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Freestyle Roleplaying / Re: The Highlights of Tonight | Virtue Hir
« Last post by Virtue Hir on Today at 00:28 »Her dress for the night was particularly lovely, stitched up from red velvet with long sleeves and bright white lace that was charmed to shimmer subtly the way snow did in lamplight. The man at the door had said she looked prettier than a princess, which even at seven had made the girl roll her eyes. Contrary to what the storybooks had to say about it, any of the princesses she had seen actual photographs of were terribly plain, and Virtue Hir (especially in her red velvet dress with its shimmering white lace) was anything but that.
Other than being able to wear her dress (which, obviously, came with its own set of drawbacks), there wasn’t much good about these kinds of things. Already, she had suffered through a boring soup course where Mr. Pontouffe had talked about his Cairo affairs, and his wife (Mrs. Pontouffe, of course) had talked for most of mains about stodgy old Ms. (she said her title like an insult) Saundersferry at the Natural History Museum and how terribly inconvenient it was that she was a muggle, for, why, if she only knew the half of it. By the time the men in the sort of fancy suits came to take away that round of plates, Virtue was considering mutiny.
Save for cake.
Her red velvet dress not withstanding, desserts were the only thing that made dinners like this with her parents worth it at all, for the desserts, like the rest of it, were marvelously fancy. The Hir girl held her palms together like prayer as the men in their sort of fancy suits reemerged with their trays and trays of little cakes. Tonight, it seemed like the prettiest was coming to her plate. Without even waiting for the grown ups, she picked up the correct fork, ready to dig in until a whispered voice gave her pause.
“Don’t eat this?” After a cursory glance at the grown-ups--none of them seemed to hear the voice, or see boy it was attached to, getting his pants dirty on the floor--she shot a whisper and a glance at the source of the noise. Her fork hovered, glistening, in her hand. “Are you quite daft?”
Other than being able to wear her dress (which, obviously, came with its own set of drawbacks), there wasn’t much good about these kinds of things. Already, she had suffered through a boring soup course where Mr. Pontouffe had talked about his Cairo affairs, and his wife (Mrs. Pontouffe, of course) had talked for most of mains about stodgy old Ms. (she said her title like an insult) Saundersferry at the Natural History Museum and how terribly inconvenient it was that she was a muggle, for, why, if she only knew the half of it. By the time the men in the sort of fancy suits came to take away that round of plates, Virtue was considering mutiny.
Save for cake.
Her red velvet dress not withstanding, desserts were the only thing that made dinners like this with her parents worth it at all, for the desserts, like the rest of it, were marvelously fancy. The Hir girl held her palms together like prayer as the men in their sort of fancy suits reemerged with their trays and trays of little cakes. Tonight, it seemed like the prettiest was coming to her plate. Without even waiting for the grown ups, she picked up the correct fork, ready to dig in until a whispered voice gave her pause.
“Don’t eat this?” After a cursory glance at the grown-ups--none of them seemed to hear the voice, or see boy it was attached to, getting his pants dirty on the floor--she shot a whisper and a glance at the source of the noise. Her fork hovered, glistening, in her hand. “Are you quite daft?”
