Fabian is rather content to act like a child (fabianywho) wrote in itwillhaveblood, @ 2010-05-01 18:55:00 |
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Entry tags: | - 1980 may, decima yaxley, fabian prewett |
Who: Fabian Prewett and Decima Yaxley
What: A chance encounter
When: 1 May 1980
Where: Diagon Alley
Rating: PG
Status: Completed log!
Fabian hated being idle. And it wasn't as though he'd been just sitting around for two weeks. He'd been going to work and getting as much exercise as his damaged leg would allow. But he didn't have the speed he was accustomed to, and having to depend on a damn cane hand been frustrating and humiliating. The muscle was finally starting to repair, though, and he'd been walking all over today without it just because he could. He'd been in Flourish & Blotts, looking for any books that might be useful, either in helping the Order or tracking down Mulciber. He'd managed to find a good one on defensive wards, at least. He felt no need to explain to anyone why he'd also purchased A Guide to Puffskeins when he'd never even so much as considered owning or caring for one. He blamed Doc for his love of small, furry animals. And besides that, he was curious how anyone had managed to fill an entire book with information on the little furballs. When he stepped outside and headed back toward the Leaky Cauldron, only a small portion of his attention was given to his surroundings. He doubted anyone would be stupid enough to attack him here, on a public street, in broad daylight, though his wand was perpetually somewhere he could draw it quickly. He was more interested in learning about defensive wards. He'd only just started skimming through the book, trying not to be painfully aware of the limp in his stride, when he walked right into another person. "Bloody--sorry," Fabian muttered as writing supplies scattered across the cobblestones. He grimaced at the twinge of pain that shot through his leg as he crouched down to gather the items. "I guess I wasn't looking where I was--" He looked up at the poor soul he'd bumped into, and it took his brain a moment to recover from the sight of her and let him finish what he was saying, "--going." Decima was going crazy in her sister Nona's flat. Her own flat had been broken into (again) several weeks ago, and unlike the rest of her family, she wouldn't take anyone else's charity. She needed to take a few extra jobs in order to get a bit more spending cash, as she'd prefer to not let her parents know about this particular incident. Decima liked her flat, though no one else did. Though the inside was lovely, it was in Knockturn Alley and frequently got broken in to. Nona, as Decima discovered, was slightly hypocritical though. She was a hitwoman and ran with a dangerous crowd, yet she insisted upon keeping her baby sister in a little bubble. And honestly? Decima had had enough of it, so she was trying to get out of Nona's flat as soon as possible. Of course, she loved her elder sister, but there was some thing as being too close, which is exactly what led Decima to the stationary shoppe in Diagon Alley on this particular afternoon. She needed more writing supplies: parchment, quills, ink, and maybe a bit of stationary because, if one is going to spend all her time staring at paper, it might as well be pretty paper. When someone all but slammed into the youngest of the Yaxley children, she all but fell to the floor herself. The supplies were long gone, with scrolls all over the cobblestone path, broken ink bottles and quills bent. "Oh!" Decima couldn't help but exclaim. She could not believe her luck, which seemed to have two degrees as of the late: bad luck and worse luck. "You certainly were not looking where you were going," she agreed though she couldn't help but look at the grimace on the bloke's face. "Are you alright? You look like you are in pain." Her own worries were temporarily forgotten, even if only for a minute. "Oh, it's nothing," Fabian shrugged, putting on a brave face. It was partly due to his Gryffindor tendencies to deny to strangers that he even felt pain, and partly because he refused to use pain as a way to get sympathy from a pretty girl. "Just a little Quidditch injury." That was his cover story anyway because, really, how would he explain to anyone outside the Order why he'd been at Mary and Gid's so late, and why he, who'd never had any legitimate training, had been able to hold his own against a known Death Eater? It would've been nice to be able to brag about it, but he wasn't even officially treated, and that was suspicious enough. "Sorry about all this," he said, handing her what scrolls he'd managed to salvage from the spill. "Doing a bit of writing?" he inquired, the corner of his lips curving up into a smile. One simple rule when it came to flirting with girls: show interest in them, and not just because they're pretty. Though this one, really, she was more than pretty. Still, best stick to basics. They'd worked plenty before. Never mind that he'd never gotten very far in a relationship. That didn't really matter, did it? Decima whipped out her wand despite the fact that the bloke had swooped to help pick up her things. With a simple wave of her wand, her supplies (or what was salvaged of her supplies) landed in a neat pile in her arms. With an approving nod, she tucked her wand away again. "Hm?" she questioned, but then she proceeded his question. "Oh, I am a writer as a profession. I'm a freelance writer, actually, hence why I need to supply myself with writing materials." She shrugged. "I mainly write for the posts and sometimes a few magazines. Mainly whatever I can get an assignment for." She frowned slightly at the bloke. "What did you say your name was again?" "Really? Interesting. Written anything I'd know?" He tried to ignore the fact that she'd had the presence of mind he lacked to merely use her wand to gather the mess. Sure, he could get creative with a wand during a life or death duel, but like a muggle, he tried to pick up a mess with his hands. He half-jumped, half-pushed himself up to his feet, wincing again as he found the delicate balance that put just enough pressure on his injured leg without being painful. "Oh, blimey, where are my manners? Fabian Prewett, and you are?" He extended a hand and a warm smile. Decima frowned slightly at the bloke. "Depends on what you read, Fabian," she replied. "I've written a lot of various things. Have you read anything written by Isobel Smythe? 'Cuz that's my name, but you can call me Izzie." She rather enjoyed introducing herself under her alias. It gave her a strange sense of power or accomplishment. She liked to have this dual life, and she highly enjoyed keeping her professional and personal lives separate- so separate that they garnered two different names, personalities and lifestyles. Decima extended her hand after a moment. "Do you make it a habit of running into people like this?" she teased slightly, her voice and tone slightly playful for the first time since the run-in. "And here I thought you were recommending another writer," Fabian replied playfully, a twinkle in his eyes. The name wasn't familiar, but that didn't mean much. He kept up with the Prophet as much as he could, but he didn't really look at the byline very often. After today, though, that could very easily change. "Izzie." He smiled, tossing the name around in his hand. Not entirely conventional, but it had its own allure. Isobel sounded better, but he liked the confidence with which she asserted her identity. It had a certain spunk, certainly well suited to her, from what little he'd seen. His smile brightened when he detected a more cheerful tone in her voice. He laughed lightly. "No, not usually. That's what I get for trying to walk and read at the same time." Self-deprecating behavior was usually a nice way to strike a chord with a girl. Especially when he'd probably already started off low in her eyes. "Though, after today, I might do it more often. We'll see." Decima wrinkled her nose at the bloke. He was trying to be funny, which she appreciated, as this truly was not a humorous situation at all. She allowed her eyes to glance down at the ink splattered on the cobblestone sidewalk. So much for diving into writing today. She guessed she really didn't need the purple ink. The was just for her benefit. She looked back up at Fabian. "I don't suggest you walk while reading. Trust me, I've done it enough during my life, and life certainly has a tendency of passing you by." She shrugged a little bit before looking around the alley. "So how do you plan on making this up to me?" she demanded with a grin. "Fortescue's is right down the alley..." "Well, I wouldn't mind missing some of the moments," he remarked, gesturing at his leg. He wouldn't trade having been there to save Mary and Aiden for the world, but he hated that his reward for that was a clump of destroyed muscle. "Or sometimes it runs smack into you," he mused softly. Oh, Merlin, he was wavering on the cheesy side now. Trying to impress a girl through humor was one thing, but being cheesy was reserved for those he knew very well wouldn't walk out on him for sounding so stupid. "Isobel Smythe, are you asking me on a date?" Fabian inquired, the corner of his lips twitching up into a smile. This was new. Most girls didn't usually take the first step. Yes, after this, he might very well make a habit of running into pretty girls if it got him a date with said pretty girl. "I was going to offer to replace the ink, but ice cream works just as well." "I wouldn't say so much that I was asking you out on a date as I was trying to right a wrong. In fact, since you offered, you can buy me new ink- because who doesn't need purple ink in her life?- and you can get me ice cream to make up for all of this," she replied confidently. "Or mainly because I'm pretty sure a bloke hasn't walked into that stationary store in at least three generations, so this ought to be amusing." She bit her lip for a moment. "And I told you, you can all me Izzie. Isobel is too formal for my taste." Though not as bad as Decima, she added in her head. This certainly was quite the detour, but it wasn't as if she wanted to go wait in Nona's flat for her sister to return probably super late or covered in blood again. She was so tired of the double standards her sister made for herself. "After you, Fabian Prewett." She recognised the name, of course, to be a Pureblood name, but she really didn't know the bloke, and honestly? He made her curious that he had a Pure family, but she didn't know much of him. Fabian laughed graciously. He wouldn't argue the point--for now--but he wouldn't accept that her proposal had not been intended as an invitation for a date. He was buying her gifts and food, and while those acts were to amend an error he'd made, it still qualified as a date in his mind. If given the opportunity, he'd persuade her to believe it, too. "Well, then, let's make history, Izzie, and we'll have ice cream to celebrate," he grinned. He limped over to the door (though he made an effort to conceal it as much as possible) and stepped inside, holding the door open for her. He may at times be a clumsy, rude, indelicate bastard, but no one could honestly say that chivalry was dead with him. |