You Are Cordially Invited to the Yule Ball!

[xoxohogwarts]

The Yule Ball



How to play
① Tag in
② Go to RNG and roll 1-10. That's your scenario!
③ Tag around!
④ Have fun. :)

Cross-canon/canon/oc's are all welcome! Just note how your character has been invited to the ball or if they're a student! We welcome it all. ♥

Scenarios
① Ask Your Date to the Yule Ball - Invite that special someone or ask your best friend. There is nothing wrong with going as friends!
② Dress Shopping/Dress Robe Shopping - It's time to find that perfect outfit! Or have one mailed to you and ask someone to alter it for you if need be.
③ Getting Ready - It's time to get ready for the ball, do you feel that nervous flutter?
④ Picking Up Your Date - Go and pick up your date, the ball is about to start!
⑤ The First Dance - It's time for the first dance. Are you ready?
⑥ Refreshment Table - Let's hope someone no one spiked the punch! We're looking at you Marauders. We see that flask, Sirius...
⑦ The Courtyard - Need a break from dancing and people? We get that. Go into the courtyard and get a breath of fresh air. Just be sure no teacher catches you making out with your date.
⑧ Wardrobe Malfunction - The absolute worst timing, a wardrobe malfunction! What do you do?
⑨ Chaperone - Are you a chaperone for the evening? How'd you get stuck with that gig? Better make sure the Marauders aren't creating havoc or spiking the punch!
⑩ Free Choice - You know what, you do your thing!

Comments

6-9-ish, feat. two foreign exchange students at the tournament ball

[blackelms]

A Ravkan alchemist and an American spellworker walk into a Yule Ball in Scotland.

It sounds like the setup to an awful joke, but it's simply the truth of their existence at the moment: Darlington is standing at the edge of the dance floor, his tie and blazer both looking ironed and crisp in Lethe House colours, the black hound emblem sharp on the left side of his chest, while he sips his drink and eyes the throng of Hogwarts students around them. The foreign schools are decidedly in the minority, their accents standing out amongst all this exaggerated Britishness. This young man and young woman aren't even here to compete in the Triwizard Tournament, either; they're a bit older than their compatriots, serving as chaperones more than anything else.

After a while, Darlington finally caves and glances over at the TA beside him, sneaking a look at her. He has so many questions about the Grisha magic specialties, which he's been dying to ask, but politely pressing down instead because they're all here for another purpose. Still, though...

"Enjoying the ball, Starkov?" he asks, lightly.

[solmate]

The Grisha can certainly be... cliquey. Likening themselves more to scientists with a complex understanding of the natural world, the Ravkan ensemble stood with their chins high and their outfits immaculate. The Darkling understood the importance of putting on a show.

It's not Alina's outfit that stands out, her gown blue with golden embroidery and sapphire studded hairpins glittering in her hair, but her attitude. Always a bit of an outsider, Alina had never fallen into the unwritten but still extremely rigid rules of intermingling among the orders, and, in the case of the tournament, outside of the Grisha more than is necessary to either be polite, although polite is debatable when each conversation is tainted with the strong overtones of promoting Grisha superiority.

"Darlington," she smiles at the name he had been introduced with. Having broken off from the larger group, she is free to be less stuffy. Cordial and genuine. "Yes, I've only had to confiscate three flasks so far. Ravkan liquor is... hard on those who aren't used to it. Yourself?"

[blackelms]

"More partial to whiskey," he says breezily, but there's a twinkle in his eye when she shoots him a look at that response. He waves a hand, indicating he's joking. "The children do like to pretend they're rebellious. Like old-timey smugglers, hiding hipflasks beneath their robes. I saw one get very creative earlier with a hollow walking cane."

The Grisha half-remind him of Durmstrang students he's met at academic symposiums. Stern and imposing, their demeanour as cold as the country around them. He'd expected more of the same from Starkov, but she's a little warmer tonight, and he almost jerks a little at the sound of his name.

Sometimes he wonders if letting his chums introduce him was a mistake. But nobody, absolutely nobody calls him Daniel anymore; the nickname had landed during his first year and then Darlington had stuck forever, apparently to the extent of now crossing national boundaries. Might as well run with it.

Drink trays occasionally float by, enchanted to fly on their own accord. He snags a flute of (non-alcoholic!) cider from one, takes a sip. "If you don't want to be run ragged chasing after underclassmen, I also advise not going into the gardens. Chasing handsy students out of the bushes is like herding cats."