king_quentin (king_quentin) wrote in thedisplaced, @ 2017-07-14 18:35:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !log/thread, pansy parkinson, quentin coldwater |
WHO: Quentin Coldwater and Pansy Parkinson
WHERE: The magic house
WHEN: Early July
WHAT: Mornings require coffee. Thank goodness Quentin is making some.
RATING: PG
STATUS: log; completed
While it wasn’t exactly unusual to have so many people living at the house, it was unusual to have so many people that weren’t the ones he’d been living with before in the house. He felt a dull ache in his chest still whenever he walked past Alice’s room. Even just mentioning her in conversation made him feel like he’d lost her all over again. It was ridiculous since she wasn’t there and it wasn’t like she liked him back where he’d come from. It was stupid to miss something that didn’t even exist anymore. Their relationship had been dead the minute that he’d slept with Eliot and Margo. He’d fucked up and he just kept hoping something would change. It was early and he was still in his pajamas, but he was making coffee so he could even exist for the rest of the day. As aggravating as her housemates were, Pansy rather liked living amongst so many people again. She was a social creature, and she’d done best in Hogwarts where there were like-minded people over whom she could hold court all the time. Things had changed after that, of course, and it had been frankly quite lonely. She was glad to be around people again - especially those who would make coffee first thing in the morning. She wandered down, her dressing robe drawn together with a loosely tied belt. “How much longer before it’s ready?” Quentin jumped when he heard Pansy talking. He’d been out in his own little world, so he hadn’t heard her coming. Turning around, he gave her a sheepish smile. “Ah. Hi. It shouldn’t be long, really. A couple minutes probably.” But it didn’t matter. “I’d ask if you were hungry, but Eliot or Petunia are probably better for food.” Okay...and Kylo. He was pretty good at fancy breakfasts. “But at least there’s coffee, right?” “The most important thing,” Pansy agreed. She flopped onto a chair and rested her head on her elbows on the table. She didn’t know why she was so tired - no, check that. She didn’t know why she’d allowed herself to stay up so late the night before. There was really no reason to, other than the fact that at one point, the prospect of getting ready for bed felt like a bigger task than just staying up, so she had. And now she was tired and cranky and off schedule. Without lifting her head from her arms, she announced, “I need to find a job.” As unpleasant as it could be, it would make the days go faster and set her on a regular schedule. “A job’s probably a good idea.” Honestly, he probably needed to do the same thing, but he didn’t even know what sort of job that he’d want to do. He hadn’t been thinking about a job in a while. He’d done the job at the office, but that was boring and awful and if he ever had to do that again, he might kill himself. Or maybe he’d just die from the boredom and save himself the trouble. “Anything you’re interested in? There’s probably a few places around that are looking for people.” And eventually he’d have to drag himself out to find something. “I don't know. I'm not supposed to use my magic in public here, which really is a huge waste of my talents, I think.” She hadn't lifted her head from the table yet. “But it's their loss, really. If they want to deprive themselves…” She shrugged. “I suppose I could mix drinks. I've done it before.” “People are being weird about it recently.” He didn’t really get the why. Yeah, people had been a little off from themselves, but they’d fixed it, hadn’t they? Well, actually, Quentin couldn’t be sure if they did, but the last time something crazy happened, they had. I bet you could do it if you made it look like magic tricks instead of magic. Like muggle magicians. “It can’t be too difficult. I’d prefer to spend time around books, I guess. Anything but working in an office behind a desk again.” “Not a bureaucrat?” Pansy lifted her head just enough to smirk at him. “Neither am I. It's so terribly boring. Of course, spending time around books doesn't sound much better.” She'd been keeping an ear out for the gurgle of the coffee machine, and when finished, she perked up. “Coffee’s done. Give it to me.” “No. I tried it once. It was boring.” He didn’t want to do it again. “The books aren’t too boring. It’s nice to have them around. I don’t really socialize well, so…” He shrugged. He’d spent many parties with Julia just sitting and reading the Fillory books. She’d made comments, though. About his habits of hiding from people and reading. “I like them anyway. More than people.” “Someone’s bossy in the morning.” But he still poured coffee into two cups. “How do you take your coffee anyway?” Pansy perched her chin on the palm of her hand, energized by the prospect of coffee. “If you don't like it, you could always refuse. Then I'd have to be nicer to you to get it.” She fluttered her lashes at him to demonstrate. “Really Quentin, you should stop letting people boss you around.” Maybe that went hand in hand with not liking people. No wonder he didn't, if he let them kick him around. “Black, by the way. I take my coffee black.” “Well…” Quentin shrugged. “That’s probably valuable advice, but I don’t know.” He wasn’t sure that he was really the leader sort of person...even though he was in a way. He was just used to being himself and ‘himself’ wasn’t really great at being a person the majority of the time. “Black coffee it is.” He handed her the cup before sitting in one of the chairs. “Mmm.” Pansy took a long draught of her coffee, heedless of how hot it was. It wasn't until after her third sip that she spoke again. “Will I need anything to get a job? In Germany I had to work off the books.” He took a sip of his coffee, shrugging at the question. “I’m not entirely certain. What was your job when you were back home? I think they might take whatever it was you were doing into consideration.” He wasn’t doing anything but learning magic. Well, technically he was saving the world, but that was another matter entirely. That didn’t help with getting him a job outside of one in an office, which he didn’t want. Which meant he would be looking elsewhere. “I think you’ll be fine whatever you choose. It’s just a matter of choosing.” “Bartending,” Pansy replied. It was the easy, safe answer. She wasn't going to go into all the questionable things she'd done for her father. “But Muggles have funny rules about paperwork and employment. Sometimes I think they have even more red tape than wizards do.” She supposed she could do that now. It was a simple enough job, and she could dump drinks on anyone who got randy. Bartending. He studied her for a moment. She didn’t really look much like a bartender. He shrugged after a moment. “Well, there’s plenty of places here where you can bartend. I mean, there’s something out there. I don’t think you really need to have papers that prove you know how to bartend. I think...no, wait. That girl Jo has a bar. We’ve gone drinking together before with Damon. I bet you could find work there. Or she might know where else.” What else was there? Well, outside of the museum and the library, he wasn’t entirely sure. He’d prefer a bookstore to a library, though. “I'll go look.” Pansy had moved about enough to know the drill by now. She finished off her coffee and levitated it into the trash. Hey, just because she was awake and caffeinated now didn't mean she was willing to expend extra energy just yet. “Come with me,” she said, getting up. “And then we’ll look for a job for you. All this sitting about full of ennui isn't good for you.” Quentin stared at her for a moment. “Listless is my best look. It goes hand in hand with the depression and the general self hatred.” But he slowly forced himself to get out of his chair, finishing his own coffee. “But fine. We can look for something and I’ll attempt to be a productive member of society instead of wallowing.” Which was probably for the best because wallowing just led to thinking about Alice and everything he didn’t have. It was more exhausting than he’d prepared for. And mostly pointless since she wasn’t here anyway. “I kind of already hate it.” “Well, I hate your wallowing, so you’ll just have to force yourself to bear it,” Pansy said unsympathetically. “We all have to do things we hate to survive. I should know.” She got up, though, and patted him on the head. “Cheer up, darling. There are ways to make it all a little bit more bearable. I’ll teach you.” “You haven’t even seen it at its worst,” he replied with a shrug. And it had been worse. He wasn’t as drunk as often now, but when he’d first arrived, it was hard to pry him away from the alcohol. He neglected to mention how many times he’d been in a hospital because of his issues. At least for the moment. Later, maybe, they could talk about it. He doubted she really cared. “Is it alcohol, because I’ve been using that coping mechanism. Probably longer than I should have, but it’s not like I really needed my liver anyway. Maybe that can be replaced by wood, too.” Pansy blinked. That was a new development. She stood up and peered at him closely. She’d had her coffee by now, so she was rather functional. And yet…. “You don’t look like you were carved from a tree.” Quentin snorted lightly before pulling up the sleeve of his t-shirt to expose the wooden shoulder. “Don’t jump in front of a dangerous spell to save the girl or person or whatever you love unless you’re prepared for the fall out.” Which he had been. He didn’t actually regret saving Alice. He’d do it again even now, knowing how shitty it would be after. “You can touch it. It’s kind of weird at first, but it moves like a normal shoulder and everything. So I don’t know. Centaurs have weird tricks.” “It’s disgusting,” Pansy said, but she reached out and touched it - quickly, then curiously - in fascination. “Oh, it’s horrible!” She knocked on it. “Utterly unnatural. I love it.” She stepped back and gave him a cheeky smile. “I was going to suggest alcohol, but I don’t think a wooden liver’s going to do you as much good as a wooden shoulder, so we’ll figure something else out. Perhaps you should take full advantage of that shoulder and offer your services as someone who can open doors by brute force.” She mimed banging open a door with her shoulder. Quentin hadn’t really known where she was going with the word choice. He wasn’t even sure that she was being particularly nice about it. So when she got to the end and said she loved it, his brows furrowed and he looked at her quietly for a moment. “Well, it’s a wooden shoulder. What do you expect?” He shrugged. “It’s possibly not the best.” Also he really didn’t want to think about the potential for splinters so close to his stomach. That would suck. Not that his shoulder splintered or anything. It just...could happen? He didn’t know. The shoulder held up well when it came to showering. “I’m not sure I want to accidentally break my wooden shoulder. I don’t have the centaurs to fix it.” “Your centaurs are friendlier than our centaurs,” Pansy remarked. “I doubt they’ve given us anything other than a right fright.” She gestured at him to fix his shirt. “At any rate, I’m going to go and get dressed. You should too. I’m getting you a job today.” |