[mp] mirrorball. [tag; brennan]

Perdita had been waxed, plucked and exfoliated to within an inch of her life and it was only seven in the evening.

With her hands on the edge of the sink, she squinted at her reflection in the mirror - should she apply eyeshadow? Or forgo it for a more "subtle" look? There wasn't anything subtle about her dress. Heaving a sigh, she reached up to curl the ends of her newly shorn hair, the chic cut now just grazing her collarbones before she applied some lipstick and adjusted her earrings. She'd never been to a music awards show before. The most Perdita had ever done had been an opera or a ballet, a Christmas concert at most but never something like this.

Her bright eyes glanced at the clock and she hastily snatched up her bag, throwing in her lippie, house keys and spritzing herself with perfume before tripping down the stairs. Her dress was heavy but gorgeous, full of sparkle and it was a Bloom Original,one of a kind.  With any luck, she wouldn't be wearing it all night but Brennan was the perfect gentleman - she'd have to get him drunk first.

She insisted that he meet her there, despite him offering to escort her. Perdy was flattered but she was sure Brennan had things to do prior to meeting her, like interviews or photocalls or -- turning her head, she saw Pongo, her Dalmatian, sitting at the foot of the stairs. She smiled gently, reaching out to stroke his velvet ears. "I won't be long," she assured him, stooping to place a kiss on his forehead. Seemingly satisfied with her answer, he wagged his tail, turned on his heel and trotted to the living room, curling up on the sofa where he wasn't really allowed to be.

Perdita didn't have far to travel and she landed on the winding gravel path and instantly froze, eyes wide as a group of smartly dressed people jostled her. "That's Rupert Hartwood!" a petite blonde exclaimed as she pointed, causing Perdita to follow. She vaguely recognised the man, having seen him on the cover of Witch Weekly (before she cancelled  her subscription). It was all very dignified and she didn't know what she was expecting, screaming fans or some sort of surge but no.

A camera went off somewhere close by, causing Perdita to throw her hand up to shield her face from the blinding light. "Bloody Hell," she mumbled as photographers were calling out names, barking orders, turn this way! Over here! On your right!" Being a celebrity looked like hard work and she hadn't even gotten inside yet. It didn't occur to her for a second that anyone she already knew might be in here.

Turning her head, she caught a familiar flash of dark hair and she grinned. "Brennan!" She called, standing on her tiptoes and raising her hand to wave energetically. He was wearing a tuxedo. Her heart did a somersault in her chest. "Hi," she said brightly as she drew closer, hands on his shoulders as she kissed his cheek in greeting. "Thanks for having me. You look great," Perdita said as her eyes trailing over him. An understatement but treat them mean, keep them keen. "Do you have to go through that?" She asked, her voice loud to be heard over the crowd, nodding to the red carpet and the photographers, flashing him a grin. "Talk about running the gauntlet."


@Brennan Reinhardt

Though there were very few perquisites to being a Reinhardt, the family’s need for consistent visibility often worked in the young wizard’s favor. With the “heir” to the family name indisposed due to his very demanding new wife and his ridiculous need for privacy, something that Brennan scoffed at with much disdain, it was up to the young artist to remind the public that the family was very alive and still thriving from centuries worth of prestige.

Although a music award show was not the sort of event the man was often invited to, he’d had the perfect date in mind as soon as the invitation had been read to him by his assistant. That very night, he’d owned Perdita an entire bouquet of flowers and a personally written asking her to do him the honor of being his companion for the night, profusely apologizing for not being able to deliver them himself. Preparations for Christmas was a several month’s long events and the gallery opening scheduled for the middle of December was already behind, unfortunately, Brennan had plenty to attend to.

When she had accepted, something he was still trying to process as he prepared himself, he had offered to escort her to the event himself. After all, Brennan was still very capable of putting on the face of a complete gentleman when he needed to. The fact that he’d have to do it for Perdita, made the entire process much more worth it. But, she’d refused him and in a way, he’d been terribly pleased by her response.

He was used to playing prince charming to whatever damsel he managed to woe for a month or two but to play companion to a princess, an utterly gorgeous on, that was fully capable of taking care of herself, that was a completely unexpected turn of events. He was no stranger to the theatrics that many women in a similar financial or social position to her were like, he’d had the pleasure of pining after several of them with little to no success. However, the young lady whom he had come to meet under very interesting circumstances went above his expectations completely.

What made the awards show worth going to was not the fact that he’d be going to represent his family or that he’d have the opportunity to meet a celebrity or two should he wish it, but that he’d have the most beautiful woman in at least all of England on his arm. He could almost sense the jealousy that his cousin Wolfgang would surely feel to see him, for once, with a girl that turned more eyes than his beloved Genevieve ever would.

But he wasn’t going to spend the entire night conjuring up a list of differences between the two women, so as soon as he arrived, to the ridiculously loud sound of girls screaming in his direction (but decidedly not at him) he searched in the crowd for where he might find his date. Looking like a complete vision in that beautiful dress of hers, she wasn’t difficult to find at all, his eyes had almost immediately found hers and he waved. “Perdy, I was worried I’d miss you in this crowd of…enthusiastic girls,” he noted, watching as they all ran in Rupert Hartwood’s direction.

He had met the man once a long time ago when he had wandered into his gallery in search of a painting. “That I do,” he smiled, holding out his arm so that she might take it. “But figured that with you at my side, we’d do well to raise a little hell, give old Grandpa Reinhardt something to fuss over at the next family dinner?” he asked in challenge, giving her a wink as they made their way closer to the crowd of flashing cameras.

Perdita was too old for butterflies but that didn't stop the swarm from twisting and turning in her insides. She gave an easy laugh as she watched the girls streak by, picking up her skirt and stepping instinctively closer to Brennan in the process. "Not at all," she smiled quickly. "I'm a foot taller than a lot of them," she joked. She very rarely faded into the background in any scenario so this would be no different.

"Thank you for the flowers," she told Brennan quickly. "They're beautiful." They sat in a vase in her hallway, a bouquet of heavy, fragrant pale roses and peonies and sprigs of eucalyptus. Perdita thought it was coincidence that he (or a very clever florist) had chosen some of her favourite flowers. And no one bought her flowers. She almost acted like a giddy schoolgirl before she'd managed to control herself. There went the butterflies again.

Brennan extended an arm and she smiled, looping hers through the crook of his elbow politely as they walked, pausing to grimace in understanding. "It seems a bit --" she trailed off as photographers screamed instructions at the people on the carpet. This way! Over here! To your left! "Intense?" She offered in what she hoped was a light and cheery tone.

The only brush with the Daily Prophet had been when a reporter mentioned her name in a Charlie Baker interview the other year. It didn't have legs - he hadn't written a song about her - much less would he ever admit it. There had been a few knowing glances and hushed conversations the following day in the work canteen but that was about it.

"Oooh," Perdita replied, her bright eyes wide as she laughed. "Hell is my middle name," she joked. It was actually Adelpha but she'd always hated it. Biting her lip, she snuck a glance at Brennan. Did that mean he was inviting her to his next family dinner? Or just using her as a topic of conversation? She was fine with either. She snorted again. "I might accidentally give him a heart attack," Perdy went on. Brennan had already gifted her one of his grandfather's paintings from the family gallery. She feared Grandpa Reinhardt might just ban her from any future family gatherings.

She didn't have much experience with cameras (save for family holidays and the couple of racy snaps she'd taken for an ex) but it shouldn't be that hard. Perdita was a nobody here and that felt comfortable. Brennan was the star and he looked like one.

The grip on his arm tightened as they joined the crowd and the flash of bulbs made her momentarily see stars. Perdita tucked some hair behind her left ear as she stood, one hand on her hip and her shoulders back, an easy smile on her face. Brennan had been kind enough to stay close but there was no expectation for him to loop an arm around her waist...though she wouldn't be opposed. She forced herself to relax, her hand now on her thigh as she glanced around, suddenly sure she'd seen a flash of a familiar black leather jacket.

The chances of her being in any newspaper was slim to none and she wouldn't be surprised if she was cropped out of everyone where she was next to Brennnan. "What do I need to do?" She whispered to Brennan as she moved along the line, wondering if it was appropriate or ladylike to flee. But he did want to give his grandfather something to panic about. With that, she placed a casual hand on his chest and tucked her body closely into his side, glancing over her shoulder at the photographers' camera lenses, the key hole back in her dress on show. "Please tell me this looks sexy," she joked to Brennan as the cameras went off and voices called out.

Brennan smiled in response to her gratitude; he would buy her flowers everyday for the rest of her life if it meant that he would have the opportunity to be seen in her company again, but he refrained from saying as much, aware that he would be told something along the lines of been too involved. So, when she commented on the intensity of the swarming lot of middle-aged men and women desperate to take a photograph, get a comment, or even a glance in their direction, he could not help but think how interesting her choice of words had been. “Normally they don’t even notice me, it’s all you,” he emphasized, making sure to walk extra slowly in case more photographers wanted to get picture of them together.

He did not matter as much, Brennan was known in the circle of art because of the family gallery but was far from celebrity status. On the other hand, being seen with her would only further his ongoing quest to one up his entire family, to show them that while he was not the chosen one, the favorite Reinhardt, nor the most popular one with the girl cousins, he still could have the prettiest girl on his arm. He knew Wolfgang would just be weeping at the knowledge that he had not been good enough for Perdy, not that he’d bring his cousin anywhere near his date, the younger boy had a nasty habit of proving himself by trying to take away his girlfriends. 
 
“Well, that’s a hell of a middle name, Perdy,” Brennan said with a smile, very sure that it was not her middle name, but the implications were not lost on him. If anything, he admired her willingness to play a game with him, it was not something so easily found in the upper crust of society, rich girls were always trying to impress someone or another, never willing to just let themselves enjoy anything. But Brennan had a feeling that Perdita was not that boring, not since he’d first laid eyes on her across the gallery when she had shown up to help damage control the big missing paintings debacle.

Either way, Brennan liked his girls bold even if they were not so easy to draw in, once he had been told he liked them because they reminded him of his mother who had defied every statute put forth by the Reinhardt family and had lived the life, she wanted to rather than the life she had been told to live. Perdita had that independent quality to her that he liked and though a part of him wanted to believe that there must have been something great about him too, obvious the money was not that important, she had plenty of her own as well, he could not quite believe that she had even noticed him.

“You could’ve walked in here in a sack of potatoes and you’d still be the prettiest girl in the room,” he whispered as he leaned into Perdita, “just have fun, say whatever you like, keep my Grandfather at the edge of his radio,” he encouraged, one of the women seemingly jumping in front of the rest to ask a question.

“Mr. Reinhardt, Ms. Bloom, who are you wearing tonight?” she asked, and he smiled, looking down at his suit before shrugging. “Not sure, I think I dug it out of my closet ages ago, but thanks for asking,” he looked over at Perdita.

Perdita laughed, light and tinkling. "Oh come off it," she chided gently with her head tilted to the left in curiosity. Brennan was very sweet but this melee was something she was used to. It still horrified and unnerved her but her mother had been firing "suitors" at Perdita was sixteen so she could surely handle a gaggle of reporters.

She squeezed his arm affectionately. Perdy thought his expectations may have been a little too high. She knew young ladies who were a lot wilder than she who could really put on a show. Perdita really had been a hellion in her youth  - she drank, she smoked, she didn't listen, she fell in with boys she shouldn't - but she was more refined now. Sort of.

"Oh gosh," she laughed again, her bright eyes wide. "That's so nice," she said genuinely. "If I were more of a lady, I'd blush," she joked as they walked towards the wall of people. "So," she said casually. "What's the deal with your grandfather?" She asked Brennan, interested. He was evidently the patriarch, old fashioned, maybe a little bit batty.  "If I can help with your uprising, all you need to do is ask," she joked as another flash bulb went off in her face.

Brennan's blase response to the question made her snort and she clapped a hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle it. "Hi," Perdita responded politely with a smile as she tucked some hair behind her ear. "It's from a fashion house called Sew What?" She answered, completely deadpan as the reporter's quill moved across her notebook. Are they new? The reporter asked and Perdita nodded quickly. "Absolutely," she gushed. "It's owned by a lovely gentleman called Brock. Brock O'Leigh," Perdy said serenely.

Perdita casually slid her hand down Brennan's back in a soft, familiar motion, still smiling as she nodded at the reporter. "I'm really looking forward to the event," the tall brunette said eagerly. "Oh it's a no-brainer," she replied to the question of what she was excited about the most. "The copious amounts of free alcohol," Perdy answered with a bright smile. "I'm sure Brennan is the same, right?" She asked him with a smile that was genuine this time. "Well, that and all the dark alcoves." She didn't think she needed to elaborate.

The reporter flipped her notebook shut, much to Perdita's dismay. "Oh but I haven't told you about my dinner plans!" She called after the reporter who looked as though she couldn't get away fast enough. With a sigh, she offered Brennan a grin. "On a scale of one to ten, what do you think?" She asked. "Shall I try harder?"