lucius malfoy 🐍 (leucistic) wrote in raveled, @ 2016-12-03 01:21:00 |
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It took Lucius a good ten minutes and several passes through the well-dressed crowd of St Mungo's patrons (and more than a few Ministry officials both on and off his to-do list) before he circled back to Rodolphus, a flute of champagne in each hand. "Enjoying yourself?" He thrust one towards him, voice light, but cut by the very slightest smirk as he took a sip from his own. "Yes," said Rodolphus in what could best be described as a bald-faced lie. He'd never realised the burden in-laws could be, and though he didn't feel any real sympathy for his mother in dealing with his uncles, he could see how one might. Lucius wasn't so bad by comparison with that admittedly low bar. He'd even brought champagne. On the cusp of pretending he'd had a social encounter while Lucius circled, he instead utilised a tactic from his marriage playbook: pivot. "Who were you speaking with?" Fortunately for Rodolphus, Lucius loved any opportunity to talk about his many connections. (Though he could hear his father scolding him for boasting like some Half-blood social climber.) "It'd be easier to ask whom I haven't." He pointed to a wizard who was wearing a (tacky) burgundy hat from last season. "That's Quintus Evermonde, Head of the Floo Network Authority." Then, "And you see that witch? She's the Head Healer of the Spell Damage floor here." Of course it went unspoken that both connections had proven useful for more than just party conversation. "But," and he smirked again, "social butterfly like you, surely you've been speaking to more interesting folk?" While he was certainly not recruited for his family's many connections (thank Merlin for Rabastan), Dolph nonetheless was capable of objectively appreciating the role they played in the war. He nodded as Lucius detailed his many genteel exploits, turning the practical benefits of each over for later strategising. He was still nodding as Lucius turned the tables. Oops. "Surely." He took a very long drink of his champagne and then looked back at the crowd without elaborating. Lucius stood there for a moment, staring at Rodolphus and waiting for him to go on and list at least one name. When it didn't come, his smirk didn't falter even once as he followed his gaze into the crowd and lightly touched him on the arm. "Well, why don't you introduce me to your friends then?" he said coolly, shoving his champagne flute into the face of a passing waiter as he strode forward. Of course, he already knew who they were, but he wasn't going to let that on. "I'm always dying to meet new people." Rodolphus pinked around the edges. They both knew the only people he'd spoken to were those rare socialites who chose to make first contact with the "aloof" Lestrange. His own flute dangled aimlessly in his fingers. He recognised that brunette. Flobberbloom. Flitterbane. Banderflume. It was useless. "Don't be so maddening, Lucius. Tell me something interesting about her." He pointed with the glass. "Me? But you're the one introducing me to her. How am I supposed to know anything interesting about a stranger?" "You're not very convincing," Rodolphus said, finally relinquishing his glass to a passing server. He reached for a cigarette, then remembered himself. No wonder everyone at soirées drank so much. "I doubt there's anyone in here you haven't met." Well, Lucius couldn't argue with that. He sighed dramatically as he helped himself to a glass of wine (courtesy of the Malfoy vineyards in Wiltshire, of course, his father had made sure of it) from the nearest table, sloshing it around before taking a sip. "Why don't you choose the venue next time then, dear brother?" For once, he smiled good-naturedly, though it didn't look that way with his cold, pointed features; in fact, he may have looked just as malicious as ever. "There will be plenty of people I've never met there, surely." Rodolphus considered this offer. He'd had more than enough practice being needled to handle Lucius Malfoy. "Gladly." "This way." It was amazing how a change of setting could transform Rodolphus Lestrange from the least approachable person in a room to the most—or, well, a solid middling. He guided his brother-in-law through a crush of bodies of every shape and size and level of hygiene, most wizards but some clearly Other: a hag with a missing eye, conjoined goblins in a gold-stitched waistcoat, a centaur flaunting a turquoise tie pin and matching inlaid teeth. Ill-at-ease in most crowds, he moved fluidly against this current, avoiding conversations and collisions and deftly picking his way to their seats. They were at the front; raw metal benches five rows deep formed the edges of a rough cement 'ring'. One place had R-A-L scratched into its surface. Another said guest. Besides that one, a pregnant witch held a selkie in a jar. Dolph glanced at Lucius. "Take mine." The main thought running through Lucius' head was that his father wouldn't hear about this, because he could already imagine Abraxas Malfoy's reaction to the idea of him patronising such a place. (Unless he was able to procure valuable connections out of it, which seemed laughable with this lot of riff-raff.) He took one quick glance at the witch next to 'his' seat and could not have jumped into Rodolphus' quickly enough, though not before he'd cast a discrete cleaning spell and laid out a silk handkerchief. "So do you come here often?" he asked delicately, as if making small talk at one of his fancy parties, knowing it was silly when Rodolphus had his own monogrammed seat. "As time allows." Rodolphus said, leaning back to shake hands with a severe looking man in the next row. He recognised small talk on occasion, or at least respected Lucius enough to assume he wouldn't ask that in earnest. The bell was already ringing, sending the crowd's chatter into an excited, fervent pitch. "Lucius." He spoke in an afterthought, brow creasing. "You spill-proofed your shoes?" "I ..." It wouldn't do for a Malfoy to look anything less than perfectly composed, so it was with a smirk straining slightly under the veneer of Lucius' usual smugness that he asked, "Now why would I ever have to do that?" (All while hoping that he'd at least get to throw something unpleasant at Dobby later after this was all over.) "Hm—" Rodolphus appeared momentarily distracted by the fight, but an answer came sooner than expected. One contender—a man with malformed bird-wings crammed into his suit jacket—swung oafishly at his opponent: a woman taller and thicker than even Rodolphus. His fist broke with a dull thud. She swung back and the crowd 'ooh'ed appreciatively. Dolph clapped politely… but his eyes were on Lucius's shoes. And the bloody tooth thereupon. "Well. They say it's good luck…" |