Doris Crockford (ex_correspon130) wrote in an_ill_wind, @ 2009-05-13 23:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | - 1980/05 may, doris crockford, rita skeeter |
WHO: Doris Crockford and Rita Skeeter
WHEN: Wednesday, 13 May 1980, dinner time
WHERE: Doris’ flat, London
WHAT: Friends having dinner to celebrate Rita’s promotion
RATING: TBD
STATUS: In progress
Rita was sore and exhausted. She'd stayed up too late, and it had been an interesting night at Fabian's, plus then she'd had to work all day and the man she'd gone to interview had the most grating, horrible voice and the most grating, horrible opinions. She had been made to sit through over an hour of his rambling, and she barely had one usable quote from him. When she finally got out of there, it was after five and she barely made it to the bakery on the way to Doris' place.
She managed to grab a decent looking loaf of bread and still make it to Doris' by quarter to six, and she knocked cheerily. "Honey bun, it's me. Let me in. I'm absolutely dying to get off my feet."
Leaning against the door, Rita leaned down and pulled off first one of her snakeskin heels, and then the other, standing with her shoes in one hand and the bread in the other, barefoot on her best friend's front stoop.
Rita had warned her that she had no idea when she’d arrive, so Doris planned a menu easy to put together at the last minute. The pasta salad was done and the ham sliced; everything was ready and she was setting the table when she heard a knock on the door followed by her friend’s voice. She smiled at her merry tone and, laying the last utensils on the table, she headed to the door to welcome Rita.
“Hello, come in,” she said, laughing as she noticed that her friend had already taken off her shoes. “Dying to get off your feet indeed, I see. Here, let me help you,” she added, taking the bread and moving aside to let her in. “Come in, my couch is waiting for your tired arse. How was your day?”
"It was long," Rita said, collapsing onto the couch after she handed over the bread. She stretched her legs out in front of her and flexed her feet. "I swear, if heels didn't make my legs look so good..."
She tilted her head and grinned at Doris, the expression a little bittersweet. Things were bad lately, and her day had been tiring, but she was glad to be at Doris' place. Too much time had passed since they'd spent any real time together. It wasn't really like they could talk over drinks at the Leaky last Thursday, and it had probably been a good two weeks since Rita had managed to drag her butt over to Doris' place. "God, how long has it been? It feels like ages since I've been over."
“Far too long,” agreed Doris. It had been some time before the attacks, which had taken place a week ago already. A week which had seemed to go on forever. She shook off those depressing thoughts, determined to have a good time with her friend tonight. “Do you want some wine?” she offered, heading to her small kitchen where she’d kept a bottle on ice. Returning, wine bottle in hand, to the front room that served as both dining and living room in her small flat, she added: “Everything’s ready, so we can eat whenever you feel like it, but I thought it’d be nice to start with a glass of wine.”
"Wine would be fantastic, ta," Rita said brightly, her hand disappearing into her hair for a moment to release the clasp, big curls falling free over her shoulders and into her face. She pushed her hair back and relaxed into the couch, smiling up at Doris. "Red if you have it. I'm not in the mood for white."
She realized she was being horribly rude and managed to look a little sheepish as she asked, "Hey, do you need any help? Give me two minutes to relax and then I'll be happy to help with, you know. Whatever."
“Red it is!” Doris said, turning on her heels to return to the kitchen fetch the other bottle. She’d chosen white at first, thinking of the menu she had prepared for them, but she always had a bottle of red on hand, just in case. “No worry, I’ve got it all under control. Just relax, you deserve it,” she said as she returned to the front room and tapped her wand on the cork to open it. This was one of those things where she was so glad for magic: she had never managed to use a Muggle corkscrew correctly, which was material for endless teasing in her family.
Filling two glasses, she handed one to Rita before picking hers and taking a sip. It felt good to be here, relaxing at home with her friend, despite everything that had happened recently. The mood had been so heavy lately, she’d felt so… alone in front of it all. She was glad to have invited Rita tonight. She needed her friend, and if she knew her, Rita needed her too.
"Maybe I do, but you've been working just as hard as I have," Rita replied, sniffing the red wine gracefully. She raised the glass in Doris' direction in a silent toast and smiled. "It has been a hell of a week, hasn't it, Crock? Though now that all that shit is done with, I guess we should be celebrating my promotion."
Even as she spoke the words, though, Rita's smile turned a little bitter. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about her promotion. It was a big step, certainly, but it wasn't perfect. It wasn't without risk and Rita didn't know if she was willing to take the risks it required. She barely even cared for current events, especially with how dismal the news always was lately.
"Or perhaps we should just be celebrating being alive," Rita amended, smirking a little. "With the way things are going, it's never a sure thing, is it?"
“It sure has been, but let’s celebrate your promotion, yes.” Doris raised her glass to join Rita’s toast, but her smile disappeared with her friend’s next words. Lowering her glass without dipping her lips, she carefully set it on the table, next to her – currently empty – plate, straightening the knife and spoon before speaking. “I definitely am glad that we’re alive, yes, but I’d rather we didn’t need to celebrate something like that.” Her voice was clipped, and she regretted it immediately. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll go get the food. It’s ready; I just need to bring it here.”
She didn’t give time to Rita to say a word before she crossed into her small kitchen. She silently chastised herself as she gathered the salad bowl and ham plate. Her friend didn’t deserve such a brusque reaction; she’d only stated the obvious, after all. Nerves were raw these days, but it was no excuse.