Gabrielle entered the ballroom in a grey pencil dress that hugged every tiny curve and left nothing to the imagination. Fleur, of course, had loved it. Gabby usually preferred something more flashy, but Fleur had splashed onto the London scene and now the papers called her a whore every week. Perhaps it was better to be a little bit mysterious, to wear grey to her first gala and ease into the social scene. She, certainly, did not want to be the second French whore in London.
She had stalwartly refused to go anywhere with William the dog lover, as much as Gabrielle adored her sister, and so she entered pointedly ahead of them. She would meet up with Fleur later. Hopefully when she gained some sense. Gabrielle glanced around at the people already there- a few of the Quidditch players she recognized from the papers, a few people she recognized from Bill and Fleur's wedding, though that had been years ago.
Gabrielle made her way toward the bar- some wine would be lovely tonight, though she doubted it would be as good as the wine at home- but then a girl was turning and barking at her, complaining about how much her dress cost.
"il ne pouvait pas avoir coûté tant que ça, il semble très bon marché pour moi," Gabrielle started, reflexively, then stopped, offered a tight smile, and tried to think of the right English words. "Excusez-moi.If maybe your expensive dress was being fitted better to you it would not drag on the floor, comme ça," she said, with a helpful gesture to the hem of Tracey's gown.