{bibury} how dreary to be somebody || roderick

december 24th, 2003

Eleanora loathed being placed in these sorts of social situations where she’d be forced to actually communicate with strangers about things she did not care about. She had no opinion on most things, had practically checked out for a majority of the year and right around Christmas time, things suddenly came back to her and she was reminded why she reverted to her own little universe by the end of the night and how uncomfortable she felt when she was so out there in the open, so vulnerable to personal attacks on her beliefs or her lack of experience in life or her knowledge on anything, in general. This year had been an improvement, though that review seemed inconsistent with how she felt most days.

But she had gone out of her way to talk about things with people she had believed to be strangers before. Eleanora had not exactly bonded as much as she had allowed herself to let her guard down and though she did not feel better adjusted for it in the least, in the end, none of it actually mattered because around Christmas, all of it went to shit anyway. And yet she found herself inadvertently drawn into the idea that maybe the world had changed, maybe her mum’s politeness and her dad’s warm smiles when they asked her in the gentlest way possible to come home for Christmas dinner meant that they actually cared and most importantly, that the family as a whole would turn a new leaf. Then she remembered that the only reason she even showed up to these things was because no one, not even Eleanora, could stand to be alone so close to his passing. But, she’d be damned if she showed up to the Reinhardt home. Eleanora had her limits, and Genevieve’s area of play was a very hard boundary she had swore not to cross years ago.

“Ellie, you’re planning to sit there sulking all night?” the old woman, her grandmother had eventually made it around the room to ask. The lady was sweet to everyone else but her own immediate family, but her tough love paid off in dividends when her hard work paid off in successful children. Ellie had yet to reach that aim, though at this point in her life it seemed incredibly high. The Lovecraft’s were very good at that, seeing life as their very own stage and putting on a persona for everyone they crossed. Uncrossing her arms and realizing that she probably did not look as fierce and unapproachable as she wanted to in her pleated red skirt and oversized black sweater, decidedly not festive enough according to her mother, she managed as much of a polite smile as she could. “I’ve gone around and said hello to everyone,” she insisted instead but the woman shook her head at her and dragged her across the room to the other sider where another equally solitary soul stood minding his own business.

“Roderick, you’ve met my darling Ellie, right? I think the two of you went to school together?” the woman added with a smile practically pushing her in his direction before wandering off claiming she had something to tend to. Typical. “I bloody hate Christmas dinner,” she mumbled under her breath as soon as the woman was out of sight before turning to Roderick. “I remember you,” she announced though that was hardly conversation, “I mean, what brings you ‘round? Mum insisted you come?” she tried again, putting on a show of how much lighter her tone and gestures suddenly became. If anyone was good at pretending, it was Eleanora.
 
@Roderick Macnair

The link between the Macnairs and the Reinhardts was, like the links between all pureblood families in the British Isles, oxymoronic. Both recent and ancient, incestuous and distant, tenuous and strong. Roderick had no interest in studying the family trees in detail, though his mother had them on a shelf somewhere at home. He had tried on occasion to pour over the tome, following the enchanted ink as it swirled under his fingers, tracing names from illustrated roots to illuminated branches. It was only ever a matter of time before Roderick's investigations reached some new, dirty family line, and Roderick would shelve the tome in disgust.

What he could remember, between the book and society and his mother, was that Roderick's maternal grandmother had been Someone in the Ton, and his mother had grown up near - this. Society. Money. That Roderick was, through his maternal line, entitled to this, and not the cramped flat in Glasgow and the Macnair family wand. Mother horded the invitations she received to these events, few in number after the war but steadily growing. Father was in no state to attend this year (or any year), and instead of going alone to the Reinhardt dinner --
 
Well, here was Roderick, in one of his father's old dress robes and a suit that was certainly not in keeping with the fashions of the other young men, in a corner sulking.

He shouldn't be sulking. There were connections to be made here, Rod was sure of it -- someone in this rich hullabaloo had to be involved with the Healing School, or a job beyond the Deli. Or something. Roderick could be friendly, Roderick could do this, he was sure of it. If only he would move from this corner. Move. Move from the corner. Go and embarrass yourself.

Roderick's feet did not move.

Some time passed and there was an elderly woman at his side again - someone that had talked to him earlier in the night, when he had been escorting his mother in. "Yes, of course," he replied, stiffly, giving the woman a small smile before giving Eleanora Lovecraft a small bow. Was that too formal? Fuck. How did rich people behave? Hopefully that would be the end of that interaction with Andy's sister.

Ah. The old lady was abandoning the two of them. Roderick swore softly under his breath.

“I mean, what brings you ‘round? Mum insisted you come?”

"Something like that," Roderick said, scratching at the nape of his neck. "I assume you're here by obligation too, then?" He felt like he sounded stiff, thinking too much about how his voice sounded. Talking to adults he had carefully modulated into something less rough, slightly softer than his usual brusqueness. Roderick glanced down -- at least Ellie seemed underdressed as well. "Happy Christmas, then."

“Well, I certainly would not show up to this on purpose,” she retorted, though whatever bitterness might have been evident in her voice was not intended towards Roderick, no, he seemed about the most decent person in the room so far regardless of his reputation. But like everyone else Eleanora had remembered or known after returning to Hogwarts, he, too, was just another semi-familiar face she avoided, much like whatever gossip might have surrounded him. Returning to Hogwarts after a year or so, maybe more, maybe less, time was hard to keep track of lately, made everyone else look the same, and only served as a reminder of what she had lost.

“Yes, my mum must have conveniently forgotten that I said I wasn’t going to attend and sent someone to fetch me,” she added, the tone lighter now that she had allowed her shoulders to relax from their stiff position. “Merry Christmas,” she said, turning to look up at him and giving him a small, polite smile. Roderick was not demanding answers or engaging her in conversation she did not care to have so far so, in an effort to appear to be engaged and hoping her grandmother would not try to take her around the room again, she settled.

“These things are plenty boring but at least you can rest assured there will be a gift under the tree waiting for you to take home,” she continued. Some old, lost souls came for the conversation but most of the younger ones came for the gifts, the good food, and occasionally, with the idea of finding their ideal match. But the latter was the furthest from Eleanora’s mind even though it was obviously on the mind of her grandmother. She was at that age, recently graduated (dropped out) from Hogwarts, and ready to belong to someone else so that she might get started on her life as a woman of society.

But having children and getting married was not anything Eleanora aspired to, especially not with some wizard her family wanted to set her up with. She often heard tales over Sunday brunch about how her cousin Genevieve had gotten so lucky with her match and how they were such a wonderful couple together, but Eleanora would simply roll her eyes. She knew what people like Genevieve and Wolfgang were like, she knew that sorts of horrible things the two of them agreed on, there was no way that Eleanora would ever put herself in such a situation. But then there was the issue of independence. She should not have shown up but what choice did she have.

“Unless you’re here for the good conversation?” she teased. She wanted to know if he was a kindred spirit that hated these things as much as she did or if he was just like everyone else.

"Mums," said Roderick solemnly, nodding his head. He looked around for the old bat who had cornered them together, but couldn't spot her any longer. Perhaps it was safe to move about the party again.

Then again, the hell did he have to say to anyone else here? At least in this corner, on this subject, he and the eldest Lovecraft child had something in common. And Eleanora had shifted, slightly, into a posture Roderick took a moment to place as relaxed. Not something many girls were around him. It was curious how easily and quickly Eleanora dropped her guard. Interesting. Intriguing.

Gifts. Roderick resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Mordred willing, it would be just straight-up money. Failing that, something reasonably valuable he could fence or pawn before Father got his nicotine-stained fingers on it and turn it into drink or drugs or whathaveyou. "Do you know if there'd be anything for the wee ones?" Roderick asked, thinking of Archie and Kelsey at home. He could slip something for Archie into the bottom of his trunk, safe at school -- Kelsey's might be safe too, if it was a trite enough toy.

Good conversation? Roderick snorted before he could stop himself. "Rather try to hold a conversation with a brick wall than these old blokes," he said, not particularly maliciously. It was just true, harsh and disparaging truth. Eleanora had a tone to her voice when she asked, though, that made Roderick suspect she felt much the same way. He let the corner of his thin lips twitch up into a half-smile. "I should be making some sort of effort, I s'ppose, but," he shrugged, hands stuffed into the robe pockets.

Something clicked as he looked at Ellie. He drew closer, one hand drifting to hold her back as he slotted in beside her. From her angle, they could see most of the society milling about. "You know this crowd better than I do, I reckon," he said, voice a little lower. Ellie was shorter than him, and he had to lean down a little to reach her ear. "Help me out, would you? Any of these old bastards work for the Derwent Healing school?" He raised a hand and gestured out over the crowd. "Point 'em out to me."

”Mums,” he had said if it were the punch line in some joke about family ties, making the corners of her lips quiver in slight amusement as she was taken away from the reality of how horribly invasive it had been to have someone wait at her door and refuse to budge until she returned with them to the Lovecraft estate. Of course, Eleanora might have gotten her way had she stood her ground but it was difficult to do that when she knew that her livelihood depended mostly on pleasing her mother, or at the very least, her grandfather who was probably somewhere around the estate expecting her to be there. Christmas, like most major holidays, were family traditions and though many of the family members despised each other, not showing up was seen as a bigger insult than showing up and refusing to talk to one another. It was a strange thing, trying to keep other members of the family happy, but a part of what it meant to be a Lovecraft.

“Certainly,” she said in response to his question, motioning for him to look around them and take in the glamour that surrounded them, “no expense is spared for Christmas, even the help gets a hefty bonus, which they rightfully deserve, mind you, after having to put up with all of this nonsense decoration,” she added. She wasn’t sure if his question came from the goodness of his heart or for the sake of another member of the family but it seemed impolite to make assumptions so she tucked the question back into her mind for a later date when it might feel more appropriate to ask something like that.

“I suppose that depends on your interests, if you’re mad about the state of the economy and a scholarly conversation on the properties of magical plants, you might have found your crowd,” she teased. Those were not topics the girl despised but hardly the sort of thing she wanted to discuss at Christmas, so she could only hope that she had not insulted her guest. “And why’s that?” she wondered why he felt the need to perform when it was rather obvious that he wasn’t into it, maybe they were kindred spirits after all.

As he drew closer she hesitated just a bit, her shoulders tensing again as she felt his hand before she willed herself to relax. He wasn’t one of those stuffy gentlemen that seemingly lost their manners around younger girls, and so it seemed impolite to react at such, especially when he had been so kindly keeping her company. But that did not stop her from noticing that he was close. “Uncle Ranulphus over there,” she politely gestured in the direction of a man laughing boisterously in the corner, “teaches there, I believe, or he did for some time,” she explained. He wasn’t asking for family secrets, at least she didn’t think so, “Though I believe Cousin Ursuline worked there as well, Advanced Potioneering, perhaps?” she shrugged her shoulders a little.

“Got your eyes on a position at St. Mungo’s?” she looked over at him and smiled a little, wondering if he’d give her some information in return. “I think someone from admissions is around here somewhere if that’s what you meant,” she said, looking at him expectantly. 

"Mums," he had said, and the corners of Eleanora's lips twitched upwards. Roderick let out a small puff or air, almost like a laugh. He was still amusing when he was making jokes, not just the joke.

"As they should," Roderick said, nodding, keeping his commentary about the hordes of wealth this side of the family was sitting on well to himself. It angered him, but he didn't need to tell the rich girl that. As it was, she was shockingly sympathetic compare to the rest of her family. "Oh, wondrous conversation," Roderick said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Why's that? Roderick shrugged again. "Father's out of work again. Mother is horrid at budgeting. If someone would give her an allowance like the rest of the aged socialites here, things would be easier. That's all." He felt like he should be ashamed to admit this, that they were here to beg -- but that was a performance, too. Only rich people liked the poor to have some pride. The poor couldn't afford it.

The young woman tensed under his touch. Roderick frowned, dropping his hand away. She was rather fit, he was noticing, this close to her. Not a trait he was known for noticing. Curious and curiouser. "Apologies," he murmured. "My manners must obviously leave something to be desired." He wanted her to feel safe around him, Roderick realized. It would make this evening so much easier if she was positively disposed to him.

Even now, tense and unsure, Eleanora was becoming a huge help. He noted each relative with a nod. Ranulphus, a teacher at the school, and Ursuline, who either working in the apothecary there or taught about potion uses. He studied their faces, committed them to memory. "Thank you, Eleanora," Roderick said, voice still a low soft rumble. "Deeply appreciate it." He should take his leave now, he had what he needed, but. But.

But there would be plenty of night left, and Eleanora was the only person talking to him like he wasn't an embarrassment so far. Roderick stayed put.

She asked about St. Mungo's. Roderick smiled, a lopsided on that creeped up on side of his face higher than the other. "Eventually. I'm shadowing there already, and I applied to Healing school." He watched her face for a reaction. She would probably be surprised, the way that Henry Murphy had been, but maybe she would be impressed. Roderick hadn't had many ego stroking moments since graduating Hogwarts. It would be favourable if Eleanora was impressed with him.

"Shall we acquire some disgustingly expensive wine, Eleanora?" Roderick asked, one eyebrow arching as he repeated her name, looking into her eyes best he could. "I think this party would be rather more tolerable under some influence."

Had he been any one of those pureblood rich boys she might not have paid him any mind; Eleanora had grown accustomed to those types and the insincere way in which they spoke to her as if they weren’t looking at her with sickle symbols in her eyes every time they looked at her direction. Or the way they spoke, those ridiculously saccharine but empty expressions of interest that sounded like they had been coached by their very own grandmothers. No, this, or more importantly, hewas different and it was that interest in deviating from the norm that caught her attention. Everyone else in the room was a cliché.

She waited for the punchline again, unsure if his explanation was honesty or dark humor or a strange combination of the two that she could not quite place. But he did not laugh, no matter how casually he had said words that anyone else might have thought twice before confessing and this intrigued her, too. How different, how so very interesting. “I don’t see why she couldn’t get her share, there’s plenty to go around,” she said but only because saying That’s too bad, felt much too arrogant and I’m sorry, felt rather impolite and self-serving. Eleanora might have been at odds with everything her family represented but she never wanted to come off as impolite.

And apparently, he did not want to either, his immediate apology filling her with a sense of relief and causing her to let her guard down. Unlike every bachelor in the room after her inheritance or name or the prestige that came with either, Roderick seemed harmless. Maybe, she thought momentarily, her grandmother had finally gotten it right this time. She gave him a smile in return, “No, not at all,” she said almost immediately, “I suppose I keep to myself so much I’m rather odd around company, sorry,” she said in turn, looking away momentarily as she considered how absolutely dull she might have sounded. But he seemed to gloss over it, instead, much more interested in the other bodies in the room.

Eleanora appreciated the shift in attention to someone else.

“Is that so?” she asked with a measured amount of surprise, looking up at him as he explained his interest in St. Mungo’s, “that’s excellent, all the Lovecrafts end up in Potioneering somehow, its nice to know some of us care enough to help others, what department?” she wondered but maybe he had not heard her, as he turned the conversation to something else completely.

“That sounds positively dangerous,” she said with a small giggle, which certainly sounded much more interesting than observing the people she could not care less about. “But you’re a guest and I wouldn’t want you to think me inhospitable, right this way,” she said, not giving a second thought to the fact that she hardly knew him and she wasn’t the best behaved when drunk but Eleanora had resolved to have a drink or two, just to be polite. Leading him down the hallway and away from the crowds towards the wine cellar. "If you're short on funds," she started gently, she did not wish to offend him, "you'd better find grandfather right after he's had a few whiskeys, he gets rather generous then," she offered. "

“I don’t see why she couldn’t get her share, there’s plenty to go around. Roderick snorted. "Take that up with her twenty years ago, or whenever she burnt through everyone's last nerve." It was a little too honest, that comment, too close to revealing some vulnerable truth about the state of the Macnair household. But, well, Roderick only cared for lying when it suited his ends. Watching Eleanora's face for a reaction, it seemed honesty (which was always easier than lying, no need to sort out what had been said, remember what was told) would be a surprisingly effective move when it came to getting into the young woman's good graces.

Of the good graces available to him, Eleanora was one of the more pleasant to look at.

His retreat worked – her shoulders relaxed, and she gave him another smile. "I don't think you're odd," he said immediately, quirking the corner of his mouth into what could, with generosity, be called a smile. It was a quick comment – he needed to memorize names, faces, all of it, but he did think it hadn't gone unappreciated. Good.

Eleanora mumbled something about Lovecrafts and potions and departments, but it was far too soft to hear and he had a more interesting question to ask. She seemed to agree, giggling and demurring for a moment before leading them towards the wine cellar. There were fewer and fewer people as they went on. Eleanora gave him a tip – a useful one, even. Roderick bowed his head quickly to indicate thanks. "How long does that usually take, then?" He glanced at his watch – it was early in the evening yet.

They turned and descended into an empty part of the house. Roderick frowned for a moment. He would have thought these posh bastards would have servants or housewives crawling around here. "Didn't expect it to be so empty," Roderick said, leaning against a cask while Eleanora selected a bottle of wine. She walked it over to him, and his mouth twitched upward yet again. His fingertips brushed the back of her hand as he took a glass. He should say thank you, but looking at the bottle between them, he came up with something better.

"You think anyone noticed us go down here?" Roderick asked, slipping his right hand into his robe pocket and drawing his wand. "Wouldn't want them to get the wrong idea. Witch and wizard down here alone..."

Roderick caught the girl's gaze and held with his own, kept holding it while he tapped his wand on the side of the bottle. The cork flew off with a soft pop. "Well. Anything could happen." 

Eleanora did not have extensive information about Roderick's family, though she had heard about Uncle Walden, who, like her very own Aunt Hesperia, had been (fairly) convicted of their criminal acts. Though, that certainly wasn't a topic of conversation. Though, she assumed that if she really wanted to know something more personal, all she'd have to do was spend enough time with her mother and she'd come across a little tidbit of gossip, probably something harmless if he had still been allowed/invited to attend the affair. But she didn’t want to pry, especially when she wasn’t sure if Roderick was telling her to make conversation or sort of on an introspective note.

After all, she had only just met him, it seemed right not to expect to be able to read him right away. Of course, that did not make the fear of committing some sort of social sin any less palpable which in turn only made her smile enough to be polite but not ask for clarification. She was supposed to read in between the lines, she assumed, even if she saw nothing between them.

“Thank you,” she said then felt immediately ridiculous for saying it; it wasn’t as if she’d gone her entire life being called socially inadequate. Eleanora had had friends before, an entire social life and a half before the incident. She could make friends with just about anyone, strike up a conversation on almost anything, and yet, here she visibly uncomfortable but more with herself than with Roderick, and acting as if she’d never been to one of these sorts of events before when they’d been the suspected highlight in her life for almost two decades.

But Roderick didn’t react to her ineptitude the way her mum would have; the fact that he so easily moved on to the next topic of conversation made her feel relieved. And there was nothing more pleasant than feeling relief in a place like this.

“After dessert, the men are invited into the gentlemen’s room,” she offered, waving in the general direction of the room towards the side, enough that he’d know where it was but without pointing at it directly so as to not cause unwanted attention, “grandfather is refined but has a taste for cheap whiskey, I’d say not long after that,” she explained.

Eleanora was fond of her grandfather, even if some of his qualities left much to be desired, as he was the only one that ever listened. And it was with that thought that she knew he’d listen to Roderick, and from the goodness of his heart, or his drunkenness, would come forth that generosity she loved.

“The help isn’t allowed in here without a member of the family, I suppose they assume it isn’t safe, or something like it,” she explained, Eleanora did not give the wine cellar much thought as they entered, almost immediately going in search of a bottle of wine, port preferably, and two glasses.

Finding what she was looking for, she returned with a smile, holding up the bottle for him to see, “Vintage port, Portuguese, quite sweet but much better than what they’re serving upstairs,” she offered, not ignorant to the way his fingers brushed against her hand but reminding herself not to be awkward about it. He’d said she wasn’t odd, maybe he was one of the better guests at this party. So far, he’d proven to be good enough company.

She laughed a little, genuinely, “I doubt I’d be missed; I’m known for disappearing at parties like this,” she explained, “well not like that—just you know, prefer being alone in my room reading or something, “she added, feeling a little flustered as she overthought everything she said.

But it was hard to look away from him, especially when he was looking down at her like that, intensely. “I-“ she started, but was interrupted by the sound of the cork disengaging with the bottle and reached out for it, instead, finally averting her gaze. “I suppose that is normally the intention, at parties like these,” she said instead. She’d allow him to read into that however he liked. “But first,” she diverted the conversation to something she could handle, taking the bottle from his hands to pour one glass of wine before handing it to him. “Drinks."

Thank you, Eleanora said. Roderick's expression didn't change. Thank you? That was unexpected. If his impression from Andy was anything to go off of, the Lovecrafts had been raised in this decadence their whole life. Eleanore seemed unenthused, yes, and oddly talkative, but not particularly out of place here. Curious and more curious.

He looked off in the direction of the room, keeping the distasteful curl of his lip marginal. Gentlemen's room. How many rooms did these rich bastards need? Was there any reason for men and women to be separated into different rooms? If one wanted to have just men, leave the wives at home. It seemed simple to him. "Right," he said instead, only rubbernecking at the door for another moment before following Eleanora on. It wasn't safe? To prevent stealing, more like. Roderick allowed himself a small scowl when his guide's back was turned.

But she picked good wine -- the label was foreign to him, but the year was older than anything he had tasted before. Sweet, she said. Roderick did like sweets. Roderick found himself liking a lot more about this party, down here in the cool wine cellar. He liked the way Eleanore kept looking at him, wide-eyed like a doe in a field. Even if he didn't understand half of what she was saying. He took the offered glass with a nod, raised it to clink with hers before taking a sip.

"The intention?" he asked after a moment, licking a few stray droplets of wine off his lips. "What, the matchmaking?" He snorted. "Seems pretty repressive, if you ask me. How can you get to know anyone with everyone else listening in?" Course, there was the Macnair way of courtship, involving knocking up a girl and being forced to the marriage bed after, which was no more tasteful. "And don't the old bastards arrange it anyway?"

Eleanora kept reminding herself that it wasn’t her first party, and that it was unbecoming to seem so desperate for a conversation when she still had an entire room to work before the night was out. And yet, the young woman had, in a way, become dissocialized by her grief and had forgotten how to hold a conversation without seeming so desperate for human contact. But Roderick seemed so different than the sort that she was accustomed to and in a way a breath of fresh air from the stifling air of arrogance that she had spent so many parties surrounded by.

Her eyes wandered down to his lips as he licked them before bringing the glass up to her own and taking a sip. “I suppose they don’t think you’d have anything to talk about that they ought not be privy to,” she shrugged lightly, she didn’t question the traditions at this point, it all seemed much too exhausting. Eleanora was well aware of what was expected of her and though she had no intention of marrying as fast as her mother wished, she knew that showing up to these things and playing along would buy her the time she needed to figure things out on her own.

“Eventually, yes,” she said, taking another sip from her glass. “But the more I pretend to be browsing the good, the less likely they are to rush me into it—as long as I’m browsing the allowed bunch, of course,” she added with a small smile. “You’re lucky, I bet you don’t get forced into these sorts of things, can have proper relationships and the like?” she offered, though it unintentionally ended in the form of a question. Was she asking to make conversation or was it because she was curious about him? It might have been a little bit of both.

The girl's gaze flicked down to her lips. Curious. She was so open, so willing to talk and to assist -- there was surely a line, a boundary that could be pushed upon and borken over. Roderick wondered if he could find that line tonight.

She didn't seem particularly curious, though -- "What, no secrets among society?" Roderick huffed. "Somehow I doubt that."

It was all strange to him -- what was the point of this dance, this farce, if eventually, someone else was to make the final match? "Seems a waste of everyone's time," Roderick said, tone mild. The goods, she said, in the first hint of bitterness of the night. She maybe didn't even realize -- but happy people didn't refer to suitors as 'goods', in the same way one referred to grain or potions ingredients. How disillusioned was she with men, then?

You're lucky, Eleanora said, with earnest genuineness. Roderick laughed, short and barking, before realizing she meant it. "Oh, you're --" serious, he almost said, cutting himself off at the last moment. She was serious, somehow, envying him and his 'freedom'. It was obscene, that envy -- to have everything Roderick's family was owed and to envy him for his freedom. Roderick would trade freedom in an instant for a clean home, for a single house elf or a full Gringotts vault. There was nothing lucky about being poor. Only the rich appreciated the noble beggar. In the alleys of Glasgow, there was no room for dignity or airs like this.

Roderick swallowed another huge gulp of wine. "Suppose so, theoretically." He leaned back against a cask, swirling the glass in his hand. "But it isn't like women are lining up to inherit the Macnair legacy." He shrugged back at her. "Suppose I could have a 'real' relationship, someday. Hasn't happened yet, though."

Dimly, he realized he had lowered too many defenses. He frowned, dropping his gaze to the wine before drinking again.