Chapter Text
And so it happens that there is a ball of sorts at Netherfield, and Darcy inevitably finds himself persuaded into attending by his exuberant puppy-like friend Mr Bingley. It is Bingley hosting after all. The ballroom is glittering bright with chandeliers and tinkling wine glasses, and Darcy is skulking in a corner with some brandy, thinking of his Very Comfortable Bed, and scowling at the orchestra’s high-pitched strings. The brandy is in fact, not even that good. His friend is quite well occupied with that gaggle of sisters - and why do they continually look over at him while giggling? Why do they all look like they’re wearing nighties? (he had had a particularly cutting argument with one of them about this, and she suggested he try dancing with someone to take the nettle-sting sourness out of his countenance) (so he pointedly ignored her and her advice from then on).
He was just getting bored enough to consider slipping an entire bottle of brandy into his overcoat and sneaking away, when he noticed a strange man-child enter the room. It was indeed, the same overgrown man-child (Greg?) who had trespassed onto his woodland, covered in mud and limbs slipping about like a discombobulated moose, who then attempted to run away when Darcy threatened to call his hunting dogs on him. At the time the sight of a gangly mud creature was actually intimidating, but it soon wore off when the creature stammered on about getting lost.
‘I, er, my apologies, I was, you know, trying to pick mushrooms, and like-- I followed the mushrooms rather than the path-’
‘Are you.. a woodland pixie?’
‘I- no - I don’t think so.’
‘Nor do I,’ Darcy raised his eyebrows at him in annoyance. ‘You don’t have the grace for that.’ He looked behind them at several sections of broken down fence.
‘Yes I, there was a- mud incident.’
‘Mud incident?’
‘It was-- mud of a slippery nature. A ruckus with a bog-’
‘What are you actually talking about?’
By that point Darcy’s anger was starting to get mixed with a twitching smile of amusement, but he managed to reel it in, and threaten Greg off his land with a little more aggression and a demand for compensation for property damage, before turning homeward and stomping off.
Now he could see Greg on the other side of the ballroom, looking rather dazed and furtively swirling his glass of wine. Darcy almost snorted. Now he was smiling at the other guests, and absentmindedly sloshing some of his drink on the floor. He seemed harmless really, just another unrefined idiot at this party. Darcy continued boredly sipping his brandy, and was about to look away when Greg spotted him and froze up like a scared deer. Darcy raised his eyebrows at him and dismissively looked away, but Greg was already loping over, looking sweaty, scared and determined all at the same time.
Darcy crossed his arms and looked coolly at him with furrowed brow. ‘Have you something to say, Greg?’
‘Yes, I-’ he straightened his shoulders purposefully, ‘I’m here in an angry capacity.’
Darcy snorted, but Greg continued on still, ‘And I don’t really think it’s fair that like, I pay for your fences because. Well, one had already fallen down, and the other was tipping already, so I’m not really liable? And also you were quite rude and ungentlemanly and I think I caught some kind of stomach bug from your bog so like I really think you should be held liable for my intestinal problems-’
‘Alright alright, good god shut up,’ Darcy waved him off but couldn’t help the twitch of a smile he was trying to hide. Greg still looked scared.
‘Here,’ Darcy poured him a glass of brandy and thrust it grumpily into his hands, ‘maybe this will calm your excitable bowels.’ Greg hesitated, looking cautiously at the scary man.
Darcy rolled his eyes. ‘It’s an apology, drink it, by Jove.’
Greg sipped a little. ‘Why are you so angry?’ he asked.
‘I’m not,’ he huffed.
‘I would definitely not agree with that.’
‘I just don’t have much affection for people crashing through my land, spluttering nonsense about mushrooms.’
‘Do you have affection for many people though?’
Darcy narrowed his eyes, and Greg instinctively took a step back.
‘Fine,’ Darcy growled, ‘what do you recommend to encourage affection?’
Greg shrugged. ‘Dancing? Even if one’s partner is, well. Barely tolerable.’ Greg was plucky to continue insulting him like this. Darcy didn’t have a retort so he leant against the wall, swigged his brandy and scowled a little for good measure.
The orchestra began playing a sprightly waltz. ‘This one’s quite good,’ Greg said tentatively, and shuffled into the dance floor. He began with a gangly flourish of his long arms, and twirled them about in such a way that he seemed to be mimicking the conductor. Greg spun quite contentedly into the crowd of other dancers. He certainly was in time with the music, but still looked very much like an octopus attempting to walk on land for the first time. Lots of wobbling limbs everywhere and not much grip. Darcy couldn’t help but laugh from his corner, especially at the pirouette, which Greg ended with a little bow and hesitant smile towards Darcy. By the end of the song he was guffawing and Greg loped back over with a big grin.
‘I am sure,’ Darcy began, ‘I would remember seeing your elaborate dancing if you had ever come to one of these balls before.’
Greg was a little pink. ‘I haven’t, this was my first one in the county.’
‘Then who did you come with?’ Darcy asked. Greg pointed at the contrastively graceful Bennett sisters. ‘I’m their cousin.’
Darcy laughed, shaking his head. ‘Cousin Greg. I did not expect that.’
‘So, do you have any affection for other human beings now?’ Greg asked daringly.
Darcy narrowed his eyes again. ‘A little. Perhaps.’
‘I mean, not that you joined in with any dancing at all.’
Darcy scoffed. ‘Don’t push your luck Cousin Greg.’