having kept him in her periphery; as if she’d planned calling upon him. Avery had, of course, not expected to turn his gaze from Astra and June to find Beatrice Langstreth of all people beside his mother. “Oh you’re kidding.” He exclaimed to himself, though those closest could make it out. “Sorry- please bear with me. It’s as if every witch and wizard in wizendom owes my mother a favour, there’s no way she can know so many people. He said, out of turn but perhaps steering close to the mark. Something was afoot, but that was not for the children to know. After excusing himself and walking over to Beatrice he gave her a critical look as soon as his mother and hers were on their way. “Your name’s not been mentioned before, but I suppose if you’re here, that’s a good thing. I can’t say I was too happy about my sweater…” He said, finally letting up and offering her a smile. Avery was referring to their duel that was far closer than it needed to be. That alone made him have a kind of respect for her, but being here was indeed a badge of honour, so he would award her what would be expected of him. “Welcome to Moredell, Beatrice. Do you know June Selwyn? Astra Norrick?” He said as he led her their way, hoping they would all make introductions. After a sufficient amount of time, he excused himself again as if he’d seen a silent signal, beaming a smile to them all before turning and walking to the atrium. In truth, his mind was struggling to play catch up. Avery had never seen Moredell like this; with this many people all under their roof. What had been made out to be a small party was the kind of numbers he’d only seen at Beatrice Dupont’s home. That wasn’t the only thing that made him need a breath of air though, something felt wrong. The guileful boy slipped out of the home, to the rear gardens where fountains, flowerbeds, statues and hedgerows lay. One small rebellion wouldn’t hurt. wc: 1304
┗		┛

Interacting with invited guests: @Remedy Norden, @Astra Norrick, @Xailah Alptraum, @June Selwyn & @ Beatrice Langstreth. Aforementioned or posted guests are not welcome in the thread any longer.

It's poetry in motion.
@Avery Leveret

Had the Alptraum heiress been less fixated on the architecture and more interested in the guests, then maybe Miss Beatrice would have been thrown a lifeline while passing through the drawing room. The Langstreth girl was missed by a mere hair, disappearing into Xailah's peripheral in a flutter of soft pink and cream florals alongside her fern green mother, as they moved toward the festivities awaiting past a grand archway. And so, Beatrice was left to bob atop the strange sea of formalities and fabricated personal networks as a little dinghy tied to the side of her tugboat mother. Hopefully the rapids wouldn't prove to be too much for the girl to handle; these gatherings weren't always as pleasant as they appeared to be on the surface.

Vogue waters often made notorious feeding grounds for camouflaged sharks.

Failure to identify the evening's hosts only reinforced the idea that all formalities could wait. Xailah would have the whole night to spend on hellos and well-wishes- so for now she'd savor the time away from the growing collection of partygoers, enjoying the tranquility distance promised. Besides, who knew how long she'd have until she had to reunite with Tabitha again? When that woman was part of any equation, it was always best to accept moments of solitude when they presented themselves.

The merriment diffused into mere white noise as absentminded wonder, with its invisible string looped around her thin wrist, drew her away; what she sought could not be found among the roisterers, and she'd soon find herself at one end of- what appeared to be- an atrium. A few belated glances behind her shoulder would ensure she had not been followed by other guests, permitting her to continue her venture away from the main gathering.

Despite it only serving as a means of delivery to the other pockets of Moredell, the atrium was just as pretty as the house itself. The camera carried in hand was raised a few times contemplatively while Xailah passed through the channel, but it would never echo that telltale snip! of a moment captured. Part of the trouble of being an artist was selecting what to record and what to leave for interpretation- how much of this exploration did she want to relay to Meadow? What was best left to imagination?

She'd mull over this until not only her thoughts split, but her path too, as she approached a crossroad.

A corridor with a window nestled in the face of one wall, had been set on her path. The stretch of crystalline glass beckoned; she heeded the call with contained wonder. This was what she had been looking for, a view to the outside. Did the exterior of Moredell hold the same overwhelming sense of grandeur as the interior? Taking a peek out of the paned aperture, the heiress was happy to report, it in fact, did not disappoint.

Rolling green hills- blooming into a deep gray beneath the veil of nightfall- awaited behind glass; and with a closer look, one could see they unfurled into something more. The hills posed as a backdrop for the garden flourishing in the foreground. Oh the garden- it was a beautiful example of man's remarkable ability to manipulate nature. Although familiar with the imposing concept of Moredell's design, she was not accustomed to how deliberate its composition was. Everything was so mindfully carved and shaped- well-orchestrated if the front lawn indicated anything. Moredell was formed with purpose at the forefront of its construction. How curious.

It was at that exact moment, Xailah would briefly question the festivities she had fled from. A home could tell a lot about the family living in it; the gilded walls whispered this one valued aspiration above all else. Every single person occupying Moredell tonight served some purpose to the hosts, didn't they? That was why they had been invited; this yuletide gathering wasn't a charming catch-up like it masked itself to be, it was a lattice, and a very elaborately woven one at that. And if that was it then... why had the Alptraums been invited to attend?

What purpose did they serve in the Leveret spiderweb?

It was an uneasy thought, and perhaps an overanalysis of what was actually going on. Alas, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was happening backstage, just outside of the limelight's beam. But that wasn't her problem now, was it? No. No, it wasn't.

Xailah was still for some time, her gaze fixed on the view laid out before her. Awe replaced her disquiet; and, in a trancelike motion, she brought the camera's viewport to her eye, scoping out the exact scene she wished to preserve. She would fall deaf to the gentle taps of approaching footfalls on the stone floor; her concentration fixed on keeping her hand steady.

Take a breath-

-Hold it...

And-

CLICK!

A jump. A misclick. A shot sabotaged. The voice that rang down the corridor, like a temple bell in a steeple, had been anything but anticipated; and as a result, triggered the premature press of the camera's shutter release. So she wasn't as alone as she thought she was, after all- did she even have the corridor to herself to begin with? A leaflet of paper rolled slowly from the camera as her focus vacated, fluttering down pathetically to the cushioned window seat where it would find rest.

When she turned to get a glimpse to whom the voice belonged, the look she bore was one of an animal contemplating flight- round and wild- motionless, save for the flitter of her eyes. That hand-in-the-cookie-jar stare met the friendly face of a man who she did not recognize. Those glittering golds of hers brushed over him quickly, in an effort to collect as much visual information as possible without the risk of lingering for too long.

The man looked as if he had stepped directly out from one of the oil paintings hanging in the corridor, with his alabaster skin and laurel of slick raven-feather hair, and the soft lighting casting gentle Rembrandt shadows on his face. All that was missing was the hair-thin brushstrokes and gold leaf frame, he would have fit right in with the rest of the art on exhibit, then. He was objectively ornate and utterly picturesque, but there was one thing that distinctly set him apart from classical art as a whole: his smile. It was where Xailah's eyes would eventually settle; her features relaxing; lids lowering gently. The grin was a disarming thing, cheeky, and maybe a little too wide of an expression to offer a stranger. But there was a noticeably warm, albeit restrained, quality there; some apricity to cut through this cold Yule night.

It made the metamorph wary; a feeling she had no hesitation with conveying as she took a small step away from him.

At first Xailah thought him confused- that perhaps he mistook her for someone he knew; after all, he really had no business busying himself with a person such as she, when there was a bustling party awaiting just down the way. He wore no identification, no indication of a name, just a simple black suit and that amiable smile. The heiress hastily racked her brain for something- anything- to match his face to, but fell short in her search. She had never seen him before in her life, this she was certain of, and even if they had theoretically met in passing, she would have surely remembered a face like his. Confident in this assessment, she inferred the man was indeed a stranger.

A perfect enigma.

This conclusion generated some ease, but it would hardly nick into the frosted pane of caution she placed as a divider between herself and the gentleman.

It wasn't until she was prompted to speak, that she realized the breath she had drawn earlier had never been let go. She could feel it trapped in the base of her throat- burning a desperate plea for release into her sternum. She was not breathing. Uncomfortably aware of this, she'd hold the bubble of air for a second longer, smothering it, before reluctantly allowing a soundless sigh to escape slowly between thinly parted lips. Quickly recollecting herself, she'd bend to pick up the small photograph lying on the bay cushion. It needn't a study, anyone with half-decent vision could tell the image fell far from its intended representation.

Yes, believe it or not, there was supposed to be a garden somewhere in that unfocused blob of greys and dark greens.

Her response to the mystery man was overtly genteel, drifting atop some subtle humor- a small play to distract from her earlier bewilderment. If they ignored it, then they could pretend that he hadn't startled her. "If they have a need for more expressionism in their installation, then I've captured just the thing." Xailah frowned slightly, cocking her head to one side as if doing so would somehow undo the smear of a photo. Then, holding the photograph out at arm's length in front of herself, so she could align the image with its original subject (and allow the man to get a look at it without the need to come closer), she'd gently tap the glossy paper with the tip of her little finger. "That should be a hedge," she explained to the fellow, tracing over a blur of green that swept diagonally from one corner of the photo to the other, with her pinkie, "and this is the path cutting through the lawn. That was the vision... in any case." At this she sighed, squinting at the failed capture before lowering her arms to her side.

"I bet it's even more spectacular in person. Do you think it would be wrong, disturbing something so lovely?" It was a sinful notion, but in her defense, even Eve had once been tempted into violating Eden; Xailah was no better than she. "You had... mentioned something about the back of the house? Surely it can't be better than the front garden?" She queried, casting a slippery half-glance at the man through her eye's corner.

Try as she might to brush off his company (which was, truthfully, undesired at the time), something about the man was just too distracting- but she couldn't fathom what. Maybe it was the air of mystique surrounding him, or that contained glimmer of sunlight hiding behind his teeth; whatever it was, it made ignoring him a futile task. Xailah wouldn't think to ask for his name, but she would try to find his reason for stopping in the hall. "Pardon me for asking, but can I help you in some way? I believe the festivities are down that way, if you are looking for them." One of her silver-tipped fingers would politely point him toward the direction she had come from, as she spoke. It was the most modest way she could think to do some gentle prying, without making it seem like she wanted him gone.

Admiring the view. What an odd man.

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ℙ𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕐𝕦𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕊𝕡𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕥

Astra ∆ Raymond

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Astra

Raymond

Forget the study, tonight is survival. The sudden and intense struggle to come up with something would not make itself apparent on her face or in demeanor, but it would certainly set the gears in her mind spinning so fast smoke should be coming out of her ears in no time.

An idea. "You've not been?" she asked, feigning surprise. "I'm quite certain you were at Moira's funeral." The timeline fit, Moira Lerian died when Astra was about eight, plenty of time for the Lerians to demonstrate their impeccable class by inviting even the still struggling Leverets to take part in the celebration of life. After all, Evander was nothing if not a philanthropist (despite his actions for other pures typically lacking in money). "Perhaps it was only your mother," she speculated after a moment before the questioning look left her features and her pleasant air returned as if it had never lapsed. "It is a wonderful town, and the estate is right nestled onto the mountains, near the loch. Tourists rarely get far enough into the country to be any bother, despite wards. Extraordinary views of the loch." She was about to offer a visit, but that would be going much too far, and really could she be faulted for being wary about a Leveret even after this show of good standing? Not at all.

As Avery excused himself, she stole a glance at Raymond. He caught her pensieve eyes and gave her a small wink as if to say You're doing great, kid.

Courage now. Astra turned fully to June, hands clasped together to deter any fidgiting impulse. "Would you care to accompany me to... well, anywhere more interesting than here?" she inquired with a small laugh, squashing down the nervousness. Champagne she was too young for and the conversations here were not for her. June seemed well and nice enough. Perhaps the girl would like to discuss broom racing? Or was that an inappropriate topic for a gathering such as this?

· · ─▪───────────── ·· ─────────────▪─ · ·

• YULETIDE, A DAY LATE •

“After the longest night, tomorrow we sing up the dawn.”

─▪────────────────────────▪─

┏		┓
	December 23rd | Moredell Manor, Bath Avery's Hex #136b5c Cadence's Hex #6d80ab Barrow Beau-Bastian Leveret’s Hex #7f7e7 ─▪──────────────▪─ ----- Moira Lerian? He surely hadn’t known her, and doubly surely hadn’t been to Balquhidder. This Norick girl curled him one, right back. She was surely of their stock now, and almost all of his doubts had been put to bed; for his pride had been shone unto with the light of her fire and he disliked every moment of it. He could only listen along in deference to her, allowing her to win the moment before he was summoned away to bear witness and to play a part in a plan much wider than he could yet see. He was a part, a cog, a thread of something bigger; of someone else's design and that angered him for it angered Avery where he couldn’t pin a thing, and it made him jealous. To have so much capability and willpower and influence to create something that other people played to the tune of? That was powerful; just like raw magical talent felt. He considered his ‘pinning’ of things his knack, his party trick that had begun as a survival instinct he nurtured as a child. In his role reversal, he had to fend for himself always; of the family that had always been under attack in his formative years. That’s what perturbed him so much, this night; everything had suddenly changed and he couldn’t pin the ‘why’. Cadence Leveret was a keen one, keener than her child of course; though he liked to trick himself into thinking he was the smartest person in any given room. Her intent on the evening occupied his mind for some time as he made his way through the atrium towards the garden room and beyond. The depth of his thoughts grew so great he nearly missed his brother deftly avoiding the party as he passed the mouth of the corridor in which Barrow stood; glimpsing at the last second that Barrow was not alone. Circumstance practically forced his curiosity to the piloting seat of his flesh vehicle and Avery stopped in his path, took a step back and leaned to espy his brother. Xailah. Barrow Beau-Bastian had been caught up in the spider’s web, no doubt. Avery couldn’t begrudge their meeting at all; after all it seemed that tonight was the night for the most unlikely events to occur, why would this not happen. Avery smirked to himself when he remembered his own exchange with Xailah; strange was it, how the powers that be worked and wove their threads. – Avery’s stop was fleeting, perhaps just long enough to be spotted; enough to be a shady figure in the periphery, which alone was enough to create, alter, cement suspicions. Perhaps that too was all planned by his mother; she was the true spider, he reflected. Xailah was one herself, capable of eating his brother whole, he thought too, but it wasn’t likely she elected to be here; to be here with him, and it wasn’t likely that this was happenstance either. It troubled him greatly, knowing that there were goings on that he was not in the know of; even though he was clearly not to know of them. Reason didn’t bother him; he was like a shark to blood, in an ocean of boring things. The whiff was up his nose and he refused to lose the scent, like the many hunting dogs he’d seen. All he could think about as he pushed one of the exterior glass frame doors to gain access to the gardens, was how on earth he would make himself relevant on that web, a player of the game he so desperately played at. He wanted to know, or he wanted to be someone that could make his own waves. He was as oblivious to why he needed this, as he was to the path he would take deep into the garden. Few guests had made it outside, thanks to the mild winter chill and light snow. Things like that didn’t bother him, they were unimportant and once Avery had an idea or belief he often held it until its bitter end. His small rebellion was becoming a habit and a bad one at that. Over the winter break he had exhausted nearly two thirds of the pack of cigarettes that remained after Vladimir gave him such in the quidditch stands, a nasty little habit that he had learned from the mysterious figure, and Avery was habitual. Since the start of school he would carry around a small rubber ball in his pocket, that he would rhythmically bounce along as he walked; off of the floor, walls; it was something he found helped him concentrate and just as the ball did so too did smoking alone. Perching himself on a snow-lined sandstone rail that was tucked around a few corners of perfectly trimmed hedgerows, he sent eyes to the footprints he’d left in the snow; the pinched toes of his wholecut formal shoes making distinct and discernable vestiges of his presence. He didn’t consider it much, if at all; he wasn’t in an observant headspace afterall; he was considering the table and how it was set. All the while he pulled the pack of Marlboro Gold cigarettes from his breast pocket, eyeing the cancerous warnings plastered all over the casing that he thumbed open. With a slight jostle of the packet, a fag stuck out ahead of the rest; it had won the day, and he took it to his lips without his fingers ever touching the little roll of indulgence. It was at that time that he saw her, and she saw him. He locked their eyes for a brief moment, his dark eyes scouring hers, searching for any semblance or indication of how she judged this moment in time. It occurred to him that she was the second person to catch him smoking, with the other also at this party, and so he had experience to bank on. He played it cool back then, he thought; perhaps that’d curry favour now? It was a gamble, given that he and his cousin held unspoken competition; a friction between them that had been there throughout his childhood. Avery hadn’t interfaced much with Remedy, especially not so directly or as genuinely as a normal person might expect of cousins. They were of better stock; of rigid social rules and hierarchies; such was not afforded to them. Perhaps things could be different? – After all, if he wanted to make waves he shouldn’t act as he’s been told, or do as he sees others do; no, this was a game that went on in the shadows and in the shadows, one needn’t be alone. “Don’t be shy. I have another if you want?” He offered to her, with plain, unhoneyed words. As deftly as he had presented a cigarette to himself, he so did to her. A small flick, a gentle shake and there was the filter end of a fag daring to be taken, one of five that remained. “I used to think it dirty. Bad.” He said, taking the unlit fag from his mouth and holding it between his fingers; inspecting it then. In reality, he hoped his little line would reel her in; protecting himself from being told on and having his one small joy taken from him and smushed out on the stones. Calculative as ever. “Someone important enlightened me. - You don’t partake because it is good, but because you can. It is a sign of your station. Who you are in comparison and consideration of the masses. It is an exertion of authority. – You and I have beheld quite enough authority, don’t you think?” Elsewhere, similar dark eyes attempt to behold the small print out polaroid that had fallen to the wine-coloured upholstery; itself seeming a perfect picture as it rested upon such a perfect little crop of the manor. Like many other places in the manor, this had been cultivated as its own little perfect bubble; the cushion seemed perfect to sit comfortably on, making it easy for one to imagine lounging there and gazing out upon the grounds in all kinds of weather. The slick-back haired man kept his mirthy smile amidst her commentary, tilting his head as she held it out in alignment with what she had attempted to capture. “You know, I strangely think it’s an improvement. But don’t tell the hosts.” Barrow played coy. “Wrong is an observation of others, is it not? - We’re free to do as we like, they’re free to respond as they like, but at the end of the day does it really matter?” He shrugged then, with a whimsy and carelessness not often seen amongst these circles. It was in his next move that he revealed himself to be a hypocrite; one of them in those circles no less, as he affixed a small star broach to his lapel that he had been keeping shielded in his palm. It took him a few moments as she enquired about the back of the house, for him to nod along to and encourage her in contemplating the mystery; could it be better than the front? Once he was done affixing it, his eyes narrowed just slightly, as if not expecting her to ask if there was something she could help him with, as if he was there in demand of something; a suitor to be batted away, a servant who presented canepés and drinks, a shark to be warned off. It wasn’t something he was all that interested in, or at least that was the impression he was giving. “Oh I know, I had just left my–” He gestured to the broach. “Uhm.” He stumbled; he was not as put-together as one would believed, not versed in scripted responses, or in the dance. This all added to the impression that he hadn’t stalked her here, or sought something from her; but rather happenstance had led him this way. His reaction told her that he had read into her response further than he possibly should have. “No not at all. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” He gave in deference, almost instinctively. Had he just faux pas'd and skipped a beat with someone of decent importance? If he had he probably wouldn’t have cared too much, but the look in his eye spoke of his weakness. She had dazzled him, for one reason or another and it was rather off-putting. Though being off-put is typically negative, he seemed oddly entertained by it, impressed even. His toothy grin widened and a small laugh escaped him, as though he had just become aware of how much of a goon he looked. “Though- I suppose I could say the same to you? But then what chance would I have at exploring all the ‘improvements’ your camera makes of what I heard one chap call; the best country estate in the south?” Barrow put to her playfully, when he easily could have banked on his parents owning the place. If she had recognised the broach, he didn’t care or need to know but in the shadow of his smile he harboured resent for the weight of it, for how it might skew her perception of him. Barrow tried to look past it, in any case; to play it down as if it wasn’t even there. wc: 1936
┗		┛

Interacting with invited guests: @Remedy Norden, @Astra Norrick, @Xailah Alptraum, @June Selwyn & @ Beatrice Langstreth. Aforementioned or posted guests are not welcome in the thread any longer.

@Avery Leveret

As a self-proclaimed purveyor of odd things, Xailah could usually understand the appeal of trash. There was something about collecting the unwanted, and rehoming it among shelves lined with other little beloved pieces of objective "junk", that brought a strange, sentimental sort of joy to the heart. Of course, the sentiment only extended to the unwanted scrap of others, never her own. Her trash was, well, trash. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Naturally, the man's interest in the photograph (it was the photograph- correct?) was met with staunch skepticism. Xailah squinted at the little slip again, attempting to make out what special thing he was seeing, but to no avail. No, it was still a spectacular smudge... Or perhaps her eyes were going bad. Mayhaps an appointment with the family practitioner was in order, once this event concluded. "It has its charm, I suppose." But judging by the flaccidity of her tone, she wasn't all too convinced. Placing the polaroid on the plush bay cushion, she slid it across the divine length of wine, two fingers guiding it closer to the man. It was a benign offering, in spite of the aloofness attached to the gesture. "You are welcome to have it, if you enjoy it." And if he didn't, he was welcome to cast it into the nearest open flame. She cared not for where it went.

"I couldn't tell them even if I wanted to. I can't seem to find any of them, you see." Not that she had made any great efforts to look for the hosts to begin with. "A shame, as I have a few things for them." Xailah's eyes slid down, following the slight tilt of her head to the little dark wood box she had brought along with her. It had been slipped under an arm at some point during her journey through the atrium, for easier camera handling.

There had been Avery of course, spied early on, but she much rather preferred to act as if he didn't exist. At all. They had been fortunate enough to avoid bumping into each other- or at least keen enough to mutually circumvent a meeting- and hopefully it would stay that way. Juggling pleasantries with the imp was an exhausting idea. It could only end in needling, likely coupled with the suggestion that she meet one of his fabled "brothers", as a taunt for good measure. That thought was proper grim. Worry curled her brow as she wondered if any of them were here now, or existed as anything more than an empty threat.

Lord, she hoped not.

As this thought crossed Xailah's mind, someone synchronically crossed through the atrium. She never saw them, although they reflected for a moment as a dark splotch in the bay glass. A shiver seized her mind as she felt the brush of their eyes. Lingering eyes. They had stared for a moment too long, revealing their presence- or at least the remnants of it. The woman knew what to expect when her attention briefly broke from her company to search for the eyes; she knew she'd only find the imprint of a ghost come and gone but she looked anyway, taking in the disquieting emptiness of the atrium archway. Hogwarts had accustomed Xailah to the idea of being watched by unseen entities; almost to the point where such observation was to be expected. However, outside of Hogwarts the same treatment felt jarring. Hostile even (no, the irony was not lost on her). And at a gathering where many were likely window shopping for new "trinkets" to add to their collections, one did not want to be a subject of interest to eyes unseen.

Debating the perception of ethics in society was one way to make an impression. A good one? That remained to be seen. An interesting one? Certainly. Xailah caught the tail end of the gentleman's reply, her attention wearily fluttering back to him. She found his answer... piquant; a palate cleanser to combat perturbation's acrid aftertaste. Maybe even attractive (intellectually, you animals), until he quite literally revealed his hand. What a betrayal it was.

The little star he secretly cupped in his palm made her withdraw slowly as if he had just revealed a horrible lie. It was a hauntingly familiar piece, and although she could not place it at that second (despite having looked at the same stelliform shape for hours prior to arriving at Moredell), she did recognize it as a label; and a piece to the puzzle that was his identity. In pureblood society, similar accessories aided as (exceedingly unhelpful) nametags; one could deduce that the black-haired man was of high rank, or he belonged to those who thought themselves on the higher rungs of the community ladder. For him to reveal the brooch after such a compelling reply was cruel, but even more so was how he silently teased her curiosity with no further comment on the back of the house.

This one, this man, was no good.

Distinct emblems are to purebloods as striking colors are to poison dart frogs; and yet, Xailah found herself considering the fellow, despite the new warning to stay far away. Unfortunately, vibrancy was a mere suggestion to colorblind creatures. His insouciance kept her fixed to him, dismissive of any poison he may have been harboring. "Spoken like someone who frequently engages in questionable activities." She seemed to tease, but a lack of lilt in her delivery could have easily pawned it as attempted insult or disapproval. "'Wrong', is more than simple judgement. It is a reflection of the subconscious mind, I think."

Lured by his nonchalant demeanor, Xailah was encouraged to prod the young man from a distance deemed safe. "Robbing you right here would be a rotten thing of me to do. You, the victim, and I, the infractor, both know it is wrong but not because others have decided it is." She challenged. "You are right. I suppose the opinion of a stranger should not matter, but I see no harm in pondering." There was a glimmer of inquiry in the wells of her eyes; golden and curious. "So I ask again; do you?" Had she come upon gold in a vein of pyrite? Someone who tested the restraints of conventionalism?

Aware of her impersonal tendencies, Xailah caught the squint of (what she assumed to be) disapproval in the man's eyes; slight as the look was. Was it unreasonable to assume ulterior motives played into his decision to socialize? She thought not. This place was undoubtedly swarming with beasts on the search warm things to tear into; other smaller, less learned creatures. The heiress was high on the food chain, but even she knew bigger fish occupied these waters. Caution was a necessity. Surely the man understood? He wore one of their brands after all. "You forgot your..." Uhm. Ah, but of course. He forgot his "uhm". Her eyes followed his hand to the brooch fixed to his breast, darting to each of the four tapered points encompassing it's shape. "Here?" An inquisitive finger circled vaguely around the space inside the bay window, her eyes lowering into an incredulous squint of their own.

There was an opening to test the legitimacy of his statement, but the heiress let it slip by in wake of the man's fumbling, watching him trip spectacularly over his own mind. Her question hadn't been that jarring, had it? Why the sudden floundering? Pitiful as it was, it was abrupt enough to charm her away from interrogating him further. "Well, you oughtn't leave your 'uhm' laying around. Someone might run off with it. That would be a shame, would it not?" She gave with a cheeky (albeit still skeptical) squint. "These gatherings are prime picking for patrons with sticky fingers." As she said this, she gave her own claws a few playful tip-a-tap drums on the body of her camera.

His explanation would have been believable (Xailah certainly almost bought it), if not for a flaw in the statement that followed his awkward improv act. Actions spoke louder than words- that was the age old saying- so his willingness to continue hanging by the window only made her double back to dubiety. "And yet you are still here." She observed plainly, only now she wasn't looking at him per se; her gaze lingered on his breastpin. Periodically, her focus had been shifting between his smile and the badge since it's reveal. "Are you not needed elsewhere?" She fingered a spot of lace on her chest with a few gentle taps, mirroring the location of the brooch on his person. "You look like you have somewhere important to be."

It was the funny little laugh he exhaled that brought her back to his eyes. There was something in them Xailah hadn't noticed before; a glimmer of a star in the bottom of the dark wells. Her head cocked to one side, entranced as she watched it dance to the sound of his laughter.

She had garnered many looks over the years.

Fear. Awe. Caution.

They were among the most frequent.

His wasn't any of those, however. His was inviting, and bright, and warm; twinkling like an ember that wished to be stoked. What it meant, she hadn't the slightest, but had she been of more irrational mind she may have given into the insane thought of entertaining that wish; because for a dreadful half-second, she almost considered it. Fortunately, she had enough sense to hastily smother the inexplicable spark before it could kindle more alarmingly bright ideas. It was foreign- the look- and in truth it made her feel like an insect. On display. Vulnerable. Special, in some way she could not grasp. Was this how her beloved crawlies felt when she put them under glass for observation? It made her want to disappear- chameleon herself into the wallpaper and become one with the house.

Xailah quickly ripped her eyes from the man, feigning a returned interest in the garden below. She turned her camera between her hands, seeking further distraction. Thankfully the man provided plenty when he turned her own question onto her. This eased her, bringing a crooked little curl to her lips; not quite a smile, but far from the perturbed look that had been forming. "That is a fair riposte." He was just as sharp as her wordplay. "Touché." She commended, favoring the man with a gentle chortle that flattened into silence. An apathetic explanation followed: "They are not my kind of company." Over a bare shoulder, a long dull gaze was cast toward the beating heart of Moredell.

"A chance?" It was hard not to laugh at that one- she wouldn't- but the wisps of a chuckle did adhere itself to her voice. An insect willingly flying into a spider's web and staying was unheard of. The only thing possibly more taboo than that was the spider's reluctance to secure the easy meal. "Your eyes must be going bad if you insist what I took was an 'improvement'." Xailah pushed back to him, as she quietly considered the camera in discussion. "Would you like to give it a go? Since you seem so interested in it." He would not be spared a look when she decided to extend the little picture box his way. "Moredell certainly is nice. But the best? Now that is quite a claim. I wonder if that 'chap' is here now, perhaps he could enlighten me?" That broach he wore was still a mystery, for now- perhaps for the best. "Maybe he would even be kind enough to tell me about the back."

Offering the camera to the man. Maybe he can make some improvements of his own.

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