draconics.

❝  A toast!  ❞  The young woman spoke, repeating the declaration of another bar patron. Honestly, she had no clue what was going on here. If she had, then she might’ve been appalled at the very thought of celebrating the death of someone. Even if they were an elitist Pureblood. As it were, she had just been walking home from work when she was attracted to the merriment that came from the pub. She gave a brief pause as her eyebrows furrowed and nose crinkled,  ❝  Um… what are we toasting again?  ❞

Oh — she was a breath of fresh air. His tie had been crumpled inside his pocket and the first few buttons undone. Fabian had bolted out of the funeral home as fast as he could, be it a funeral or a wedding, he had never been too fond of formal events. At least in weddings, there’s always room for merriment and a space for him to take a deep breathe. However Funerals were as stifling as the suit he was forced into, the stitching felt more like bones, trying to shape him into something that he was not. Between that and the dizzying scent of flowers that Druella had picked out, a scent that stubbornly clung to his clothes like a dragon’s claws, her careless remark had reminded him of his family home and the highlands that he had spent his days in the last few years.

It was comfortable.

‘Yeah, I’d toast to that,’ he raised his own glass to meet hers. The sound of the two glasses clinking was drowned by the buzzing inside the pub. Then, he answered with the slightest of laughter, ‘It’s the death of a Mrs. Druella Black. I’m sure no further explanation needed.’