Regimentum ⪼ Sirius Black/OC

Est ars etiam male dicendi

Chapter Twenty | Est ars etiam male dicendi

[There is an art even to malediction]

Halloween Night is a blustery one. There seems to be a storm rolling in, its dark clouds hanging low over the earth all day. A chill has sparked through the air, growing sharper with each passing hour. It is the perfect sort of night for a Halloween celebration. The faintest hint of danger pervades the air, made all the more poignant with the dark clothing of the gala's attendees.

Vivian had spent some time considering what she should wear tonight. Given the fact that she is not really on speaking terms with her family at the moment despite her recent orchestrations, she couldn't very well riffle through the closet in the Blair manor, which contains within its walls countless dress robes that would do the trick. Sirius had finally grown tired of her musings and had handed her a couple of galleons from their stash, ordering her to 'have at it' and 'be home before dark, though'.

She hadn't wanted to dip into their money to purchase a new set of robes. They ought to be careful about what they buy lest they run out of Sirius's inheritance. Though Vivian has a proper paycheck now and Sirius will as well, once his training is done, it isn't a large salary. They've spent most of their money on furnishing the cottage and purchasing basic necessities at the charity shops that Vivian has grown more familiar with of late (though, by the by, she's still not very impressed with them).

Anyway, the thought of spending money on clothes for the gala had been a necessary evil which Vivian had initially rebuked, until Sirius had grown tired of her constant worrying about not being taken seriously in hand-me-downs. It's probably just as well, because as Vivian steps into the Mulciber manor that night, she reckons she wouldn't be taken seriously. Everyone is dressed to the nines, with no expenses spared. She still feels a bit underdressed even in her new set of burgundy dress robes.

Apparently not everyone thinks so, though.

"You look nice," Regulus murmurs from off to the side once she enters the house, his voice catching her off guard.

Vivian turns to look his way. It seems as though he's been waiting for her, for he pushes off from one of the marble pillars that rise up in the foyer of the manor and sends her one of his barely-there smiles as his eyes dip over her form.

If it had been anyone else giving her a look-over, Vivian might've been uncomfortable. As it is, though, she just hums and brushes out nonexistent wrinkles from the flowing skirt, shrugging, "Thanks. It's not quite as nice as Mrs. Mulciber's, though."

She eyes the woman. Mr. and Mrs. Mulciber are standing at attendance across the way, near the threshold of the large dining room where most of the guests are currently congregating. They're greeting people as they pass, shaking hands and offering words of welcome.

Regulus shuffles to a stop beside Vivian and quietly snorts, "If you like looking like a peacock, I suppose."

His dry sarcasm makes her quirk a smile. She takes one last look at Mrs. Mulciber's green and blue robes before glancing at Regulus and saying, "You look nice, too."

He's clearly put some effort in for the gala tonight, for his black robes are pristine and drape over his shoulders attractively. Coupled with the white dress shirt and black bowtie, he strikes quite a figure. She eyes him for a moment and wryly adds, "You even combed your hair back."

Regulus lifts a hand to his hair and shoots her a look as if to silently tell her to cease with her teasing. He mutters, "My mum practically attacked me with a comb when I came down the stairs." Then, sighing, he asks, "Does it look as awful as I think it does?"