The Celebration of A Montague Marriage (Open)

A string of tinkling, neighboring notes swept throughout handsome halls - well celled with a seductive, double "A" grade ebony, a darkness rivaled only by the depths of the famed Black Lake of Hogwarts - creeping down the walls to fall, airy and trembling, elegantly raining from the ceiling; the chime of gentle harp strings magically manifesting as dead autumn leaves throughout the hallways.  Only to drown in the dark sea of ebony that lay still beneath two pairs of pale and stumbling adolescent feet.  Feeble flames atop black candles, placed strategically in a line across the floor, running parallel to the walls swayed as two wisps of delicate blonde hair ran clumsily past them.

           Suddenly,   silence fell throughout the empty manor. "Ehem," the harpist cleared his throat, before, just as abruptly as he had halting his playing, rocked right back in to his instrument, beginning again from the beginning of Playacting by Wizarding World Musician, Alexandre Desplat .

          Children's laughter and the harp's dancing strings were carried by the Summer Season's final, dying breath (a Swan Song honoring the death that was to occur this somber evening - an evening of celebration, for all but The Montague Family's firstborn son; the death of an old marriage of two souls).  The breeze waltzed with delicate Creme drapes, flapping slowly about French doors, which had been thrown widely open to expose the decorated Ballroom to the elements, inviting Cheery Blossoms across the threshold of the Montague Family Manor for the festivities from the Terrace Gardens.  The breeze swept through Judah's brown locks like nervous fingers and a chill nipped at any exposed skin; the summer's warmth was already bidding Britain farewell. The chill crept down the small of his back, pricking vertebrae on it's crawl down his spine, and he noted that the night air suited the feeling of impending doom that had begun to burble about his stomach. The harpist's fingers fluttered like butterfly wings over gold strings. No amount of meticulous planning by his parents could have prepared Judah for what was to be expected of him this evening, a widower, still morning.

            "Our guest of honor will be arriving soon, Judah. You will be introducing yourself to your beloved shortly," Mrs. Montague's soft, and ever-consciously poised voice chimed in harmony with the harpist's haunting melody - similar to spoken word poetry, as though she had intended it, and had patiently awaited her melodic cue. She had taken her place closely on the Terrace beside him many moments ago, but Judah could not recall how long she had truly been there before the Gardens with him. He was distracted.  Angry.  This was a detail which he tried and miserably failed to recall as he turned to face his mother. He was met at once with unfocused and clouded eyes, which he watched clear and focus before him as they made their journey down his person, evaluating him from head to toe.  It occured to him that Mrs. Montague, in that moment had only just allowed him to enter her field of vision, for as long as they had stood there together,  unspeaking.

           She tisked with distaste as she spun sharply on one nine inch heal,  away from her son, her voice no longer elegant or poised, but sharp and annoyed,  "Let me be perfectly clear - I will no longer hold your hand through your affairs. Do as you have been told - as we have raised you; as the proper heir to the Montague name - or your filthy children will no longer be rewarded." Judah's neatly rounded and polished fingernails bit in to the tender flesh of the center of his palms as she strode away. "Do not make me regret taking you in again, Judah. Graham will not be so generous as to let them live, next time. Our celebration this evening - every extravagant preparation - is all in honor of your coming marriage." Judah bore his teeth in a flash of rage; an accidental betrayal of his apathetic facade, shielded from his mother's vision by tthe tailored suit on his back, turned towards her. "You will not muddy our reputation any further, child. Be grateful. And do show some respect..." her words carried throughout, as the Manor, once more, fell silent... And the harpist's enchanted, music leaves immediately decayed at Judah's feet.

Thread Tag: Claire Irena Montage, Calixta Montague
Open to all Pureblood Families.You will have received an formal IC invitation.
The dress code is formal.

“This antiquated tradition is exactly why the pureblood lines are becoming toxic.”

“Please, Camila. Your tender sentiments are going to make me weepy. I’m already a sap for weddings.”

The dry humor of the Flint twins was unheard by anyone, as they had arrived quite separate from any group. Their parents had already arrived and were part of the groups that had congregated outside of the manor, uncertain as to when and where to enter. The warmth of summer was beginning to penetrate through stiff suits and tight dresses, and many of the women had donned light-colored, shorter summer dresses, the men leaving coats at home to show off what just a vest and tie could do.

So, naturally, the Flints arrived in matching black, their own dark eyes placed forward as they moved with the lazy confidence that was born out of bright minds and privileged circumstances. Caleb’s eyes ghosted across the crowds, as the first began to hesitantly make their way towards the entrance, still unwilling to make the first move. He looked over at Camila and her set gaze was enough to make him realize they were going to be the pair to break the seal. He lifted an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth sinking further into his skull, ever so pleased.

They stepped into the halls, and the sounds of their footsteps echoed in the hallway. Camila, once again free to speak her mind, eyed the walls with a bored expression. “We have all the money in the world, and we purebloods can’t even purchase decent art.”

“Look at you, Miss Social Justice. Better art for purebloods.”

“It’s about time.”

Their matching smirks faded as they reached the door that led out into the gardens. Caleb glanced about, the sounds of the rest of the party reaching his ears from behind him. Camila reached up to brush her bangs from her forehead when her brother nudged her, grinning. She turned and he tilted his head. All of the jest from their previous conversations left her face as she gave him a firm warning. “No.”

“Oh, come on. Look at him. It’s as much for him as it is for us.”

“Caleb, not everyone desires your attention.”

“Certainly, but they do desire yours. And all of the friends of our parents are about to find us out here, with nothing but time. I bet a few of them would love to hear you’re still unattached.”

She gripped the crook of his arm and led him towards Judah Montague, pinching him to punish him for knowing her well enough that she would take that bait. They approached the Montague who looked exactly as Camila did when the discussion of arranged marriage came up – displeased. There was something distant in his eye and Caleb sympathized. He knew a beaten man when he saw one.

They finally reached him and Camila released Caleb so he could extend an arm out to his friend. “Mon-ta-gue,” he sang, grinning widely, giving his arm a tight grip and clapping a hand to his shoulder with brotherly affection. “You clean up this well and put us all to shame.”

Camila reached out a hand as well, and because the Parents had finally begun to fill the gardens, she did the whole routine and leaned forward to kiss the air next to his cheek, saying, “Yes, you do. You think anyone will notice if I make the bride swap dresses?”

Ooh, it was a dangerous thing, two people for whom this level of charm was so second nature.