Not the White! [Cassian]

[marianmorgan]

In retrospect, there wasn't much to recommend tonight. Marian still didn't know why she had let Joshua dare her - well, bully her, really, but technically dare her - into wearing a dress, nor did she know why she had let Jonathan pick it out, of all people. Even if she couldn't get to Diagon Alley before the ball, she could have sought the help of someone less determined to embarrass her. Because that was the only possible reason why he would have selected this - a pearly, floaty number that made her look like the Bloody Baron and didn't so much as have straps.

She had let friends of the female type coax her hair into sleek curls and apply the rudimentary beginnings of make-up, most of which she hoped was hidden by her mask. She had deigned to wear shoes with daggers for heels and the jewellery set her grandmother had hopefully given her to wear for her sixteenth birthday (she hadn't); and then, after this touching endurance of humiliation for her friend, he had abandoned her. So she had to brave the effects of what she had done to herself alone, weaving in and out of clumps of sickeningly inseparable couples and trying not to let anyone on the Quidditch team see her.

After three gobletfuls of pumpkin juice too many, she escaped to the bathroom, where she spent half-an-hour comforting a third-year whose boyfriend had made off with someone else. Then, happy to be free of what she perceived to be idle concerns, she sauntered back down the corridor, surprisingly weightless on the terrible heels.

"DUCK!"

She flattened herself against the wall. From somewhere near the ceiling came a sudden onslaught of water-filled balloons - no, not water: ink-filled balloons, bursting against the people they hit and spreading navy blue catastrophe. Above the screams of scattering students floated an evil, gleeful cackle. Trying not to laugh, Marian inched across to the broom cupboard, opened the door just enough to fit her through and tumbled inside, listening to the chaos unfold in the hallway. Knowing Peeves, he probably had enough ammunition to terrorise them for at least ten more minutes.

(( The dress - I'd imagine she actually looked rather nice ))

[cassian]

The ball was most definitely not his cup of tea, but Cassian had to make an appearance or else reap the consequences from his fellow Slytherin peers. Even though he attended, it didn't really mean he wanted to stay. After about ten minutes of watching Roxanne hang all over the arm of Marius Black, Cassian had decided he needed a break. Without anyone really noticing, the Slytherin had slipped out of the Great Hall and into the corridor.

He sighed softly, reaching up a dark hand to pull off the emerald green mask that clung to his face. The Zabini really did look rather sharp tonight, glad in a pitch black suit with a green tie that matched his mask. It was simple, yet elegant, and it complimented his skin nicely. And it was expensive. This was precisely the reason that when Peeves started bombarding students with ink balloons, Cassian ducked into the nearest closet.

Groaning to himself, he leant against a shelf that housed a few rather rickedy brooms, brown eyes having not even a moment to glance about at the globs of disgusting dust clinging about before the door opened again and someone darted into his bubble of personal space. Lips curled into a small smile, noticing instantly that it more than likely was not someone he would rather be locked in here with.

The girl almost tumbled into him and Cassian let out a sharp, "Watch it!" before stepping off to the side in a less than friendly manner. If she wanted to tumble and fall into the shelf, she could be his guest. He wasn't about to catch her. He couldn't tell who she was, he definitely wasn't about to touch her.

[marianmorgan]

Marian caught the shelves, broke a heel, and turned immediately to press her ear against the door. Either she had not heard Cassian or she was utterly ignoring him. Her hand searched the folds of her dress for her wand, delving fruitlessly where the pockets should have been. From the hallway outside came an endless torrent of screams; and, after a deceitful pause, renewed spattering to herald the ruin of yet more of the meticulous costumes she had seen in the Great Hall that night. Despite the genius of Peeves' plan (because she had to admit it was genius) she felt a twinge of sympathy for those people who had not managed to find a broom cupboard. Poor things.

She paused to look, still laughing, at Cassian. "Hello," then, "Hagrid's arse!" she swore under her breath, ducking her head to look more closely for the wand. What hellish kind of dress was this? She glanced around, found an agreeable sort of bucket and sat on it, taking off the offending shoe and inspecting the fabric of her skirts. She had not realised who he was. Though the light in the cupboard was sufficient, the mask hid quite a bit of his face, and she did not know him well enough to recognise his mouth.

[cassian]

He watched in silence as the girl rammed into the shelf and promptly broke her heel. As she fumbled around with the many folds of the fabric, Cassian began to get the impression that this person wasn't used to being girlish. He narrowed his eyebrows in an expression that really couldn't be described as anything other than slight disgust. Cassian really disliked females who didn't act like beautiful women.

It wasn't until she spoke with laughter in her voice that Cassian realized who it was. He couldn't remember her name, not that it mattered. She was that Hufflepuff Quidditch player that had collided with him in the hallway a few days ago. The corners of his lips twisted up into a nasty smirk as he watched her continue to have wardrobe difficulties. It suddenly became rather amusing to him, simply because he now recognized the girl and he hadn't really hit it off with her extremely well the first time.

"Maybe next time you should wear a suit." It was impossible to hide the amusement that was laced within his words, Cassian shifting his weight to lean against another shelf on the opposite end of the small closet. As much as he really did not wish to stay shut up in a closet with this clumsy looking girl, Cassian's suit was much too expensive to be doused in ink and so he remained.