Xanthos Haîma

"Of course," a bright smile seeps on her lips, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, the anticipating eating at her. The short witch kept to his pace, her attention drifting to the Pegaus descending from the sky in front of them. Pandora stood back, letting the two greet each other. There was no words that could describe the connection between the two, sort of what she had with Pickle; when a certain wizard wasn't around.

"Pandora." The last thing she wanted was to be referenced the same way as her mother. "Does he always tell you what to do?" A smirk turns on her lips, surprised her Greek wasn't that rusty. Languages, another, that intrigued her growing up. The witch stands beside Xanthos, holding out her palm towards Achilles muzzle. "You are beautiful." Her gaze solely on the magical creature.

Achilles snorted softly, the beast’s way of indicating all was well, and nuzzled their foreheads together; the pair had been joined at the hip since Xanthos was a babe and understood one another on a level that went beyond language to instinct. He raised a brow when Pandora responded in rather good Greek, turning to look at Achilles as the winged-horse turned to look at him, the gesture almost seemed rehearsed. 

“Isn’t that surprising?” He said, Achilles snorting softly again in response. He watched as the majestic beast lent it’s large head down and sniffed at Pandora’s palm then, apparently satisfied, lent forward to allow the Witch to pet and stroke his muzzle, “Hmm, he likes you.” Xanthos said with a nod, still speaking in Greek, “I’ve known him to spit at people whose presence he did not take to.” And he’d be lying if he didn’t it amusing every time.

"I will not." With that savage statement, he downed half the ouzo and rued the day they'd started corresponding. It had been worse as children. Xan's father was especially tactile. It was off-putting. So he was pleased that the other wizard accepted the change in conversation.

“Yes you will,” Xanthos smirked, knowing he’d already won. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d wrestled the other Wizard into submission and he awoke where Xan needed him to be- that was how he’d got him to try Winged-Horse riding over a cliff edge after all. “And you’ll be better for it.”

“Oh yes you do- If I said I were marrying a penniless Muggleborn you’d have a great deal to say.” So would his parents and other friends though. “Yes, yes.” He waved one hand and held to the other for the floating bottle to refill his glass. Downing it, he let to a breath and continued, “You’ve made that quite clear, I’ve no intention of going slumming anytime soon.”  

The wizard goes to take a small indulgence in his drink before giving his attention back to the other. "Do the witches really fall for the Greek god flying in on his winged-horse?"

“I do not know, you’d have to ask a God, I am but a man.” He chuckled, “Achilles is my life-long companion, I trust him over any Floo Gate, any broom. Though,” he chuckled lowly, “I believe at least half a dozen of your maidens swooned upon his entrance- and as majestic as Achilles is, I hope their attraction wasn’t for the horse.”

"Please call me Sinistra." A beat. "Or Sin, I'm good at those." She winks at him, turning to look out at the crowd. "Welcome to London pureblood society. Tediously boring. Especially high profile weddings like this." Her head twists to look at him. "You learn to make it interesting over time."

“Sin… I prefer Sinistra,” he said with a nod, “Afterall, there is no sin in good time and company, regardless of what your prudish people may think. You know your name has Italian linguistics to it? It means, to be liberal.” He explained with a nod, “With some luck I shan’t be attending too many British weddings then, though I am pleased to finally meet so many of Rabastan’s dearest friends.”

He moved to avoid the swipe, but not quickly enough. So as Xan conjured the ouzo, he shoved him in return. It was infantile, but old habits died hard even in a grown man who cared so much for social appearances. "There. That's as much wrestling as you will get from me tonight. Don't try anything else." Pressing an empty glass into Xan's hand, he then took one for himself and extended it to be filled. "Would you like to be introduced to some witches? Many eyes are on you, you lucky man." Quietly laughing, he gestured to a small group nearby, who promptly turned away as though caught committing a crime. "Tall, dark stranger, et cetera. They seem in dire need of some new pureblood around here."

“Bah, so boring. My friend, you will accompany me to an open bath later this week, we have to have a serious conversation about your attitude towards touch.” His father was just as worried about it as Xan was- especially now he’d reached marrying age. “Ahh, now we’re reaching a more favourable subject,” he glanced around, easily pouring them a small glass each and left the bottle floating in the air between them. “They should be looking at me, I am fascinating. That and, unlike so many of you British men, am not afraid to bear the depth of my feelings.” Snorting at the mention of blood, something that mattered less to him than Rabastan, he continued, “Trying to marry me off already, my friend?”   

"Who wouldn't be? Much more interesting." One of the main reasons she went into the field she did. "You lead the way and I will follow." Anticipation building, excited to get her hands on the creature. At least there was something intriguing about the wedding.

“Very well, just this way.” Achilles was enjoying a night in the open air, but he and Xanthos shared a bond, so as they moved away from the lights of the house he whistled, a pair of short, sharp notes, and a few moments later the sound of wingbeats was heard and the winged-horse touched down before them with practiced ease. Xanthos stepped forward and lent his head down, the two pressing their foreheads together as he whispered sweet things to the beast.

“Ms. Greengrass, this is Achilles.” He said, turning back to the woman. Speaking in Greek to the horse he said, “She’s curious, be pleasant.”

"What is their name?" A small pause. "I would love to see your Pegasus, please." Her parents did instill manners in her.

“I was fond of historical legends in my youth, and still am,” he chuckled, “If you’ll accompany me to the grounds I can summon him for your pleasure. 

"Unfortunately fornicating in public is very frowned upon." He takes a sip of his firewhiskey. "I would suggest one of the room that you're not supposed to be in and have fun. That way there is still the rush of someone walking in." He gives a small shrug. "I do have a question to ask you."

“But I digress,” he clicked his fingers and a shot glass full of clear liquid (ouzo) appeared between his fingers, “What question do you have of me, my friend?” He asked, throwing the shot back and let out a satisfactory ”Ahh” from the burn.   

"That depends on what you consider revelry, Xanthos." Summoning a tray of canapés to their corner, he set it to hover between them and examined the contents. "I am quite sure one or two duels will break out. That is normally the way, once alcohol starts flowing and family feuds are dredged up." Finally selecting the best snack for himself, he turned to his friend and slyly smirked. "If you mean orgies, or whatever it is you do in Greece, you will have to find your own witches and take them home. That kind of thing is not done in public. It is frowned upon in polite society."

“Hmm, I should think you’d have some idea of that, my friend,” he smirked, “The dancing lines, throwing the bride and groom into the nearest body of water, carrying them to their bedchambers as songs of consumation are sung,” he shrugged, “The usual affair.” Taking a rather large gulp of wine he rolled his eyes, “Duels, they should be wrestling one another to impress their woman- or men,” he added, it was the twentieth century after all, “My cousin Heirate dominated several men at my uncle’s second wedding, it was quite the sight. As for orgy’s,” he cuffed the man up th back of the head, “We too prefer to keep such things behind closed doors you swine. Now, drink something proper with me-” he waved his wand and conjured a bottle of ouzo, “No more of this watery affair, no?”     

"Rabastan did, did he?" He questioned, searching the crowd for the man in question. "Any friend of Rabastan's is a friend of mine," he spoke smoothly, his lips upturning into a bit of a smirk. "Is that so? We'd be honored to receive such a gift." Blinking, he took a small sip of his drink, turning his stare on Xanthos. "And what country might that be?"

“Indeed.” He nodded, “Our parents were most keen that we establush the correct kinds of connections in our youths, so we were made to exchange weekly letters. Against expectations, we formed a lasting friendship.” As he spoke, he led the man towards the glass doors leading towards the grounds, “I should hope so.” Xanthos smiled and brought two fingers to his lips, whistling musically, enough to again draw some attention.

For a few moments, there was nothing, then a faintly glowing pure white beast cantered up through the field- a unicorn foal. “He is yours and your wife’s to name,” Xanthos said, resting a hand on the beast’s back, “He shall patrol your grounds and keep all within safe. Keep him fed and strong and so too shall your home and yours thrive.”      

She had heard about Xanthos from Rabastan, considering how close the two were, and would have to speak to him about why he had not brought the wizard around sooner. A glass of champagne in hand, she found herself stepping into the circle, catching the ending of what was being said and him turning in her direction. "Unfortunately, this group, they are rather," a small pause, "dull." Sinistra didn't know how much longer she'd last herself. "I always find that if you want your own fun, sometimes you have to make it yourself." A sly smile on her lips. "Sinistra Lowe. You must be Xanthos."

Lucius had experienced his fair share of overwhelming days in his life. His father forcing him to meet the Dark Lord for the first time at a mere fifteen years old, being permanently branded in the presence of at least a dozen seedy strangers, and the day the war had officially ended all stuck out to him.

This day, however, did not fall into that same category. Overwhelming it may be, he conceded, eyeing the sheer number of people in Malfoy Manor's main ballroom, but there was no lingering unease from today's events. No, it was his wedding day, and his mood had never been lighter. His gaze immediately found Narcissa—an absolute vision in white, though he never doubted it—over to the west side of the room, engaged in a conversation with his own father, whose demeanor surprisingly seemed to match his own. He supposed it wasn't too shocking; Abraxas had only managed to negotiate one of the most affluent Pureblood weddings of the decade. A Malfoy and a Black joining together was no small feat, which was why his vision was flooded with dress robes and silks of every design. The present journalists would have a fashion field day on the notable guests in their next respective issues.

He had been expecting a somewhat stiff affair when Rabastan had invited him along to this society wedding and, thus far, his assessment did not seem wrong. Xanthos was used to slightly more… energetic events in his home country, but the locals all seemed to be having a pleasant time.

His entrance (flying in atop his Pegasus) had garnered plenty of attention but obviously not so much as the couple of the moment, one half of which he’d finally spotted unoccupied. Curling his fingers so a glass of red appeared between them, almost as dark a red as his dress robes, he stepped over and was slightly nudged before he could gain the groom’s attention. “Please, it is no trouble, I am quite unharmed,” he smiled, his accent strong but the English words pronounced expertly. He rumbled a deep laugh at the gratitude’s and shook his head slightly, “And how often have you repeated that line so far today, my friend? A rather stiff affair in some aspects, no?”