The Morning After

The Varanas' parties tended to last well into the early hours, and be decadent, lavish affairs with no expense spared and hundreds of noble guests. Most notably, these parties appeared, on the outside, to be a respectable gathering of husbands and wives and artists, in displays of new pieces of art, in the spirit of broadening cultural exchange.

In actual fact, once within those doors, it was anything but respectable. Remus would hang off Arthur's arm, and Violet would hang off Mereavus'. Wives would go to one another and form new couples, and husbands would do the same. And most importantly; not a word left the manor. It was a, 'Lovely affair, Remus' taste in art is impeccable as ever, and did you know dear Eave's manners are as pristine as ever?', 'I say, wasn't that a lovely chat you had about the worsening state of plebs these days?', and so on.

It was, as they say, the morning after. Copious amounts of alcohol had been consumed, and in the room that housed The Bed (a structure designed to fit ten people at once), there were bodies. Sprawled out amongst one another, limbs entangled, and for the most part, entirely unclad.

Remus woke at one end, lifting his hand to rub his face and then turning his head to look down the length of the mattress.

At the far end, a blonde head moved, and a light groan of complaint left the woman's lips. A moment later, she bolted out of bed, and began retching into a basin.

Another small noise, this time a waking inhalation, sounded from the spot the blonde had vacated, and Lady Varana turned onto her back and pushed a mussed set of burgundy tresses out of her face. She turned her head to regard the blonde, and put a hand to her forehead.

"Lovely, Violet," she commented, leaning her neck back and groaning herself. Oh, it was too bright in there.

"Shut up, gremlin," Violet answered, between hurls into the porcelain bowl.

Remus flopped onto his front. "I feel like death," he mumbled into the mattress. "Do either of you remember anything?"

"I remember..." A long pause, whilst Violet tried to remember something coherent. "Oh, Hell, damned if I know."

Mereavus shifted out of the packed bed, going to find a cloth and tending to Violet's hair, tucking it out of the way of her face whilst she spit up her poison. "I don't remember a thing," she answered, turning her head some to avoid getting the unpleasant visual. "Not after the bottle game, at any rate."

"Which particular bottle game?" Remus answered, sitting up and wincing. "... My behind seems to tell me there might've been two."

"You're disgusting," Mereavus told him, handing Violet the cloth and looking at the sheer mass of discarded clothes. Oh Lord, whose underwear was whose?

"I seem to recall you joining in," he retorted, rising and picking his way over a series of heels left, unpaired, on the floor.

"I can't hear you," she answered, blatantly able to, but ignoring it all the same.

But they all heard the booming knock at the front door, that was for certain. There was a combined freezing, and each stared briefly at the other. And it was followed by the scramble; clothing! There had to be clothing! But all of the men's clothes were sized for the women, and all of the women's clothes for men, so the event proved a rather stark failure. Remus managed to rummage through a drawer and bolted out of the room, the first to be presentable, and rushed down to the main chamber, adjusting his collar atop the marble staircase when he went past a mirror. He descended the stairs just as Lord Lascelles and his wife were greeted by the butlers, broad smile worn and the pain of needing to limp entirely not obvious.

He extended one hand, smile still worn despite the inward cringe to remembering where it had been. "Good morning!" he greeted. "Forgive us, both myself and my wife aren't feeling tip-top this morning."

"How awful!" Lady Lascelles cried, sniffing shortly afterwards. "I'm telling you, Remus, you ought not to serve chicken at these parties of yours, it's so unpredictable."

"Yes..." Remus agreed, glancing towards the top of the stairs, where Lady Varana was about to descend, whilst fixing an earring into place. "We've learned our lesson."

"Goodness, Eave, have you had your hair done differently?" Lady Lascelles exclaimed. "I love it, it's so... Refreshingly loose, natural. Have you just fluffed it around a bit?"

Lady Varana joined her husband, settling both hands around one of his biceps. "Something like that," she agreed, with a very small, mischief fuelled smile up towards Lord Varana. "To be honest, I barely touched it, darling Violet did most of the work."

"Oh, she's terribly good, then," Lady Lascelles declared. "It takes skill to do something that natural-looking."

"Agreed," Mereavus answered, with a perfectly straight face.