The 5th Annual Winter Charity Gala
| E |  A cold Saturday morning — the first day of November. The last of the autumn sun had already passed, and the first chills of winter were spreading through the air. Influential wizarding families across Europe found themselves at the receiving end of a most coveted invitation. Owls flew by city centre townhouses and manor grounds alike, each dropping off a single navy blue envelope — tied together with a sheer ribbon that looked like ice. Every ribbon stamped with a silver wax seal depicting the letter H decorated by rocailles; the wax shimmering and seemingly moving, undoubtedly magical, when viewed under the light. Each envelope unnaturally cold to the touch. When opened, the envelope revealed a card. Steel blue, on weighty paper, with embossed and shining silver ornaments that swirled on the page, quickly settling to reveal the letters hidden beneath. The Hestridge Brewing Company would be honoured by your presence at the 5TH ANNUAL WINTER CHARITY GALA ___________________________________ December 27th was a date marked on the social calendars of any and all influential wizarding families in Europe. During the winter holiday break, right after the holidays themselves and right before the year came to a close, the Hestridge family of England, on behalf of the Hestridge Brewing Company, was hosting their 5th Annual Winter Charity Gala for the benefit of the British Part-Human Advocacy Foundation. An event that brought with it only the most high class of entertainment. Live music, a Michelin star dinner, and of course, at the height of the night — an auction promising high quality arts and craftsmanship, all for a good cause. Anyone who was anyone had received an invite, steel blue paper with swirling silver ornaments. The day had finally come. The various families arriving were greeted with a breath-taking sight. The Gala was taking place in the Hestridge Estate, right outside of Canterbury. Not a centimetre of the multiple acres of land was left as it was; pristinely manicured, polished, and decorated. Not a stray blade of grass was out of place, everything covered with a layer of fresh snow. The event started at 6 in the evening; long after the short-lived December day had come to a close and the sun had set beyond the horizon. Still, the grounds were vibrant — magical lights, candles, and lanterns arranged precisely to make the snow glitter and swirl under the starry sky. Vines crawled up the manor home, creeping with gentle, frost covered leaves like fingers that stretched towards the roof. The only part seemingly untouched by the winter chill was the fountain, large, front and center before the house itself. The water there still flowed freely, a gentle blue glow coming from the basin where statues lounged half-submerged. The manor stood, tall and imposing. With its multiple storeys, it towered over anyone who approached the front steps, and yet still beckoned closer, windows shining with lights far warmer than the ones outside, promising respite from the cold. Guest names were taken and checked off a list at the large double-door. Coats and outerwear was quickly attended to by a staff member the moment they were let inside the grand hall of the estate. Though it was considerably warmer here, it wouldn’t appear so; upon closer inspection, the tall walls and support pillars shone slightly under the chandelier’s light, as if covered with frost. Walls were decorated with signs, pointing guests to make their way towards the grand ballroom after any preliminary conversation. A seating chart stood on an easel, right before the large wooden doors, a promise of excellent dinner and conversation. The ballroom was, if somehow possible, even more intricately decorated than the rest of the estate. Crystal chandeliers sparkled, hanging from gorgeous gilded medallions, supplemented by both candles that floated up near the ceiling ornaments and by the large windows, which allowed the gentle blue-white of the exterior lights to flow in, the combined glow of everything otherworldly. Part of the room was cleared out, allowing for guests to comfortably find their assigned tables, while the majority of it was taken up by the tables themselves — round, with hand-embroidered table cloths that boasted subtle silver and blue decor. Each table was set carefully, each plate and utensil aligned with everything else on the table as if with a ruler. Candelabra and a bouquet of winter flowers stood in the centre of each: hypericum, both rouge and white, amaryllis, and snowdrops, paired with holly leaves and poinsettias. Beyond the round tables, paintings on the walls, the band playing classical music, and the quiet rumble of polite conversation, there were two more doors the guests would have access to. On the east side of the room, another set of grand double doors sat. It led to a drawing room, far more dimly lit than the ball, velvet chaise longues pushed to the side to make room for nine pedestals. At eye level, each displayed a different item for gala-goers to bid on, all for the benefit of the British Part-Human Advocacy Foundation — a stack of bid sheets sat on a table by the door, allowing anyone who wished to partake in the silent auction. On the north side of the room, large glass doors would let guests out to the terrace. A calmer atmosphere blanketed this space, enchanted heaters ensuring the few guests who made their way out here for a calmer drink wouldn’t feel the snowflakes twirling through the air come down upon them. As each guest found the place card and their seat along with it, the aperitif was starting to truly, really flourish around them. People were flowing in, chatting; waiters were scattered around the room with trays of champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres alike. The doors had been opened, Thomas and Eleonora Hestridge each greeting the first of the families in attendance as they passed through the entrance hall. The night had officially begun. ___________________________________
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H |
thales amaro. second year castelobruxo quidditch. |
katherine townsend. professor of charms, former thunderbird. |
The 5th Annual Winter Charity Gala
| E | ✧  ✧location. the Hestridge Estate, just outside of Canterbury date. 27th of december; 6 o'clock in the evening. interacting. @Stella Bianchi;  For the past five days, Esme felt as if she had been constantly in flux. The tail end of December at Hogwarts had been exhausting. Cold — even colder than usual, grey, and dark. It felt as if she were always busy: again, even more than usual. She'd already had a busy schedule, rigorously maintaining a strict routine full of extracurriculars, making sure it was perfectly arranged, but something about the shorter days and longer nights made it weigh heavier. Then, she was met with the prospect of the year ending. December crawling to a close meant her first year at Hogwarts was almost halfway through: four out of ten months finished. It had put her in a sort of nostalgic mood, though not the typical kind of bittersweet memories and quiet reminiscing. No, Esme recounted the past four months, and felt nothing but deep seated nausea. It seemed every month brought with it a new set of troubles. Her (frankly embarrassing) crisis over being sorted into Slytherin in September, meeting Merrick and being appointed prefect in October, and the past two months she spent feeling half-dead and walking around the school's esteemed corridors like a zombie. For all those reasons, Esme probably should have felt happy about getting to go home for winter break. It was a promise of warmth, of rest, of time spent with her family, both close and distant. She'd be able to sing properly, uninterrupted, unlike in the Hogwarts rehearsal room; and she had missed her parents, even if she got to see them over the exeat weekend in November. The new year promised the usual ski trip with her cousins, too; all things pleasant and warm, hot chocolate with proper whipped cream, freshly fallen snow, probably a fire pit over New Year's Eve. Still, there was one blight staining the prospect of a perfectly pleasant winter break: the 5th Annual Hestridge Brewing Company Winter Charity Gala. … what a mouthful, Esme wanted to huff whenever the thought of the gala rudely inserted itself into whatever calm train of thought she was trying to lead. It's not like she didn't know about it: it had been a part of her life since she was six. Even if, it wasn't like her parents would have sprung this up on her without warning. Her gown had been prepared weeks in advance, invitations had gone out two months ago, and she knew personally that this had been in the works far longer than that. Her parents, for reasons still unknown to her, actually enjoyed these events. For Esme, the Gala was a whole ordeal, for lack of a better term. Getting dressed up was fun, and… that was about it. After that, everything was a play she had both rehearsed a thousand times before and felt like she was improvising on the spot. She had long replaced every instinct to slouch with the one to keep her back straight, calculated every word and phrase down to exactly when she should take pauses to breathe in conversation. Etiquette was etched into the walls of her skull; still, every event brought with it a slew of names to memorize, and three hundred different guests to greet and chat with — each of them a variable she couldn't account for, no matter how hard she tried. And, well, she had tried. It wouldn't be a complete disaster, Esme knew that. Both sets of grandparents were in attendance tonight, and she really didn't see the ones living in Italy quite as often. Furthermore, her cousins were here. The Bianchis had arrived in the morning via the floo network, and their presence had been a godsend for Esme's quickly amounting dread. While Concetta and Antonio were helping Esme's own parents fuss over the last of the set up, Esme got to spend time with her cousins. She took a snowball to the back of her head in the process, but it was worth it, considering the rather calming effect everyone’s presence had on her, and the fact she would have her hair washed and styled later on anyways. Now, later on had come, and while her older cousins were already at their table, Esme was spending the last of the free time she would have today with the youngest of the Bianchi children, Stella. Her hair had indeed been washed and was freshly styled, half of it pinned in the back with a silver ornament; she was in her dress and heels already, too, the last free moments slowly slipping by. At least for now, she wasn't expected to be greeting guests with her parents downstairs, a fact Esme was more than grateful for, considering it allowed her to spend the few moments before the clock hit six with her favourite cousin. They sat together in Esme's room upstairs, Esme's back already rigidly in a line, Stella leaning back on the bed. The sound of the band could be heard coming from the ballroom downstairs already, instruments amplified ever so subtly with the use of magic. The room was quiet otherwise; they had been playing chess — Esme couldn't remember who suggested it. It didn't matter now — both of them had grown rather bored, attention drifting away until a comfortable silence was all that remain. Esme found her shoulders raising involuntarily, brought together as if with a tense rubber band. She forced them back down momentarily, taking care to unclench her jaw, staring at the half-finished game of chess. “Knight to F4,” Esme cleared her throat, watching the enchanted figure lift itself off its current space and take out one of Stella's bishops. “And that's mate in two.” She didn't let Stella get a reply in, abruptly standing up, fingers clenching and unclenching as she tried to settle the nerves in her stomach. “We should probably go.” She didn't sound nearly as casual as she had wanted to. Finding no resistance on Stella's part, they made their way down the staircase, passing through the entry hall quickly before any of their parents could catch and bother them. Entering the ball room, neither of them needed to even look at the seating chart to know where they were seated. While Concetta and Antonio and Nora and Thomas sat together, along with both the Cavaleri and the Hestridge grandparents, their children got a table to themselves. Elio, Fran, Giulia, and Lotta were already seated, currently busy laughing at a joke Fran had made. Esme only looked down, stepping around the table to find her place card. Predictably, it was next to Stella, which brought a small smile to her face as she took her seat, leaning back. Her nose quickly wrinkled, however, when she spotted an extra spot next to herself. Usually, there would have been six chairs arranged around the round table. Everyone was sat in order: Elio and Francesca, the oldest twins, then Giulia, Carlotta, Stella, and finally, next to her, Esme. Six of them in a neat circle, Esme always found herself between the oldest and the youngest of the Bianchi kids; now, however, to her left, where she expected to see Elio, there was an empty seat. The moment she decided to lean over and look at the place card there, her entire face fell. Cecilia Merrick, in neat cursive, a little swoop at the “k”. Esme could feel all expectations she might have had of a vaguely positive evening come crashing down as if her ribs themselves were collapsing. Who did this? Was it her father, hoping to encourage a further friendship between the two? And didn't Cecilia have some guardians of her somewhere to sit with? Why was she suddenly being given a seat at the family table? That tactless, rude, deceptive fox of a girl was not her family. Stella said something that Esme now realised was a question, and she was shaken out of her thoughts. “Sorry,” she cleared her throat, turning back to her cousin; a smile forced tight onto her face. “You were saying?”  action. none for now. open for interactions! stamina. 5 evasion. 4 strength. 2 wisdom. 7 arcane power. 5 accuracy. 7 wc. 1340 notes. small double post, just to get things started. ✧✦✧ |
H |
thales amaro. second year castelobruxo quidditch. |
katherine townsend. professor of charms, former thunderbird. |
The 5th Annual Winter Charity Gala
date: Dec. 27th, 2025
outfit:
Reducio
@Rosaline Everhart
word count: 993 words
speaking/thinking:
0042A9 / 80A7FF
please owl me for interactions!
Leo was pleased to see the ground covered with snow when he woke up but then was reminded he had to attend an important fancy party with his parents that evening. He hated having to be dragged along to all of the parties and events his parents were invited to, especially since his siblings managed to usually find ways of getting out of them. This time as well his grandmother wasn’t going to attend so he was going to end up having to find something to pass the time while there. He was pretty sure they had attended the event the year before and knew the family was fairly influential, based off of how his parents were acting about the importance of the event. They told him there would be other children his age there this time as well which didn’t really excite him since he might not know anyone there in the end anyways.
He honestly cared very little for these parties and knew from a young age that his parents only attended to keep up appearances with other wealthy and influential wizarding families. It was a bleak reminder also that he had very little freedom. Everything he, and his siblings, did was strictly curated by his parents so they would be able to brag during events such as this. He knew they would be going on about Maya’s travels and Max’s auror training, more than likely keeping Leo out of the conversation unless asked and even then they would exaggerate his accomplishments at Hogwarts. Still he did not dare disappoint his parents so, much to his dismay, he got dressed up in the suit his mother had laid out for him. Black dress pants and black shoes, a blue suit jacket over top of a black vest and white button up shirt. He made sure his hair was neat, splitting his bangs down the middle and brushing them to each side so they were out of his face, something his mother very clearly stated she wanted him to do.
His parents made it a point to arrive exactly on time, the Noxley’s never arrived late for an event. They were greeted by some staff at the front doors, ticking off their names on a list before they were ushered inside where more staff were there to take away their coats. Once his coat was taken, Leo looked around to see if he recognized anyone. People were still arriving so he didn’t spot anyone just yet. He followed behind his parents as they went over to greet the hosts, Leo giving a friendly nod and small smile before his parents went off to mingle, leaving Leo alone to wander the room.
Leo wandered around, glancing at the beautifully set tables and enchanting decor. Although he wasn’t a huge fan of these elaborate parties he did enjoy seeing all the lovely paintings and other trinkets that would be around the rooms in the large estates they visited. And, usually, it would include a large beautiful garden area. Leo made his way past some people talking and drinking from some champagne glasses to the terrace. Even though it was late December, cold and snow on the ground, outside with the heaters you almost couldn’t tell since they kept the space warm. He looked out over the snow covered grounds and sighed, it was going to be a long night.
After he straightened his suit jacket to make sure it was neat, Leo headed back inside after spending a few minutes outside. Some more people had begun to arrive and Leo looked around to see where he could hide for now. But as he was about to go start looking for his table he spotted Cecilia. Finally a friendly face amongst the crowd of strangers. He still was on a mission to find his table to sit down, mostly because he was starving and wanted to eat, but first he decided to greet his friend. As he made his way over to her, he took slower, quiet steps as he came up behind her. A smirk emerged onto his face and Leo went up and quickly raised his hands up to gently push Cece’s shoulders from behind to attempt to scare her. “Hello, Cece.” He said with a smile, chuckling at his own little mischief. “I didn’t realize you would be here, but it’s nice to see you nonetheless.” Leo said and looked around, “Where are you sitting at?” He asked, turning back to the girl. It was nice to see his friend there, even if they weren’t at the same table they could at least get to see each other a little bit throughout the night.
His parents left the group of people they had been talking to and he saw them gesture for Leo to follow them over to their table. “Well, that’s my cue sadly. I will see you later then. Good luck.” He chuckled softly before waving and turning to follow his parents. Leo followed behind his parents and watched as they found their seat markers that were placed on the table. Leo was quick to find his spot next to his father, with his mother seated on the opposite side of his father. He took his seat and was happy knowing that soon the empty plates in front of them would be filled with delicious food. Curious to who was sitting beside him, Leo leaned over to sneak a peak at the card but quickly sat back up straight when he heard his father call his name. He was pulled into a boring conversation with someone his parents knew, and who apparently had known Leo since he was a baby but he couldn’t remember who they were in the end. Leo tried to maintain a friendly smile as he acted like he was listening to the boring conversation, still curious to see who would be joining them at the table.
stats: STA. 5, EVA. 5, STR. 5, WIS. 5, ARC. 5, ACC. 5 ——————————————— metamorphmagus
Last edited by Leo Noxley on 2 Dec 2025, 02:39, edited 1 time in total.
Leo Noxley — pc ency
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Nadira Bakari — inpc staff ency
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Sakura Hirano — inpc ency
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| STA. 5 EVA. 5 STR. 5 WIS. 5 ARC. 5 ACC. 5 |
Metamorphmagus Year 1 |
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The 5th Annual Winter Charity Gala
Open to interaction.
Mentions: @Camille De Varenne | @Harlan Montgomery
If Harvey didn't have a good poker face the boy surely would have been walking around with a silly grin plastered across his lips. Everything about tonight's festivities had him feeling like he was right in his element. The glitz, the glam, the sheer amount of wealth that was present at the Hestridge estate had him feeling abuzz. Now, Harvey came from a life of prosperity and privilege, but even his grandfather's fortune looked small compared to all of this. Even though Harvey had done his best to keep a calm expression when they arrived his grandfather had to reprimand him for looking like "a little piggy rolling in you know what". But how could he not? This was everything that the boy dreamed of. Power, wealth, influence that would all last for generations. One day his surname would be woven in iron above the gates of his own estate. One day people would clamor to attend galas in his name, but for now he would simply try and enjoy the night.
To make things even more interesting, the gala was for the benefit of the British Part-Human Advocacy Foundation which made Harvey uniquely qualified to attend. He wasn't sure if any other half-breeds would be in attendance, but this would be quite the opportunity to make some serious connections with the upper crust of wizarding society. A lot had changed since his grandfather's days. The fact that Larnak was even invited to something like this was almost impossible even ten years ago. Harvey was a part of the first generation of half-breeds to be integrated into Hogwarts eligibility and he was determined to represent his unique nature flawlessly. Never again would people like himself be hidden away, not by goblin or wizard alike.
Enough of the serious thoughts though. Change like that would take years, perhaps decades, so for now Harvey might as well enjoy the evening for what it was. Unadulterated elegance! If the grounds of the Hestridge estate were delightful, the interior made Harvey feel like he was walking through a royal palace. The food looked like it was made by world famous chefs, the music filled the air without a single flawed note and every detail of the decor must have come from the hands of master craftsmen and women. The festivities were well underway and Larnak left Harvey to situate himself while he went off to run elbows with the elites of their world.
So, Harvey found his table and studied the place cards around the table. A smirk crossed his lips as he read the names. Tonight would surely be rather interesting...
Second Generation Character of Howard White
The 5th Annual Winter Charity Gala
When Koko had received an invitation to be a guest of honour at the well-known Hestridge family's 5th Annual Winter Charity Gala, the first thing she had done was reference with her well-to-do maternal family and ask for a quick run-down of the do's and don't's at an event such as this. Koko had moulded herself into a well-perceived member of the Leblanc family, with her residual surname the only reminder of the cadet branch of her birth. As much as she instinctively understood how to talk to people, how to soak up the limelight like a sponge did water, something had told her that the moniker 'guest of honour' required something a bit more refined – something she was glad to pursue, but nonetheless something that required additional research before she could put her understanding into practice.
The advice she received was quaint, which was unexpected. Just that candour was a virtue and that she should be aware of the Hestridge family's liberal reputation. That didn't faze her much – although the Leblancs were staunchly traditional, they obviously flirted with the idea of a hint of Veela blood every few generations for general splendour and glamour. Koko knew that all too well, but what other people did not know did not hurt them. She then took her family's advice with a grain of salt – candour could whack her atop the head and she still wouldn't give a rat's arse for the 'virtue' others preached. She'd dress prettily, have idle chatter, absorb the attention, and then head back to Cork for a much-needed eight hours of sleep.
That didn't mean she wasn't going to give this her all. The idea of 'dressing prettily' had her truly doing her best, which was quite a lot from the vain young woman. Her normally stick-straight blonde hair had been curled, with two sections from the top woven back into plaits that were pinned together with a sprig of holly. She had debated wearing red, her favourite colour, but had decided that a Christmasy green gown, off the shoulder and paired with matching gloves, left nothing to be desired. Of course, she paired this with satin heels of the same colour, fully intending not to be left at the same height as some of the first-years who would likely be in attendance. And last, make-up – contrary to what some who knew her might expect, she did not go all-out with the touch-ups, only providing herself with glittery eyeshadow, some eyeliner and her trademark red lipstick.
For the charity auction, Koko brought with her a signed Quaffle and a set of expensive perfumes. Although she was hardly a giving sort of individual, she figured that the Quaffle would hammer in the point of her being the guest of honour, and the perfumes would make a good impression. After all, this was her first time networking with a prolific wizarding family by herself. Call it adulting, call it pulling oneself up by one’s bootstraps – Koko just called it life.
When she arrived, she would greet the Hestridges with a healthy smattering of gratitude, platitudes and the items she had brought for the auction. Had she not been putting on kindness for a perfect first impression, her attention would have been snatched up by the beautiful lights on the grounds. The shimmering of the snow complemented everyone's outfits so pristinely, and Koko had to tear her gaze from the otherwise-captivating surroundings. She handed her long, black coat off to an unnamed member of the Hestridges' staff, and quickly turned back to Thomas and Eleonora. 'Truly, thank you for inviting me. Everything's so beautiful, and it's truly an honour to be able to support your mission.'
Everything about her would scream honesty even as she eschewed candour in favour of spinning saccharine lies. Charity was fine and dandy, but really not her thing. But the glitz and the glamour? As she made her way to the seat she was allotted – thankfully not near any of the youths – she couldn't help but smile, enamoured with the effort that had been put into the décor. She lingered near the table, not quite ready to be seated, and folded her gloved hands in front of her. Koko's amber gaze scanned the people already in attendance, and she was pleased to see that she did, in fact, recognise a few of them. She relieved a servant of a flute of champagne and lifted it to her lips, her eyes catching on the simply gorgeous amaryllis in the centre of the table. What a lovely touch.
Although she would not strike up conversation with anyone just yet (she was, of course, glad to simply people-watch), she was open to conversation.
open to interactions.
[pc] koko riddle · 'pour yourself a drink, put on some lipstick, and pull yourself together.'
'it always starts and ends with birds.' · cyrus darsel [inpc]
The 5th Annual Winter Charity Gala
date: 27th december 2025
time: 18:00
location: hestridge manor. canterbury, england.
roleplaying as livia machavariani
sta: 2 | eva: 10 | str: 0 | wis: 7 | arc: 8 | acc: 8
terrible presence
sta: 2 | eva: 10 | str: 0 | wis: 7 | arc: 8 | acc: 8
terrible presence
An invitation to any event spelled glamour for Livia's mother to revel in, food for her brother to enjoy and networking for her father to partake in. It was true that the Machavarianis thrived among their own kind; Livia herself was no exception. She could never truly feel at ease in social situations – aside from those governed by the rules she so desperately, almost religiously, followed. The Hestridge family's 5th Annual Winter Charity Gala would certainly prove to become one of those situations Livia could understand.
Livia assumed the worst had occurred before her arrival – while their house-elves had assisted Livia with her hair, her mother had emphasised every potential issue that might arise. Each tightening of the laces of her dress, each flower poked through her thick, twisted locks of hair, reminded her that this was not an occasion to observe the family of a girl she was fond of, but rather yet another social endeavour through which her family could network. The long-winded explanations and assumptions had nearly exhausted the young girl, who had required a refreshing glass of ice water to awaken her before the family left.
Canterbury was not situated far from Ewell; the beautiful cathedral city lay nearly due east of Livia's hometown. While in the carriage, the family remained largely silent. Everyone but Julian sat with rigid posture. Julian, with his mussed curls and pouty face and slightly-rumpled dress robes, slouched against the cushioned door and slept during the hour-and-a-half ride. When her mother was not looking, Livia stole glances at him to make sure he appeared comfortable.
They arrived not too early – just enough to suggest a predilection for promptness. Natela and Séamus had clad themselves in very refined, very solemn all black, while Julian donned a quaint (and, after his nap, rumpled) hat and suit with a dapper green waistcoat. Livia herself had been clothed in a black velvet dress (and shoes with a heel she wasn't yet certain how to handle) to match her parents, although a glance in the mirror at home had her worried she appeared more like a dead thing than a living girl. The flowers – snowdrops, which she had chosen herself to stay on-theme – in her hair would either uproot that assumption or would take it to the grave.
After leaving the carriage, Livia's parents greeted Esme's, and Livia dipped into a respectful curtsey, glancing at Julian for just a moment in hopes that he would show the Hestridges the same respect. He did not.
They entered, and it took much of Livia's self-control not to lose herself in the beauty with which the Hestridge family had decorated. Everything had been set out to perfection – every flower adorning the tables (some of which Livia was pleased to see she matched), every way the snowflakes dusting the ground shone and swirled, every blue light outside and warm light indoors breathed flawlessness. Already, Livia could see some of the Esme-ness peeking out from the décor; her friend was always strictly adherent to social etiquette, so, of course, the event set up by her parents would do the same.
Livia slipped her arm into the crook of her brother's elbow and began to guide him towards their table. As she walked, she noticed @Harvey Barrows, whose presence did bring just the slightest of smiles to her lips. If anyone was a kindred spirit to her, it was certainly Harvey, whose proclivity for propriety and exquisite understanding of couture always simply clicked with the girl. It went without saying that Harvey looked simply wonderful.
Livia scanned the crowd for other faces she might recognise. She avoided openly portraying her disdain of @Leo Noxley when she noticed him; they had not interacted much at school, but something about him grated against her nerves like Muggle sandpaper. Many of the other individuals who had arrived so far were older, the types of people her parents or older cousins might recognise, but whom Livia had not yet had the pleasure of meeting. Of those older-appearing individuals, Livia observed a lovely young woman (@Koko Riddle) acquire what seemed to be a flute of champagne. Although the alcohol did not interest Livia, the young woman's dress and gloves did – from where she was, Livia could not ascertain the fabric (nor the designer), but, perhaps later, she would need to inquire regarding the topic.
Should Esme herself notice Livia's appearance, she would offer a small flutter of her fingers in a wave. However, she sought not to interrupt the conversation her friend seemed to be having, and, finally, she arrived at the table that held the cards with her and Julian's names 'Ah, yes. Here we are, Julenka...' She trailed off and unlinked their arms, her eyes widening as her gaze caught on a different card. Not wanting to move it from its carefully-placed position, she slowly manoeuvred around the table. 'Oh, and Astra, it seems. She is one of the girls in my house at school. She is rather knowledgeable about squids.'
Livia would remain standing to allow her a better chance to search for any of her other friends – or disliked individuals – from school. Although she trusted the Hestridge family to have very well-refined taste in people to receive invitations, she couldn't help but wonder who would be in attendance.
open to interactions.
| [staff] jessamine lancaster even you cannot conquer the sun. | marina alacrán [inpc] her hair is kinda wild and free. |
The 5th Annual Winter Charity Gala
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"I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. |
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Reducio ooc notes pixel art by 泱 |
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Reducio stats sta: 6 | eva: 5 | str: 5 wis: 8 | arc: 7 | acc: 4 lovely creature |
The 5th Annual Winter Charity Gala
| C | date: 27/12/2025 location: Hestridge Estate, Canterbury |
mentioned: @Harlan Montgomery open for interactions |
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| CV | A few months ago, an invite to the Hestridge Charity Gala would have stirred in Camille about as much excitement as an expired éclair. Before term started, before a fateful meeting in Charms class that had altered his social orbit, the name carried no weight. Such events would just have been another obligation stamped onto his family’s calendar, another glossy expectation attached to his name and nothing more. That was before he’d met Esme Hestridge, the only daughter of the prestigious Hestridge household. They’d grown rather close during the term— as close as Camille allowed people to be. Perhaps it was fortunate, already knowing the general rundown of the business without having to memorize the important details on the way there. Her family were successful Potioneers, a topic he did not hope to breach, but he would do well enough to remember in case it would be raised in conversation.
The prior week, in preparations for the Gala, his father’s Swiss bankers had made the trip to De Varenne estate to deliver an ancient artifact: a helmet made of goblin silver, roughly estimated to be valued at fourteen thousand galleons. Though from the snippets of conversation he'd heard, they planned to raise the price to twenty; they’d never know the difference, the businessmen had discussed, and besides, it was for a good cause. "Goblins can't be trusted with goblin silver", his father reasoned, which was why they didn’t store all their heirlooms and treasures at Gringotts, a comment that ripped laughter among the adults. Meanwhile, Camille’s mind had irreversibly wandered to Harvey, the half-goblin he hated, and that bargain they’d made with the boy's grandfather. He’d abandoned it quickly; family politics had never been his forte, nor was sympathy. It was only his father's unceasing hypocrisy that sickened him. Despite himself, he was looking forward to the event and it was always a pleasure to see the part-veela. It was not with the usual dread at the prospect of spending another evening in his father's company that Camille approached the flying vehicle that would transport them to Canterbury. Partly, it was because his father expected him to be fully occupied with their guest, leaving little opportunity to cause trouble. That still left concerns, though Alain was not one of them. While waiting for the man in charge to arrive, his gaze darted pointedly at Harlan across from him, improbably handsome in a tailored black suit. Since Harlan had been invited to spend the holidays with their family, and Camille’s father did not think it wise to leave the teenager to roam the estate alone, the only option had been to give him proper attire and drag him along. Camille considered it a miracle that the older boy — comparable to a jungle man, the way sticks thrilled him— had allowed himself to be squeezed into a tuxedo at all, and even more baffling than his cooperation: how well he’d cleaned up. What Alain had forgotten was that he'd assigned Camille in the worst possible hands. Trusting a Gryffindor to behave was never a gamble worth taking. Harlan’s sudden proper appearance didn’t fool him, however; he still could not be trusted not to embarrass Camille just because he dressed the part of an aristocratic young man. Just twenty minutes earlier, Harlan had threatened him to tell everyone at the party that he was crushing on Harvey. He could only thank Merlin that his father hadn't been present to hear such a foul joke, no doubt he would have taken it for fact. Failing to even begin to imagine where the Gryffindor had conjured such an idea, his jaw had worked soundlessly. Finally, he'd hissed at him, "You're sick!" Livid and humiliated, he'd stormed off to his room. Camille was not the only one surprised by Harlan's appearance, even Beatrice, ever so clueless to Harlan's delusional infatuation all those years ago, not to mention his evil plans, gave him an appreciative smile and a compliment. "That suit really suits you," she told him, prompting an immediate eye-roll from her younger brother. "Yes, who would have thought," Camille drawled with barely contained bitterness, and without waiting for the interaction to reach its conclusion, turned on his heel with a dramatic flair and disappeared into the car. They left the Windsor estate at four-thirty sharp. Camille remained largely silent for the journey, too occupied planning how he could rein in Harlan’s inappropriate tendencies during the evening. Of course, the boy could behave when he wanted—but when Camille was involved, that rarely coincided with the right moments. For reasons beyond him, Harlan took immense enjoyment in watching him squirm. They arrived an hour and a half later, fashionably late but far from last. Camille stepped out to find an impossibly polished estate, its lawn pristine beneath untouched snow—exactly what one expected from a family of prestige. Camille pulled his coat tighter around himself as they slowly walked across the gravel path. The exterior was decorated with lanterns and soft light, guiding them toward the luxurious double-doors. By the entrance, a clerk checked off their names on the guest list while another attended to their coats. Somehow, he felt colder now than during the walk from the car. The temperature reached more comfortable levels inside the ballroom, which was even more glamorously decorated than the grounds. Camille took a second to admire the view, briefly, before he was already on the search for a familiar face. Blonde hair drew his gaze, landing on one stunning young woman in the crowd, though not the hosts' daughter, far too tall and old to be the first year Slytherin he knew. Another veela, he concluded—her presence explained, at least, by the charity’s purpose. As soon as they'd arrived, Alain quickly disappeared with the prepared donation. If he was fortunate, it was the last time he saw the man that evening, with his habit of wandering off. His mother and siblings entered further into the ballroom to mingle with other like-minded adults, meanwhile Camille was, once again, alone with Harlan. Whatever mischief the boy was plotting, assuming his evil mind never came to rest, Camille cut it off: "Don't even think about it." After the long drive there, he was certain Harlan must have come up with more wretched pranks than just spreading rumors about a false infatuation. The younger boy glowered at him, no further explanation needed to convey his dismay. |
CV |
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ability: lovely creature dialogue: #0a2a28 |
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action: Beefing with Harlan Arriving to the gala |
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Ilias Lahlou | Ilvermorny
The 5th Annual Winter Charity Gala
───────── T H E x W I N T E Rx C H A R I T Y x G A L A ────────
[ 27th December, 2025 ; evening ]───────────────────────────────
𓍼
XXXXXX𝕳cience says time travel is not possible. Emotions say otherwise. Memories have always been the closest thing we have to a portal, quiet and unassuming, waiting for the right trigger. A scent lingering too long in the air. A particular slant of light through a window. A place you had once sworn you would never return to. Suddenly you are not where you are anymore. You are somewhere else entirely, somewhere softer or sharper, somewhere that once mattered too much. The present dissolves. The future stops asking questions. And you are back inside the moment your heart never really let go of.More often than not, it is memory that keeps us from moving forward. Not because we want to stay, but because it keeps pulling us back without asking permission. The same images replay, over and over, like a broken record stuck on the same aching note. There is no switch to turn it off. No manual. No neat instructions on how to leave that place behind and rejoin the world as it keeps moving without you. And even when you do manage it, even when you finally tune yourself back into the rhythm of reality, what are you meant to do when the past finds you again anyway? When it shows up uninvited, breathing and real, asking to be acknowledged?
Violence was stuck in that loop. Only she was no longer at the part where memory quietly haunted her. She was at the part where it had stepped out of her head and into her life again. Brutally. Without warning. Without mercy. She had forced herself to move on from Azzure. Forced being the operative word. She had done everything she was supposed to do. She had given it time. She had let herself hurt. She had spent months retraining her body to exist without Azzure’s touch, without the way her presence had once settled into Violence’s bones like it belonged there. Months practising how to sleep without Azzure’s voice brushing against her ears, sweet and low and too familiar. Months pretending that unlearning someone was the same thing as healing.
And just when she had finally allowed herself to feel grounded again, to exist fully in the present without flinching at every reminder, Azzure had appeared. Unannounced. Like she had never left at all. Violence had not been given the luxury of avoidance. There had been no polite distance, no time to prepare. She had been forced to talk to her, to see her, to hear the same voice she had spent months trying to forget. It slipped back into her senses far too easily, whispering the same soft nothings it always had. Violence had frozen. She had said nothing. Done nothing. She had let herself be held, had let herself feel that familiar warmth, and then, just as suddenly, Azzure was gone again.
Violence had known what that meant. She had known it the moment the space beside her felt empty. Gone. Again. What was she supposed to be to Azzure? A mistake? A comfort? An emotional refuge to retreat into whenever things got difficult? Violence’s chest tightened every time the question surfaced. She thought back to the ball, to the way Azzure had been hurt, the way Violence had stepped in without hesitation, had taken care of her because that was what she did. It had been physical, yes, but it had still mattered. Violence had been hurt by it. Offended. This was not some harmless misunderstanding. It was not something you brushed aside and laughed about later.
They had decided to meet after the ball. Together. Just a few days later. Not months. Not silence stretched thin and unbearable. Two months had passed before Azzure had come back, and for what? To finally talk things out? Violence had barely believed what she was hearing. One sentence had bled into the next, voices raised, words sharp and careless, and suddenly Violence found herself standing in the Bloodthorn Mansion with no clear memory of how Azzure had ended up there at all. The conversation replayed in fragments in her head. She remembered feeling light-headed, distant, like she might black out at any second. She remembered Azzure’s face, too close, too familiar. Everything after that felt blurred at the edges.
The four days that followed were strange. Interesting, in the vaguest and most unsettling way possible. Explaining Azzure’s presence at the mansion gates had been a task in itself. Violence had expected questions, suspicion, raised brows. Instead, her parents had been gentle about it. Curious, yes, but kind. They did not pry. They did not demand explanations she did not yet have. For that, Violence was grateful beyond words. When she found out that Azzure had also been invited to the annual gala her parents attended every year, she had known instantly that she would not be sitting this one out. For five years now, Artemis, Drakon, Lilith and Xander had attended the Hestridge Brewing Company’s charity gala without fail. Violence and Sébastien usually spent that time at the Nightmist Estate in Paris, tucked away with Seraphina and Roman, away from the expectations and polite conversations.
It was on the twenty-fourth that Artemis had come into Violence’s room. Vi, Sébastien and Azzure had been sprawled across the bed in various states of comfort, half-talking, half-dozing, when Artemis gathered their attention. She explained that all of them would be attending the gala this year. They were old enough now, she said. It was time to socialise properly, to connect with the children of other influential families. It would also help her own plans. Artemis was in the process of starting her own brewing company, and being closely associated with the Hestridges would draw attention and clients.
Violence had listened quietly, watching the way her mother’s eyes lit up when she spoke about it. She had understood immediately how much this meant to her. The twenty-seventh of December arrived in a blur. The mansion buzzed with activity from morning onwards. Stylists, designers, assistants, voices overlapping in every hallway. Outfits were chosen with care, fabrics adjusted, accessories debated. Hair and makeup alone took nearly three hours. Violence had rarely seen her mother this focused, this invested, and it made her chest ache in a strange, proud way.
She found Artemis in her room as she was getting dressed and hugged her tightly. “I love you, Mum. I am really glad you are finally showing the world how good of a potioneer you are. You are going to do amazing tonight, I promise.” Artemis smiled, eyes soft. “Thank you, sweetheart. I needed to hear that. I love you too. Now go get your hair done and check if your girlfriend is ready.” Violence stopped dead in her tracks. Heat rushed to her cheeks. “Mum, wait, what? Azzure is not my girlfriend, Merlin.” Her voice rose despite herself, defensive and sharp. “Everybody needs to stop saying that.” She left the room in a huff, heart pounding in her chest for reasons she did not want to unpack.
Back in her room, Azzure was getting ready. The sight of her slowed Violence instantly. The scars along her collarbone were still visible, pale against her skin, and Violence felt something in her soften without permission. “You look really pretty,” she said quietly. Violence moved closer, words spilling out easily, too easily. She talked about her dress, about the designer, about how her mother had insisted everything be custom-made. She talked because being quiet felt dangerous. She loved spending time with Azzure in the mansion. Whatever had broken between them seemed to fade when they were together like this, alone in her room. The same bed she had cried into for months now held Azzure’s weight.
A knock interrupted them. Sébastien appeared instead of the stylist, fully dressed and grinning. Violence groaned. “You are not my stylist. Go away.” He laughed and flopped onto the bed, making it wobble. “Hello to you too, my dear sister. You look really pretty. So do you, Azz”, Sébastien was always this way, complimenting everybody; the compliments easy and genuine. Violence asked after Aunt Lilith’s hair, already half-panicking about being the last one left. She knew she was whining. She also knew she did not care. With Sébastien and Azzure, the rules loosened. The rigid etiquette she wore like armour elsewhere slipped away. Eventually, everyone was ready. They gathered around the Portkey, and moments later found themselves standing before a grand estate dusted with snow. The evening air in Canterbury bit sharply at Violence’s skin. Lights lined the cleared path, candles glowing softly, and the whole place looked unreal, like something lifted from a dream. She was reminded of Paris, of Nightmist, and felt a familiar tug of nostalgia.
Inside, the warmth was immediate. Coats were taken, names checked, and they were ushered into the hall. Violence murmured observations to Sébastien in French,“Grandma and grandpa would have loved this!”, apologising to Azzure for slipping into French when she mentioned her grandparents.
The ballroom stole her breath. Light poured in through tall windows, chandeliers casting gold across polished floors. Lilith asked Artemis to talk to the Hestridges before the event officially began. Artemis, Drakon and Violence approached the Hestridges while the others took their seats. Violence spotted Esme at a nearby table. Something about her posture felt off. The forced smile did not escape her notice. She made a mental note to check on her later.
Artemis introduced Violence to Thomas and Eleonora Hestridge. “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Hestridge. The place looks really amazing!” Violence smiled, making small talk and nodding as they replied, but her eyes wandered despite herself. She found Azzure across the room, seated between Sébastien and an empty chair that was clearly meant for her. Warmth spread through her chest before she could stop it.
“Violence, sweetheart, you can admire Azzure when you’re sitting beside her, okay? Let’s go to the table first?” Drakon’s teasing comment made her blush furiously. She denied it, of course, deflecting, pretending she had only been counting chairs, “Dad, I was just looking at the chairs, God. See, there are more than three empty seats at the table. We’ve been seated with someone else.”
When they finally reached the table, Violence sat down beside Azzure and leaned closer, murmuring an apology for the delay. She explained her mother’s plans, the importance of the connections. Then she leaned back, letting herself breathe. For tonight, at least, she allowed herself to believe everything might be okay. As long as Azzure and Sébastien were with her, Violence thought, the night might just be perfect.
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XXXXXx action ; talking to the Hestridges, taking a seat notes ; ASK for interactions mentions ; @Azzure Solace ; @Esme Hestridge outfit ; gown abilities ; prod. potions 𓍼 charmer |
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Last edited by Violence Bloodthorn on 15 Jan 2026, 19:19, edited 3 times in total.
The 5th Annual Winter Charity Gala
A figure draped in black stepped out of the night. Long coat trailing behind him as he approached, he blended into the darkness of the evening, lit only by the fleeting flickers of the moon as it shifted amongst the clouds. Running his hands through hair of the same colour he felt a little looser as his shoulders relaxed and his lips pursed in thought. With more drama than called for, he flicked his coat and allowed it to flutter behind him in the wind as he reached the estate.
He paused before the gate.
Delicate fingers shown pale in the low moonlight as they reached up to the collar to adjust the tie, checkered with greys of different shades and stripes of white. Loosening the hold the fabric had on his neck he let out a long, decisive breath as his fingers snuck down to the buttons of the waistcoat, the same unforgiving colour as the rest of his apparel, and unbuttoned each one one after the other, movements slow with calculation. When they reached the bottom, his hands pivoted into his pockets, fitting snugly into their depths as he stared out into the night and the lights of the gala.
Then, a pair of boots clicked faintly on the pavement leading up to the entrance of the manor, towering over him, imposing. The notion of mingling was exactly that, and Archer shuddered to think of the horrors that laid inside.
And he had thought he had gotten better at being less of a wallflower this year.
Straightening himself, he placed one foot on the front steps, then another, until he had reached the open door.
“Archer Duncan,” he said, voice steady, coming out deeper than he had expected. He watched passively as his name was checked off, and refused with a careless wave of the hand when an arm was extended for his coat. He wasn’t quite so ready to shed that layer of protection yet. Instead, one hand shot up to wrap to coat tightly around himself, face half a mask of anxiety, half a mask of anticipation. His brows furrowed slightly, lips an unreadable, thin line. His eyes scanned the foyer and a sigh escaped his mouth. Another night, sure to be accompanied by another nightmare. It merely made a change of clothes.
He politely turned away from the song and dance of conversation, offering only a few cordial words and nothing more. He walked briskly, as he always did, never stopping to gawk or search, yet his eyes secretly observed his surroundings, scrutinising. Signs pointed him to the ballroom, and even though it was the last place he wanted to go, he heeded to their instructions. His heart was heavy.
That was until he saw the seating chart, and halted suddenly in front of it. Quickly scanning the diagram for his, he located himself to Table 5, and let out a small gasp of pleasure.
Prat Pass.
What a saviour of a name; he was glad there was someone else sane here.
Suppressing a small smile, he continued his walk into the main ballroom, now a slight strut edging onto his steps. Archer’s eyes were not snagged by the glittering chandeliers, did not bother to stop to admire. He spied a few familiar faces among the crowd—some he would consider greeting, others he was not as pleased to see. But his attention was not diverted by any of them, and instead he continued his swift gait to the table he was meant to occupy. Upon arrival, he would disappointedly find it empty.
Lowering his head and hurrying away, he scolded himself for expecting too much.
Instead, he turned his eyes towards the north of the room, where large glass doors led to the terrace. He needed the cold.
Except no cold hit him as he pushed open the grand doors. As he let out a long breath of a sigh, he saw a huff in the air in front of him yet felt no chill down his body. Heating spells—typical. He took a few uncertain steps forward, the terrace empty and quiet except for his very own footfalls. He pressed his body onto the railing.
Darkness enshrouded him once more.
owl/dm for interactions unless Prat/Evpraksiya/Lyanna | Banner by Pericles Dralt
I am not even singed. My wings are untouched. You use them for everything, except flight.
Liliya Starkova| Anthonie Engelbrecht
Liliya Starkova| Anthonie Engelbrecht