Guinevere and...?

[Gwenda Cadwallader]

Open to a male guest whose costume involves a mask.

• Self-conciously, Gwenda tugged at her neckline—not for the first time that evening. While it (fortunately) hadn’t journeyed south while she had been dancing, she had realized the moment she stepped out of the carriage—perhaps excitement had previously blinded her to it?—how low-cut her outfit really was. It was of beautiful fabric and well-crafted, and had (delightfully) bothered her mother, but as the evening wore on, its immodesty had begun to tug at the debutante’s nerves.
  
  Still, dressing as Guinevere of Camelot had been a no-brainer to Gwenda—why should a Welshwoman dress as anything but another Welshwoman (that her mother hadn’t wanted to pay for dragonfly wings had also been a factor, and the main cause for her subtle rebellion now). Still, when she was not worrying about her attire, the brunette had been enjoying her evening thus far, particularly the detail of the scenery! Her father’s fox hunt had been enjoyable (anything on a horse was!) but the witch wished had had had added something as enjoyable as a ball to his calendar.
  
  She was distracted from her concern by a masked gentleman asking her to dance. With the band having recently left the ‘stage’ the crowd on the dance floor had dispersed as the centaur began to play again. “I do not think the band will return for at least another twenty minutes,” she replied, brown eyes trying to suss out who might be behind the mask, with little luck. “But I might consent upon their return.”
  
  Though the words left her mouth with a teasing tone, they served an ulterior purpose: Gwenda was a pleasant girl, but did not wish to dance with a man she could not recognize; the delay, she hoped, would allow time for introduction—or at least puzzling out.

  

[John Fontaine]

And so...Here he was....John really hadn't wished to be here...At all. But his younger sister had nagged and insisted and dragged him. He'd even been informed that he couldn't read a book in the corner the entire night. Plus, he'd needed to dress up. What a pain. Although he supposed this was a good enough opportunity to meet people. He was expected to marry for the family at some point. And yeah...He hadn't really been working on that....At all.

His sister had escaped to do..whatever the heck most social people did at these events. Dance or something? Should he try that? Well...He supposed he might as well try.

John found a girl that he supposed was pretty enough with a very nice dress. The important thing was that she was alone so he figured he wouldn't be disturbing her by his somewhat awkward self. His social graces should be much better than they were given his upbringing but well...He simply didn't care enough. At least he'd been taught enough to get that he was awkward.

Hoping to kill time thinking this could in some way be considered a vain attempt to locate a bride, he asked the woman for a dance.

And...Rejected. Kind of. She said maybe when they came back. Well...He supposed it wouldn't be a big loss one way or the other.

"It is of course up to the lady. I only thought that perhaps you too were bored and could use a distraction."

  

[Gwenda Cadwallader]

• Gwenda frowned slightly—it was not a voice she recognized, and she had hoped that his words might have been a giveaway. Why would a stranger wish to dance without first introducing himself? It was nearly maddening!
  
  But then her frown gave way to a tentative, curious smile. If he thought she needed a distraction, then he had surely provided one by way of a mystery. What better diversion was there than one that exercised the mind and helped people to become better acquainted.
  
  “I shall never dance with a stranger,” she offered soberly, her expression turning more mischievous as she added, “but I do like a bit of a guessing game.”
  

  

[John Fontaine]

John noticed the frown and tried to figure out what he'd done wrong. Had he been awkward already? Wasn't it normal to ask a woman at a masked ball for a dance? He'd tried to be polite. He certainly hadn't been rude!

She smiled and he relaxed a bit, offering a gentle smile himself. Good. Good. He hadn't screwed this up entirely. As much as he didn't care much for social graces he did not wish to upset anyone.

"Well what do you consider a stranger?" John asked curiously. "I suppose I could give you my name and it then could be said that technically we weren't strangers. But the name wouldn't mean anything to you, nothing at all. Then again people you've 'known' for years could be essentially complete strangers. People are so trying to impress and woo others. How well would you say you truly understood your fellow classmates or even distant relatives? Perhaps you could know me better in a shorter span of time."

  

[Gwenda Cadwallader]

• Gwenda’s brow furrowed. Though she liked to think herself clever, she was clever only in a superficial sense—his words went over her head entirely, and she was still none the wiser as to who this gentleman was!
  
  “A name would be helpful, but ruin the spirit of the game,” she said, hoping she did not sound too lost. “A hint, however would not go amiss!”

  

[John Fontaine]

It was difficult to tell with the mask but based on the girl's response, he was willing to bet he'd confused her. Unfortunate. He preferred the company of clever girls. But maybe he was being too judgmental.

He chuckled. "I'm not sure how much a hint would help as I've been away until very recently. But it's possible you know my sister. You do not look all that much older than her. She's a Ravenclaw by the name of Anne."

  

[Gwenda Cadwallader]

• Gwenda shook her head, rather dismayed. She scarcely knew any current Ravenclaws, and even if she did, she supposed she’d be more likely to remember them by their surnames than their Christian names. This was not at all as fun as she had hoped.