|Arcturus Clinton Warrington, III (mynameisclint) wrote in impetuousrpg,|
@ 2011-11-22 18:44:00
|Entry tags:||char: clint warrington, char: daphne greengrass|
Who: Clint and Daphne
When: Tuesday Night
Where: Their flat
Rating: Idk? Language.
Clint was having a hard time. He didn't understand why Daphne wanted to keep this from his mother. It really bothered him. He loved his mum and she'd be so bloody happy over it and... yeah, he kind of wanted to share that with her. His family had little enough to be happy about since Lyssy died and this was a good thing. The fact tha Daphne seemed ashamed... well, maybe it was that she was more scared than anything was driving him mental. He didn't know how to handle it. Instead of fighting with her, he just said something shitty and would leave because he really had no desire to raise his voice to his pregnant wife. He loved her. He really did but her insecurities could drive a Saint to drink. Running a hand through his (awesomely perfect) hair, Clint finished off his last shot and pushed off the bar stool. He payed his tab and decided he ought to head home. Things had been shite lately and he was tired of it. He wanted to fucking be happy. He wanted to tell the world he was going to be a dad and bloody enjoy his marriage and he couldn't do any of that because of W.A.P. and the fucking Ministry of Magic.
Rolling his neck, he headed out the door and decided to walk the ten blocks home. It was cold and crisp out and maybe he'd start to feel in the holiday spirit. Marcus was a fucking disaster. He'd never seen his mate so shut down before and he didn't know how to fix it. His bastard half-sister was pretty much just as broken and he couldn't fix that. The few happy things he had... well, they weren't really even all that happy. Daphne thought she was fat and he really wanted to touch her little baby bump but was afraid she'd go cry in the loo and cut herself or some shite. He couldn't deal. Life was too stressful. He couldn't dump his problems on Marcus. He couldn't talk to his mother. He couldn't talk to Daphne. Clint felt alone. Utterly and completely alone. Hell, he'd considered owling Bell but somehow, owling your raped sister about how you wanted to tell your mum about your baby just seemed wrong.
Lost in his thoughts, Clint barely noticed the flurries as he walked into his building. Idly dusting the snow off his head, he headed inside. Standing outside his door, he stared at it. He really didn't want to go in there. He wanted to have some fucking fun and enjoy his life and his marriage and his baby. "Fucking hell," he groaned, pushing the door open and heading in. It was warm and nice and it smelled like Daphne. Her cat came running to the door and crawled up his leg, digging it's ugly claws into his pants. He stared down at the ugly thing and shook his head and just walked, cat attached to his pants, and headed into the kitchen. The kitten crawled up his back and he winced, rolling his eyes as Quasi spread out across his back as he made coffee. Sighing, he moved to the fridge and stared. He really ought to make dinner.