Well that was a clusterfuck if I ever saw one. I'm glad to see the fandom not letting jdumbass's shitty direction dictate whether or not we take future enjoyment out of this pastime. These characters are just as much ours as they are theirs. Just because they can't be happy on the show, doesn't mean they can't be happy here. Death is not the end because fiction is eternal.
Anyway, I hope you guys are doing a little better now. :)
The masquerade ball was in a weeks time. Mr. Hawkins promised to provide Clarke with an outfit should she require it. At first Clarke decided to refuse the generous offer, but then Octavia convinced her to accept. According to Octavia, one should never refuse gifts from handsome suitors, lest the refusal turn them off of the courtship. Besides, neither of them owned gowns fit for the type of ball they were going to be attending. Unless her friend managed to procure costumes in the same dubious way she had the men's clothing, they needed to take him up on his offer or look the fool in front of the cities most prestigious ilk. Octavia wasn't thrilled about attending a ball Mr. Hawkins had invited her to, but she was thrilled about the prospect of attending. She had never been to a ball before, neither had Lincoln, and Octavia was ecstatic about sharing many a dance with her betrothed. Clarke wondered if either of them actually knew how to dance, but she did not voice these concerns, confident the couple would practice beforehand if needs be, while chaperoned of course.
Meanwhile, Clarke spent hour upon hour sketching wedding dresses for her friend. She was never quite satisfied in the result. It was either too plain or too elaborate. Clarke had yet to ascertain that perfect blend of style and elegance. Octavia had made her laugh again after Wells' death, the least she could do was make her a dress fit for a queen. The sentiment was more in thought than practice. Though she and Monroe would be making the wedding dress free of gratuity, Octavia insisted on paying for the materials herself, or at least, with some of her brothers funds.
Sighing, she put her sketch book aside and stretched out the stiffness from her immobile limbs. She had been sitting for far too long today and decided a short five mile walk was in order. Her mother, who had likewise been engaged in reading, agreed to accompany her. As she donned her walking boots, Mr. Hawkins was announced at the front door. Her father was busy in his workshop, and her mother had gone upstairs to retrieve her hat, so she went over to greet him. Her mother returned shortly thereafter.
After their pleasantries were over he said, "I see you were about to take a stroll. I don't want to keep you from your afternoon constitutional, so I'll be brief." He looked specifically at her. "Are you prepared for the ball, Miss Griffin, or do you require me to aid you?"
"I believe Miss Blake and I do indeed require your services."
"Very well. I will see to it that you have the finest costumes present." He smiled. "Well, the host, Countess Woods, may exceed yours."
That's right, Clarke knew nothing about this woman, except for the idle gossip she had heard over the years from her mother's friends, and the terrible tragedy that had befallen her family. Countess Woods was from an incredibly affluent lineage, and her current wealth was astronomical, and far more than any one single person should lay claim to. Bachelors far and wide had attempted to secure her favour, but so far none had prevailed. As far as anyone knew, she had never even allowed a single one to court her. When Clarke happened to think of her, (which was rare since she had never even laid eyes on her) she pictured a tall, condescending woman adorned in luxurious silks, exotic furs, and fantastical gems the size of her fists. Generally the countess was riding on an elephant too. Clarke hardly thought she was the sort of person she would want to associate with, but that was likely unavoidable if she was the host of the ball.
Mr. Hawkins looked to her mother. "Madam, if you and your husband would also like to join our party, just say the word and I will have additional costumes made should you also require them."
Her mother mulled that over for a bit, before looking at Clarke. "Yes, I do believe, that would be agreeable. I will have to consult with Mr. Griffin first."
Clarke stifled the face she was about to make, not wanting her parents chaperoning her at the prestigious event. Mr. Hawkins noticed her displeasure all the same.
"If I were a mother, I would not want my only daughter to go off with a stranger."
"Perhaps we should rectify that issue, Mr. Hawkins," said her mother, giving him a shrewd look. "Perhaps you should accompany us on our walk so that we may get to know one another better?"
"It would be my pleasure to alleviate any and all concerns you may have about me." He gestured towards the door. "Shall we?"
What was supposed to be a pleasant afternoon stroll quickly became anything but. Her mother was relentless in her interrogation of Mr. Hawkins, though she did it with the utmost decorum and poise, as any proper lady would. Clarke would never admit it, but she was glad for this lengthy discourse. After Mr. Collins' deplorable behaviour, she too was suspicious of charming gentlemen, and Mr. Hawkins was perhaps even more agreeable than he. Certainly he appeared to be wealthier which was cause for concern on its own. Why would a well-to-do gentleman set his sights on someone from the middle class? Surely he could find many ladies from his own station that would take an interest? The fact that Mr. Hawkins was an older bachelor was also cause for concern. Why was it that he had not settled down and started a family yet? Granted her own father was on the more distinguished side before he produced his first and only offspring (that lived at any rate), but that was due to his constant devotion to his work and the betterment of mankind. What had occupied Mr. Hawkins time?
Among other things, Clarke learned he was the son of an American business tycoon and accordingly had spent most of his life overseas. As a child, his parents attempted to groom him into a respectable businessman, but he had been resistant and unwilling to take up his fathers mantle. This alone caused tension and idle threats of disinheritance. He went to Columbia College* in New York City for some years studying law but never actually graduated. There was an unfortunate incident that prevented him from doing so, but he would not elaborate on the particulars besides the fact that he had finally been disinherited because of it. Naturally, her curiousity was peeked. It was unusual for a man to be so forthcoming with his shortcomings, and show himself in an unfavourable light.
"I would tell you everything if I could, Mrs. Griffin," he added with a sigh, "but unfortunately it is not only my honour in question. The incident is of a sensitive nature and I'm afraid I would have to divulge things about another family I'm not at liberty to discuss."
Her mothers disapproval was painfully evident as she said, "I see."
Which more or less meant, how convenient. Mr. Hawkins was not doing a very good job of ingratiating himself with her mother...or herself for that matter. To hint at an infamous secret and give nothing more away was highly suspect. Why allude to the incident at all?
"Tell me, Mr. Hawkins," said her mother, "if you never received your law degree and were disinherited, how is that you have come to support yourself so well?"
He waited until after they had passed by a noisy street vendor to reply. "Thankfully I have other more understanding family. My cousin has been very kind to me these past few years."
"Is that how you were able to travel the world?" asked Clarke, glancing sideways at him as they strolled arm in arm.
He nodded. "Yes. In fact, it was my cousin's desire to get away from England that instigated our adventure. She had no one to travel with, so I offered my services."
"You must be very close to spend three years with her," said her mother. A man who could maintain amiable companionship with a woman for that length of time was a rare breed indeed. Though it was fairly uncommon for an unmarried man and woman to go on such a lengthy adventure, cousin or no.
"Ah, well, we didn't spend that entire time together. Periodically my cousin had other obligations she had to deal with here, so she would return home a few times a year."
"Is your cousin in England presently?" said Clarke. If there was anyone who would know the full story to Roan's disinheritance, it would be her...assuming she even existed.
"You'll be meeting her soon enough, Miss Griffin." Mr. Hawkins smirked. "My cousin is hosting the masquerade ball."
That stopped both of The Griffin women in their tracks. They looked between them and then back at Mr. Hawkins, who laughed boisterously, causing the flight of several pigeons. When he mastered himself, he patted Clarke's hand. "The countess is not nearly as intimidating as one might think. You'll be fine."
It seemed unlikely Mr. Hawkins would lie about such an esteemed connection, especially one that could be disproven in a weeks time, and yet, it was highly unbelievable all the same.
Neither of The Griffin women were quite sure what to make out of Mr. Hawkins tale and assertions. If not for the family connection to the countess, Clarke was certain her mother would have forbidden her from going to the ball with Mr. Hawkins, and from seeing him in future. Men with secret pasts were not the sort that she should be associating with. The fact that he divulged this information freely was of no consequence.
Two days before the ball, he called on them again, bearing their costumes. He brought his own tailor with to make the necessary adjustments. Clarke received the costume graciously and went upstairs to change. There were multiple layers to the dress which she laid out on her bed and just stared at. The inner most slip was of a finer material than she was accustomed to wearing, and surprisingly sheer. While the material was sheer, it was not so thin as to be see through or improper in any way. Nor was the cut inappropriate in the slightest. If anything the bosom was modest. Every part of her that was supposed to be covered was. Yet because of the lack of bulk, her natural curves were on display for all to see. And being able to distinguish the female form was considered scandalous and likely to make men lose all control over their faculties. More poppycock in Clarke's opinion.
Clarke personally loved the way she looked in just the slip but there was nary a chance she would be allowed to leave the house like this, let alone have the confidence to do so should she miraculously receive it. No, she would have to wear the monstrosity that accentuated her backside to a large degree, as was the custom for these types of parties, and women's fashion in general. It was not all atrocious. It was adorned in golden lace, similar to that of her hair. The most striking thing about the silk gown though was the blue hue that matched her eyes perfectly, and had been chosen with obvious attention to detail, the kind of detail an artist usually took note of. If nothing else, Mr. Hawkins had a keen eye, and was well suited to his name.
The nearly floor length dress fit remarkably well, though she supposed a few alterations were still in order. She pulled on the long white gloves just past her elbows, and finished the ensemble with the pièce de résistance, the mask. A snarling lioness looked back at her in her full length mirror, her own lips visible behind pointed fangs. The details in this too were exquisite, a true work of art. It was so lifelike, that for a second she frightened herself and gasped in surprise. She placed a hand to the protruding contours, touched the tips of the wooden teeth, and for a moment fantasized about what it would feel like to be such an intense, graceful killer; to prowl the land without fear; to have a den of cubs looking to her for guidance and safety. Clarke was fairly self possessed, but she was glad not to have the burden of leadership on her delicate shoulders. She pitied and admired all those throughout history that were thrust into such roles without their consent. For every one that succeeded, dozens fell.
All Hallows Eve was upon them, the first shared between Miss Griffin and Miss Blake, as well as their respective companions. What trees and foliage could be discerned within the city limits were ablaze with the colours of the setting sun. With a party of six, two carriages (ornately adorned) were required to transport them to the festivities near the centre of the city. The Woods family had owned this ballroom for over a hundred years and had hosted countless dances there. In the past three years however, precisely none had been had, which made those attending this particular event all the more esteemed and illustrious in the eyes of the populace.
Their carriage came to a halt and Mr. Hawkins swept out quickly to offer his assistance. His blue coattails flowed for a moment longer before stilling. His lion mask rested atop his head, giving him a slightly comical appearance. She held her own mask in her hand, determined not to undo the extraordinary efforts of Monre's diligent fingers. Her hair at least could not be faulted on this brisk night, though if they did not make it indoors before the rain came (as it did most days), that would not hold true.
"This way, my lady," he said, smiling.
She smiled back, placed her gloved hand in his bare one and descended the single step. Mr. Sterling likewise helped Octavia out of the carriage a moment later. The couple sported matching gorilla masks that were quite terrifying in their own right. Her parents forewent the use of their masks, her mother complaining of a difficulty in seeing. Having tried the mask on herself, Clarke knew this to be a falsehood. Likely her mother simply found the tiger to be too frightening, or otherwise vulgar. She certainly seemed to disapprove of the others masks, hers in particular, and could not understand why Mr. Hawkins had not chosen something more genteel, like pretty butterfly wings.
If the ballroom was half as ornate as the outside, she would soon be entering the most lavish building of her existence. Octavia quietly oohed and aahed as Clarke's parents joined them, and together the sextet walked up the well maintained stairs to the large open doors. An assortment of Jack-o-lanterns of exceptional skill could be perused at one's leisure, should they chose. Servants on either side nodded to them as they passed through and into a foyer with other masqueraders. Indeed, their masks were of the more typical, plain, unoffending sort. Mr. Hawkins clearly wished for their party to stand out amongst the other revelers.
Clarke slipped her mask on a few moments before they passed through a second set of doors and into the ballroom itself. It was so grand that several of her families house could fit within, and still have room to spare. A number of gilded chandeliers with a myriad of candles illuminated the vast expanse. Dozens upon dozens of circular tables with all manner of finery were set and ready for those that should require a rest, or those that had no desire to dance. Food and refreshments were available on either side of the dance floor, which was already occupied with a great number of colourful costumes, twirling and swirling to the large orchestra on the far side of the ballroom.
All this came second though as she set sights on the woman in red. Not far into the ballroom, the woman politely greeted those ahead of them. The dress was a stunning crimson, the colour of blood, its train dragging on the ground slightly. Its semi-transparent sleeves extended all the way to her wrists. Her hands were covered in black gloves which appeared to have bones on the back of them. Her hair was styled elegantly atop her head, a single braid resting across her shoulder and reaching just above her bosom. Save for the glimmering jewel on her forehead, she wore no jewelry. Beneath that lay her mask, bear claws...or perhaps tears, black as night. Mr. Hawkins notion of the countess not being intimidating seemed absolute folly.
Clarke was suddenly very anxious to meet the woman, and became all the more so when she heard her speak.
"Welcome, friends of Roan," she said softly, but in a voice still distinguishable above the music and general din.
Clarke stared wide eyed at the countess, at the same eyes and lips she had been drawing for the past month. The elusive woman gave them a cursory glance, each bowing or curtsying in turn. All except for Clarke, who stood stock still. Octavia elbowed her subtly but Clarke was immune.
"Where on earth did you locate such hideous masks, cousin?" said Countess Woods, shaking her head ever so slightly.
"A delightful little shop on-"
"It's you," Clarke said stupidly, much too loudly.
Everyone turned to look at her, and she flushed, exceedingly grateful for the lioness mask in place, disbelieving at her own stupidity. Thankfully the countess seemed unperturbed. Green eyes that were far more piercing than their last encounter (due to blackness of the mask and the extravagant lights) stared straight at her. The look was equal parts pleasant and unpleasant, all the more so because of the shiver it elicited.
"Good evening, Miss Griffin. Roan has told me much of you and your family. I hope that you will enjoy yourselves tonight."
"We are most grateful for the invitation, countess," said her mother, with another curtsy. "I am sure that we will enjoy ourselves immensely."
"The ballroom is glorious," added Octavia, the only other one brave enough to speak in such a noblewoman's presence. "I have never seen the like before."
This of course did not amount to much as Octavia had never been in a ballroom before, but the countess did not know this and received the compliment graciously. "And I have never seen the like of your mask, Miss Blake. It's an incredibly convincing brute. Do try not to frighten the other dancers too much." She lowered her voice making it nearly impossible to hear. Clarke restrained herself from leaning in. "I fear some of them are getting on in years and we would do well to avoid future hospital visits...at least until Lord Rothenberg inevitably succumbs to the drink and falls on his face."
Mr. Hawkins laughed boisterously at that, in his easy, confident manner.
Someone behind them cleared their throat rudely. The countess simply smiled, looked at her cousins party and said, "Please go on ahead. I will attend you again as soon as my duties allow."
If not for Mr. Hawkins holding her arm and guiding her away, Clarke would have stood there staring at the mischievous sprite all evening long, afraid that if she looked away even for an instant, she would disappear into the ether again. A number of party-goers stared at them, some of them even going so far as to halt their movements. A couple of women even placed their hands to their chests at the spectacle of their masks.
Her companion also stared at her as they took their spot on the dance floor and began moving to the mid-tempo waltz, but not due to mask fascination. Unlike Octavia and Lincoln, they had not practiced beforehand, but Mr. Hawkins was quite skilled at this art form, as he seemed to be for most things, and consequently, Clarke found it a simple enough matter to keep in time and not step on anyone's feet even though it had been nearly a year since she danced with Wells. So consumed with thoughts of the mystery woman was she, that she barely even acknowledged the fact that Mr. Hawkins' warm hand was on her back, that they were touching and standing fairly close.
"Are you going to let me in on the secret?" He squeezed the hand that was in his. "Miss Griffin?"
"Secret?" she replied slowly, not following. "What secret?"
"That was a somewhat unusual reaction to my cousin. Though admittedly, I have seen much worse. One young man fainted at her feet."
Clarke flushed once more behind the mask. She too had felt close to fainting. "The countess and I have met prior to now."
Mr. Hawkins perhaps looked surprised, she could not tell what expression lay behind the mask. No wonder ladies were so fond of their fans. "That is strange. I have mentioned you on more than one occasion. Were you not properly introduced then?"
"No, we were not."
She nearly admitted the particulars to their previous encounter when she noticed her mother and father dancing much too close for comfort. Like a hawk, her mother had her eyes on them, no doubt hoping for the least whiff of impropriety from Mr. Hawkins so that she would be wholly justified in bringing a close to their budding relationship. Indeed, this was unnecessary for Clarke was even more wary of the gentleman with two faces. She would not dare to give her heart to him until after she learned whether or not he was trustworthy. Certainly, he did not rat her out to her mother over the fight club incident, but there were still other past incidents to take into account. She doubted very much that the countess was the sort to divulge others secrets considering she seemed to have her fair share. Still, if given a suitable opportunity, she was determined to ask her tonight. There was no telling when next they would meet...if ever. The idea left her experiencing an odd sensation, one that she could not quite put her finger on.
"You promised to tell me of your travels at the ball," she said, changing the topic. "Here we are."
As Hawkins went on about the various exotic places he had gone to with his cousin, Clarke did her best to listen to him and not spend her time discreetly searching for the lady in red who was no longer posted near the ballroom entrance. Under normal circumstances such a task would be immensely simple. However, tonight there were a hundred, (perhaps as many as three hundred) dancers twirling around, many of whom were in equally colourful costumes.
Being somewhat singular for his sex, Mr. Hawkins quickly took note of her distraction and lack of interest and stopped talking. Clarke finally caught sight of the countess, who was standing off to the side of the dance floor, conversing with a bald man in robes, or rather, he was talking to her while she watched the dancers with her skeleton hands behind her back. Their eyes briefly met and Clarke felt a flutter within. When she next caught a glimpse through the masses of bodies, they were no longer present.
"Would you care for some refreshments, Miss Griffin?" Mr. Hawkins asked as the current waltz came to an end. "I've never had my cousin's ballroom punch before, but it's without a doubt as fine as anything else she's ever served me."
She licked her dry lips. "Yes, that would be delightful, Mr. Hawkins."
They moved through the crowd - some giving them unwarranted leeway - over to the nearest table full of decadence and extravagance. Mr. Hawkins picked up two silver cups embellished with dragons, and poured the punch with the ladle. He handed this to Clarke who swiftly removed her mask and promptly drained the entire thing in a very unladylike fashion. She was not even exerted from the dance she shared with her partner. Clarke was inexplicably thirsty.
Mr. Hawkins laughed at her behaviour and followed her lead, drinking the whole serving in one go. He released a sigh of pleasure and was about to give her more when she poured her own drink and sipped at that in a more delicate, refined manner.
After a few quiet moments he said, "You don't seem to be enjoying yourself, Miss Griffin. Are you all right?"
"I could do with some air. It's a bit warm in here."
"Yes, you do appear to be a little flushed."
He offered her his arm and led her a ways until they reached the far side of the ballroom, near the orchestra itself. Mr. Hawkins pushed through the glass doors and out onto a veranda. The garden was lacking in life and was a bit gloomy, which was only accentuated by the beginnings of the storm. They stood in silence for a time, the gusts of wind somewhat muting the sounds of music and gaiety seeping through.
"Do you feel better?"
"Much. Thank you."
"I get the impression you're not used to these sorts of functions. They are fairly involved. I remember this one time I was so overwhelmed by all the goings on that I actually became sick all over my mothers gown. She nearly beat me right then and there."
Clarke looked at him to see if he was being serious. It was impossible to tell. "And how old were you, Mr. Hawkins?"
He shrugged and grinned, "Six."
She rolled her eyes. "That hardly counts then."
"Still," he persisted, with genuine concern in his eyes, "if you're uncomfortable at all, we can always leave. I won't be offended and neither will my cousin."
The mention of the countess reminded Clarke of her goal. She couldn't leave just yet.
"That won't be necessary, Mr. Hawkins, but thank you for the offer. I shall endeavour to do as our host bid."
"Very well," he said with a nod.
As soon as they re-entered the ballroom, they were accosted by her parents (her mother in particular) who took Clarke aside and scolded her for going off alone with her suitor.
To which she replied, "If you are here, mother, who is chaperoning Miss Blake and her fiance?"
Her mother made a sour face at the deflection but conceded her point and left her father behind as she went in search of her daughters disobedient friend. The men then proceeded to compliment each other on their dancing prowess which then somehow devolved into a lecture about solar cells, one she had heard many a time. Mr. Hawkins seemed genuinely intrigued by the concept and asked all manner of questions. While they were otherwise engaged, Clarke took the opportunity to steal away in search of her elusive target.
She found her once again watching the dancers with the monk talking to her. Clarke knew she should not eavesdrop on their conversation, but she could not help herself and hid behind a pillar swathed in black cloth.
"...stand around in such a manner."
"I may have agreed to this ridiculous celebration, Titus, but that does not mean I shall dance myself."
The monk bristled at the comment. "Ridiculous celebration indeed! It has only been your families tradition for the past fifty years! A tradition you broke the moment you left your duties behind with that black sheep and-"
The countess flashed him a withering glare. A lesser man would have turned to stone. "Enough, Titus. I will speak of this no more. Begone."
He did as he was bade, albeit, gracelessly. A few tense moments passed and then, "You may come out of hiding now, Miss Griffin."
Apparently she was quite atrocious at the sport. Heart pounding, she moved around the pillar and into Countess Woods direct line of sight. Her fingers were now tapping softly on one of the circular table tops.
"How may I be of service?" the countess asked in a much softer voice, gaze scanning her exposed face quickly, before resting back on her eyes.
Gripping the lioness mask tightly between both hands, she took a step closer. "I'm sorry to bother you countess, it's just that I'm-"
"Confused by my prior actions?"
She nodded.
"As you have just witnessed, I do not often have council over my own thoughts. Titus has been with my family since before I was born, so too was his father before him, and so on and so on. Should I have told you who I was and you had then spread word of my unusual nocturnal habits around the city-"
"I would not have done that," she interjected.
The countess stopped tapping her fingers and brought them before her person. "Needless to say, among others, my advisor would not have approved of my behaving in a manner not befitting my station. The fewer lectures I receive, the better. A sentiment I suspect you understand quite well."
"Indeed I do," she said, taking a few steps nearer. "In fact, I very recently received one from my mother when I went off with your cousin and was unchaperoned for some minutes."
"She need not worry on that score. Roan is one of the most honourable men I have ever known, notwithstanding my own excellent father."
She stepped even closer so that they were almost within arms reach. "And I do believe you are correct in your assessment, countess...however, I must ask..." she swallowed and licked her lips, the countesses eyes flickering down briefly, "do you know the details concerning your cousin's college mishap?"
The countess raised an eyebrow at the impertinent question. "Yes, Miss Griffin, I am well aware of them. However, it is not my place to inform you of the particulars. I have no doubt Roan will tell you when you have been deemed trustworthy." The countess gave her an especially pointed look as if to say, you are failing miserably. Clarke fidgeted, feeling foolish like she often did in the countesses presence. "Rest assured that Roan was no more in the wrong than you or I."
If that were so, why was he disinherited?
A drunken man in a devil's mask caught her attention some distance beyond the countess. He was harassing Mr. Hawkins who had been attempting to make his way over to her, her entire party in tow. Clarke and the countess moved closer to the confrontation and the growing number of spectators.
"...fight me again!" the man slurred. "I never go down that easily, sir! You must have cheated!" He jabbed Mr. Hawkins in the chest. "Damn Yanks are all the same! Lousy cheats!"
"Get some air, Lord Rothenberg," replied Mr. Hawkins with forced composure, "you are drunk and witless."
"You dare to insult me! Me! Do you know who I am, sir!" Rothenberg explained, poking Mr. Hawkins once more. "I should have your head for that!"
Lord Rothenberg staggered around a bit and squinted over in her direction. "I say! You seem oddly familiar, miss!" He came right up to her and grabbed her by the arms so tightly she was likely to receive bruises. Clarke nearly became intoxicated from the odious vapours pouring forth. "Have we not met before?"
"Unhand Miss Griffin at once," demanded Mr. Hawkins, clearly losing the last of his restraint.
"I would do as he says, Lord Rothenberg," came the dark tones just behind her. "You embarrass yourself and your entire namesake with this unseemly display."
The orchestra had completely ceased it's melodious tune by this juncture and was deathly quiet.
Lord Rothenberg finally released her, looking terrified by his considerable faux pas.
"Countess," he gasped, as if he had just realized she was there and this were her party.
The Countess stood beside Clarke and made note of the ugly red marks on her arms, the paleness of her skin perhaps giving it an even worse appearance. The countess looked livid, even behind the mask. When she next spoke however, she was exceptionally calm.
"I think it best you leave now before you do something you really regret." She inclined her head in the direction of two servants who hurried over to escort the inebriated man away from the festivities. "My sincerest apologies, Miss Griffin," added the countess distractedly. "I do hope you will still be able to enjoy yourself."
"I believe I shall, countess."
She gave her a curt, tight lipped nod and turned on her heel, heading in the direction Lord Rothenberg had been taken. Clarke desperately wanted to see what was going to happen behind closed doors, but the music began anew and she was swept up by Octavia and other concerned members of her group and eventually into another dance.
*Formerly King's College
I'm being a bit petty, I know. But I find it funny how I literally just swapped out Wallace for Jdumbass...that was the only alteration I made after the show ended. I guess they're basically the same person...figures. Anyway, hope you found it a little funny too.