smallestopener | The Princess Birthday Ball

The huge, white tent sprawls on the lawn beside the lake. It has been transfigured there for a very special occasion. A stone walkway leads from the bar to the tent - the pavements are wide enough that ladies' dresses won't trail on the ground as they make their way to the entrance. Over the draped curtains of the entrance way is a large banner which reads "Happy 7th Birthday, Ingress".

Once inside, the honored guests will be in the midst of an enchanted ballroom. There are balloons drifting in bunches from the circular tables lining the sides of the large dance floor. Floating candlabras glow with gentle light from above. There are trees in large ornamental pots interspersed throughout sparkling with fairy lights from real fairies.

One long banquet table is positioned on along the side of the ballroom - there are treats of all description. Little finger sandwiches, chopped up fruit, cookies, cheese and crackers, and other child-friendly h'ors douerves are presented to make sure the dancers are sustained throughout the the party. There are large bowls of ice cream (kept cold with magic)and sundae fixings. Punch bowls of sherbet-flavored drinks await ladling into crystal goblets. But most impressive is the large birthday cake with blue, purple, and pink icing roses festooning it.

Ingress is busy greeting her guests in her gown - a birthday gift from Amy and Susan - but soon she'll be dancing to the music provided by the overlarge Gramophone in the corner, which is playing a wide array of dancing music from waltz standards to court music to pop hits of the 20th century.

Tom, who's pretty tired from the magical effort required to pull this off, is in the background making sure his little girl is having a perfect party, and Princess Amy is helping Ingress in her hostess duties.

Come in and enjoy the party!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

*Meg happens upon her by the Gramophone; this might be because she's been lurking around the machine with a sort of bizarre fascination. It's so large. Also, complicated-looking.*

You could fit a whole orchestra in there, it looks like, *she laughs, by way of greeting.*

"You could," says Amy, laughing. "A string section, at the very least. And if you put one of these records on, music comes out. Without there being any orchestra at all!

"Hello, Meg."

I've seen things like that, *Meg says, wisely,* only they're much smaller - one of my uncles gave me one for Christmas. They're called CD players. So this is what you've been up to for the past age!

"Yes, for the most part," says Amy, looking around. Even with all the magic there's been a lot to do for this party. It looks very good.

"I think this one is bigger so it'll be louder," says Amy, to whom the concept of speakers is pretty much completely foreign.

That makes sense, *Meg agrees cheerfully, who knows approximately as much about speakers as she knows about microwave ovens: i.e., they exist, and they're frightening.*

You look beautiful, by the way, did I mention that? *she adds, inspecting Amy's dress.* It's a very good color on you.

*Meg herself has opted for full 1880's fashion - corsets, bustle and all.*

Amy smooths the silvery grey skirts of her dress. "Thank you," she says. "It went so well with the shawl, and I had to wear the shawl, because Tom and Door gave it to me."

The shawl is lavendar, with violet tassles.

"You look gorgeous, Meg."

Even if Amy has no idea how she's managed to get herself shaped like that.

Well, I won't be sitting down during this party, that's for sure, *Meg says, glancing over her shoulder at the bustle, before turning back to grin at Amy.*

But it's a small price to pay for the height of fashion - not that everything else isn't, I mean, but someone had to represent my home and time and so forth. I'm just waiting for someone to turn up in one of those Elizabethan things that goes out three feet on either side to make me look sensible -

There is a pause before Amy answers, as the mun tried to figure out how people did manage to sit in bustles.

"I would except you to be too busy dancing to have time to sit down, anyway," says Amy, laughing. "Elizabethan things?"

She predates Elizabeth. And if it means missing the farthingale, she's completely okay with it.

*Mostly they perched on special stands that would be placed around the room.

And - well, got very used to standing for long periods of time.*

Queen Elizabeth, *Meg explains, helpfully.* One of those English queens - in her day, they all wore dresses like this, and these huge ruffs around their neck like this -

*She gestures extravagantly with her hands, by way of demonstration.*

I mean, I expect they worked very well to make sure everyone got the right amount of personal space, but -

Amy stares. "That sounds very very silly. But I suppose that's why one goes to Paris for clothes, and not England."

Even in Amy's day, Paris is the height of fashion. Because hasn't it always been?

*Well, Meg's certainly not going to disagree.*

The English are always trying to outdo us, poor things, *she agrees airily,* and usually it just makes them look silly. But you do have to give them credit for trying.

"I suppose," says Amy.

And then she looks puzzled.

"Whatever were they trying to outdo with silly skirts and collars out to here?"

*Meg giggles.*

- well, fashionwise I guess they were just thinking, bigger is better?

"Ah," says Amy, Wisely. "Well, I think that's common enough. I have a dress at home with a thirteen yard train. Because some countess had a twelve foot train, and the princesses couldn't have a shorter train than a countess."

*Meg blinks.*

Thirteen feet? That's - well, you could fit me more than twice in there, for a start, *she says, and shakes her head.* I think I'd almost rather have the ruff. Did you ever have to actually wear it?

Amy nods. "Yes. For a ball. It was completely absurd. You cannot dance with thirteen feet of fabric following you around. You can barely walk. You have to have pages carry it around."

*Apologies for the inconvenience, but Meg is temporarily incapable of speech.

It's a few moments before she gets her fit of giggles under control.*

- desolee, it's just - I've got this picture of you trying to waltz, and a dozen poor pages cavorting behind you balancing the train and trying to keep up -

"It was only six pages," says Amy. "And no matter what sort of picture you've got, the reality was more ridiculous looking."

I don't doubt it, *Meg agrees.* I'm not sure who to feel sorrier for - you, or the six poor pages, or poor Countess Whatsername with her twelve-foot train that's still not quite long enough.

"Well, the countess didn't have any pages," says Amy. "And so she wasn't able to dance at all."

A pause.

"Which means she might be the person to feel the least sorry for, really."

Not able to dance? Oh, I'd feel the most sorry for her then, *says Meg, glancing down at her own feet with a grin.*

I mean, heavy train or not, everyone ought to be able to dance.

"Even if it makes them look silly", says Amy, giggling a bit.

Everyone ought to learn how to look silly, too, *Meg says, firmly.* It's good for you really - kings and queens and countesses and things especially. Builds character!

Amy giggles. "My mother is, I believe, already convinced that I have rather too much character."

Yes, *Meg says, sagely,* but does she know how to look silly?

Re: Greet Amy

kitchen_maid - 2006-05-22 21:17 (UTC) - Expand