Vic Mulciber (fromdefeat) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-03-24 17:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | keats avery, victoria mulciber |
WHO: Keats Avery and Vic Mulciber
WHAT: platonic lifemates hitting milestones
WHEN: Hogwarts, late 90s/ present day, Friday 23rd
WHERE: Hogwarts and an upscale art gallery
WARNINGS: none, drunk heckling
The lanky, bespectacled boy looked down at their classmates frolicking at the bottom of the hill and wrinkled his nose with disgust. “It must be springtime. The Hufflepuffs are mating.” Vic snorted and followed Keats’ gaze. The joyful shouts and general air of comraderie would have been hard to miss anyway if you weren’t working hard to ignore it. Vic watched as two third year Hufflepuffs shyly leaned into one another, faces pressed close. “Gross,” she feigned being ill. “You’d think that was all that was in their brains, eat, flirt, shag, repeat.” Keats rolled his eyes. “Well, they are Hufflepuffs,” he said. He paused, his expression one of both disapproval and jealousy. “I don’t see what the big deal is.” “Me either,” Vic agreed, absently ripping grass out at the root, surreptitiously sneaking glances at the couple from under the curtain of her blonde hair. “Anything that makes you that stupid can only be stupid.” “Agreed!” Keats echoed, a little too enthusiastically. He didn’t care about any of this silly, childish stuff. It wasn’t what was important. “Have you ever like, kissed anyone?” he asked, before he could stop himself. “Obviously,” she retorted. “I’ve kissed loads of people.” 2 actually. “Have you?” Keats pouted. “No. No-one.” Oh. Vic blinked in surprise. “Well...I mean there’s no one even half decent to kiss here anyway,” she said, quickly trying to make her best friend feel better. “Like who would you kiss anyways? A Flint? A Rosier?” He made a face as though he’d just been forced to look at some contemporary abstract outsider art. “I’d rather never kiss anyone than any of those,” he opined. Vic pulled at the grass again and shrugged. “You know, I could kiss you if you want to see what it’s like.” Keats looked at her, wide-eyed, fully expecting her to follow up with a snarky, Just kidding. “Really? You’d do that?” he asked. “Duh,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re my best mate. You think I’d leave you to a Flint?” She shifted so that she was up on her knees facing him. She tossed the grass away. “Ready?” Keats was not at all ready. “Um, ready,” he lied, also turning himself to face her. Vic swallowed, pretending to brush errant grass off of her hands but really pressing sweaty palms to her robes. “Okay,” she said unnecessarily. “Here I go. I’m going to kiss you. You are going to be snogged.” There was a brief pause before Vic went for it, only remembering after she swooped on to clumsily press her mouth against his, to be gentle about it. Keats made a muffled sound of surprise and awkwardly kissed back, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was meant to do with his mouth. Was he supposed to do something else with his face? His hands? By the time he had even begun to decide what he was supposed to do, it was over. He blinked, pleasantly befuddled. “Okay,” he managed finally. “Thank you.” Vic also blinked back, relieved she’d seemingly done her job as a best mate. It had felt a little like kissing a brother or something, but she was happy to use her considerable experience snogging, to help him. “No problem,” she shrugged, and hid any embarrassment by tugging at the grass again. “So,” she cleared her throat and smirked. “D’you think she’d keep snogging him if every time he opened his mouth, bubbles came out?” Keats chuckled, glad for the change of subject since his ears were turning pink with embarrassment. “I don’t know, but I’d like to find out.” “This one,” Vic gestured with her glass of wine, nearly baptizing the painting with a splash of Merlot. “How is this considered art? How is it even in an art gallery? How is it selling for…1,000 galleons??” “Her mother owns the gallery,” Keats slurred with an almost audible roll of his eyes. He attempted to take a sip from his own wine glass and missed his mouth. “I’d buy it so that no-one would ever have to look at it again, but that would only encourage her. Do you think she was a Hufflepuff?” Vic made a very dignified “pfft” sound and took another sip of wine. “No way, only a Gryffindor — obviously not me — could throw paint at a piece of parchment and call it a day. And say it’s worth millions. Thousands, whatever. Where’s the cheese guy?” “Perhaps you should become an artist,” Keats suggested. He raised his hand and called to the waiter in a drunken attempt at a dignified voice, “Cheese Man! The lady needs you!” Vic stifled shocked giggles and a snort into Keats’ shoulder, spilling wine onto her shoe as she did. There was a titter of disapproval from the other guests of the gallery opening, but Vic ignored them. “You can’t just yell like that, we’re respectable tonight.” “Oh goodness, you’re right,” Keats said, looking horrified by his own thoughtlessness. “Cheese please, Cheese Man!” He snapped his fingers. Vic suffered through another set of drunken giggles before turning to the nearest fellow attendee, rolling her eyes. “Can’t take him anywhere, I swear,” she lifted her wine, pinky out and knocked the whole thing back in one gulp. The woman she’d addressed cleared her throat, visibly uncomfortable and seemed relieved when the beleaguered and unimpressed “cheese man” responded to his summons. “Yes well,” the woman tried politely. “You two are a very...charming couple.” Having traded her empty wine glass for a stack of Brie, Vic nearly choked on her laughter. “Couple?” “We’re best friends,” Keats explained, as though this were incredibly obvious. Sharing an incredulous look with Keats, and missing the skeptical look the woman and waiter shared with each other, Vic shook her head. “Men and women can be friends you know. Are you a Hufflepuff?” Keats snorted wine out his nose at that and took her by the hand. “Come, my lovely friend. We have art to appreciate,” he said, and began to lead her in the direction of the waiter that was carrying pastries around the party. “You know, maybe we should just get married if we get old without finding anyone. Get everyone off our backs. We’ll just drink and laugh at anyone. Dainty Man, stop walking so fast!” Vic tripped as Keats hailed the pastry man, saving the last of her cheese by stuffing it in her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully, ladylike. Drunk They were already in their 30s and Vic knew she wouldn’t be finding some spectacular husband with the perfect attitude towards all her shortcomings — particularly her blood. Gawain was even dead so there was no one left to ogle. Romance novels filled any voids and Keats was already her platonic soulmate. “Well I dunno what to tell you but that’s basically what we do already anyways so I think we already might be.” “Yeah, well, we could just keep doing the same thing, only we could have a party that was better than anyone else’s party,” Keats said. When he finally caught up to the waiter, he grabbed as many tiny pastries as he could and began to stuff them into his mouth, ever the gentleman. “Hey,” Vic growled, elbowing Keats out of the way, “save some for me!” To the horror of the waiter, she scooped the rest off the tray and shoved them into her dress pockets. For later. “Won’t your Dad like, revolt? I’m not pure—oh my fuck, why do they have a chocolate fountain when they could have a wine fountain?” Keats shrugged, not having thought that far ahead and not really intending to. “He’s already got a grandkid now—what does it matter? Dante can make enough heirs for the both of us.” Misunderstanding her question, he filled his glass with chocolate, thinking it was a wine fountain. “Keats” she dove forward, preventing him from no doubt pouring the entirety of the chocolate down his front in an attempt to drink it. “Clearly you will die without me,” she said gravely. “I accept your platonic life partner marriage proposal.” Keats grinned. “Wonderful. Perhaps we can run a winery together,” he said, then dumped the cup of chocolate down his front anyway. Vic sighed, reached into her pocket for one of the little pastry puffs and dipped it into the chocolate pooling off his tie. “You know we’d just end up drinking all the stock.” She grinned. “Sounds good to me. Hey, HEY HUFFLEPUFF LADY. I SAID YES!” |