Barney (sensationalism) wrote in an_ill_wind, @ 2009-07-27 12:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | - 1980/07 july, barnabas cuffe, greta catchlove |
Who: Barnabas and Greta
Where: Catchy Creations and Cafe
What: A promised visit and gifting of souvenirs and hopefully cake, for Barney's sake.
When: Early evening after work, Monday 27 July 1980
Rating: G/PG - Barney keeps his swearing to a minimum in this case.
Status: Completed Log
Man did not live on odd things from the ocean that had just been swimming about not thirty minutes prior, foul-smelling Asian fruits, and curry dishes alone. Sure, these all made up Barnabas Cuffe's diet on the regular, but a balanced diet needed just a bit of sugar in it. Or, that is, a good healthy sugar and frosting and cake-y binge every now and then. Being the close friend of one of London's best bakers and confectioners made that easy for the young man, who was looking a bit pale and maybe peaky from being indoors in Monaco for the past week, gambling and answering owls sent from London. . .one of which was directing him to his current destination. Enriched flour helped prevent rickets from being a cave-dweller in a sunny beautiful land, didn't it? Ah well, at least butter and sugar was involved, and Barnabas' stomach seemed to growl hungrily as he opted to stroll down the street rather than apparate in.
He wasn't so used to cheering people up on a daily basis. He was paid to tear the life's works and livelihood of them to pieces, and phrase it as colorfully as possible. However, at the core of the mouthy and showy man was a loyal and attention-loving Hufflepuff, despite how much he tried to hide it away from everyone else other than one friend in particular. Barnabas knew how much Greta needed to be cheered up, and he'd try to dole out as much wisdom as he could, though when all else failed - as he had to face it, he was absolutely horrible with relationship advice, seeing as how nearly all of his had failed as miserably as a sunken souffle - he'd just shower her with gifts; gifts he'd bought in Monaco, which was a highlight of the trip, seeing as he had a materialistic streak as wide as the distance to the small country he'd just visited from where he was now. He neared the shop and walked into the door, balancing boxes in his arms, turning to the side to peer around them. "And where's my triumphant parade celebration of homecoming, then?" he called out in the middle of the cafe and everything.
Subtle wasn't in his vocabulary. At all.
Greta was spending her Monday as she had spent every day since the break up: moping. She knew this was her own fault. She had broken up with Gideon. Wasn't she supposed to feel good about this? But no, she felt all sorts of awful, and not even baking up a storm really did the trick anymore. She needed her friends now more than ever, so when she heard Barabus' voice boom through the bakery, Greta very nearly dropped the bowl of cupcake mix she was stirring as she ran to greet him. Pushing through the swinging door that connected the kitchen to the front counter, her blue eyes doubled in size as they fell upon the body she had missed so much.
"BARNEY!" She practically squealed with delight (it was the first time she had felt that emotion in over a week) before dipping underneath the counter flap instead of bothering to lift it up and running to give him the largest hug in existence. Of course, in the process, one or two of the boxes Barney had been holding tumbled to the ground, making a rather large CLUNK, and though she gave a bit of a jump, she just didn't care. One of her best friends was finally back in town, and just when she needed him most.
"I have missed you SO much!" She squeezed him tighter, not minding in the slightest that there were customers looking at her strangely. Who cared about any of that? Barney was back home!
Now, of course, the majority of people who knew Barnabus Cuffe as the stern and cruel editor of the Daily Prophet would furrow their brows at his friendship with supremely bubbly Greta Catchlove, but somehow they worked, and Greta never ever ever questioned it.
Finally releasing him from the hug, she beamed and took his arm quite excitedly. "I have made a German Chocolate Cake every day since your first journal entry, waiting for you to come. I am so super excited you're here!"
Upon first reading the letter she'd sent, Barnabas wished he could rush back home and cheer her up. Sure, he may have also been chomping at the bit to get out of "that wretched place" he was sent to for a story on a new restaurant, and of course he would be the one to complain about being "cruelly banished" to a beautiful place like Monaco, but that was neither here nor there. For all his airs of grandeur and cockiness and his reputation through his writing, he was a bit of a sentimental guy. . .sometimes.
He'd never admit it, and sometimes not even to Greta - manly pride was important, after all.
Barnabas had to turn around completely and try to see where he was looking, and appeared extremely comical as a result, spinning like a Dervish with pink and white boxes in his arms. Just as he was about to exclaim that he couldn't see her, he heard Greta's voice and felt a familiar hugging style that he had grown used to. He laughed out loud as the boxes all fell with their loud, coppery thump noises, but didn't care. There were more important things at hand. Well, more important things at arms, if he was being technical about it. "Longest week of my life, I swear, and not just because I missed you," he sighed comfortably, happy to be home. It was usually his ritual to come back to Greta's cafe after a long trip, it always finished the journey for him, welcomed him back. He leaned back and gave her his usual "super-European and chic" double cheek kiss, which just made him look entirely pompous and even more silly than his other mannerisms did, and laughed out loud soon after. "Hopefully they didn't go to waste - German chocolate cake uneaten is a crime, especially the ones you make," he complimented, blue eyes wide at the thought of cake. Delicious, delicious, coconutty and chocolate cake.
Greta was pretty sure that she would never really get used to Barney's double-cheek kiss. She'd always been more of a hugger herself, but the occasional kiss on the cheek wasn't uncommon, it was the double cheek kiss, or maybe just how Barney went about it that always sent her into a fit of giggles. But it was part of who he was, and she adored him for it and every other ridiculous mannerism he possessed. "Well you are home now, no need to worry about stinky ol' Monaco anymore!" Of course, she sincerely doubted Monaco was as bad as all that, but that was her darling Barney!
"Come!" She pulled his arm towards the counter. "We'll go to the back and talk!" Just like they always. She loved routine, and her routine with Barney was one of her favourites. Looking back over her shoulder, she finally took notice of the big pink and white presents and she beamed. "You spoil me, Barney! You really truly do!" Greta giggled as she flicked her wand to send the boxes behind them, and began dragging Barney to the special table she had all made up for him in the kitchen.
The kitchen at Catchy Creations and Café was unlike all other bakery kitchens in that it was incredibly tidy. But Greta never allowed for mess, so those who knew her would not be surprised. And off to the back left corner, there was a table, free from flour, cakes, cupcakes, and any other confection, except for one large three layered german chocolate cake in the center with the words: Property of Barnabus Cuffe written in perfect cursive in the middle.
Oh, but Barnabas thought it was so polite and educated to do that! Luckily, he was none the wiser. It made him seem so "worldly," or so he thought. He groaned and rolled his eyes as he heard the word of the small country, obviously having a bit of a vendetta against it, and now obviously making a little too much of a bad restaurant experience than was warranted. Leave it to Barnabas to gripe that much about one less-than-favourable hour. "Thank Merlin for that," he nodded in agreement, looking forward to never going back to the quoted, "wretched place."
"You're not too busy?" he asked, letting Greta take care of the presents as she led him to their usual spot. Among all the smells and sounds of the kitchen, that was truly where he loved to be - not being able to boil water himself, he had always been fascinated with kitchens. "I don't, and they're nothing too special," he fibbed, anxiously awaiting her surprise and delight at seeing the expensive presents he'd bought for her. He opened his mouth to say something else, only to close it quickly as he saw the most beautiful cake he'd ever laid eyes on.
And it had his name on it! Even better! He loved how his name appeared in print almost as much as his most favourite dessert in the world. He'd had creme brulee in Paris, tiramisu in Milan, sticky rice and mango in India and Boston Cream Pie in. . .well, Boston, naturally, and everything always paled in comparison to his best friend's cakes.
"No, no, you spoil me, and you're trying to get me all fat," Barnabas laughed out loud, eyes practically bugging out as he stumbled close.
That cake, Merlin. He really was ridiculous with how much he loved it and raved about it to anyone who would listen - ambrosia of the gods, but with more coconut!
"Too busy for you?! Barnabus Cuffe! Don't you dare be ridiculous!" Greta actually laughed at her statement. As if she would be too busy for her darling Barney? There was a reason she hired people to help her run the shop! And she deserved a break after the week she'd had! Too much crying and running and feeling sorry for herself. She would take her break with Barney and enjoy every single second of it because she could!
"You could use a little meat on your bones!" Greta giggled and gave him a side hug as she watched him with delight. There was nothing that made her happier than watching people enjoy the things she made, and Barney hadn't even tasted it yet! Of course, just for Barney, Greta had been generous with the chocolate and the coconut, but she had worked hard to find the perfect balance, never letting one flavour overpower the other.
"Sit sit sit! I'll cut you a piece, and I have some milk too! I'll get you a glass, and then we can talk, and I can hear all about your trip, and you can hear all about" she paused with a bit of a sigh, "my week," but she quickly picked up, "and we can catch up, and I'll box away the rest of your cake to take home." Quickly, she skipped to get a jar of cold milk and sat it down on the table with two glasses and then plopped in a chair. "Barney!!! SIT!"
Barnabas let out a cocky sort of shrug and a smirk, as if agreeing with her. He was used to preferential treatment, and not just from his job at the Prophet. Truth be told, he was a bit of a spoiled brat. But this, this went far and beyond any regular spoiling he had. A whole cake of his favourite cake in the world, well, that was just amazing.
"I can pack on my winter weight early, this is all worth it," he joked, knowing the cake would be good. It always was! He came in here practically every day to buy dessert, or even when he needed cupcakes for lunch instead of a balanced meal, and he knew they were always amazing! He did pride himself and attribute his good word of mouth for success at the shop, telling so many people about the cafe and bakery. Of course, that was just him being full of himself.
Barney nodded sympathetically, preparing himself for finding some way to make her feel better when the presents had alreayd been opened, knowing she had one hell of a week. "That is if I don't eat it all now," he smirked, still eyeing the cake and getting a little distracted. It really was a thing of beauty, especially after being stuck in a casino hotel for the past week with no good German chocolate cake. "Which I might. Might skip dinner," he smirked, eyes widening as she commanded him to sit. In a flash, he plopped down into his chair, trying hard to hide a wide, happy and comfortable smile at her silliness.
A look of pure shock and disbelief covered Greta's mouth at Barney's statement that he might skip dinner, and her jaw may have dropped a little bit too. "You will most certainly NOT skip dinner! What an absolutely ridiculous thought! Barney, you'll come upstairs to the flat and have dinner with me! I will not let you skip a perfectly good meal! This cake will last plenty of time, and you don't need a tummy ache!" Skip dinner! How silly! "I put a roast in, and have been checking it, it should be done in an hour or so, you have to join me if you don't have plans."
Taking a rather large knife, Greta cut the cleanest piece of German chocolate cake one had ever seen and placed it on the porcelain plate, making sure to give Barney the slice with the "B" from his name on it. After cutting a piece for herself too, she poured glasses of milk and got down to business. "So what first? You or me? Or your presents?"
"I skip dinner all the time! I skipped dinner in Monaco," he said with an obvious sneer to his voice. "Well, they did try to give me fish sticks or something similar, I don't know why, but yes, I skipped dinner there." He was an insufferable snob, it was a wonder anyone put up with him. Although a roast sounded absolutely marvelous, but he'd hide it and not want to impose. "No, no, I fancy a bit of curry tonight, after not having to live in the smell for a week." Ah, yes, his little flat - on top of an Indian restaurant, where the vents seemed to pump the smell into. He had missed it so much.
He didn't even wait for politeness before he dug in, stuffing his face with cake. Barnabas leaned back in his chair comfortably and casually, in that rehearsed suave manner of his that he tried to put on so often. "Oi, yeah!" he nodded, smiling and gesturing over to the boxes. "Presents, of course." He sat up a little straighter in his chair, almost as thrilled to see how she reacted to the gifts he'd picked out for her - French-made copper cooking pots and pans, which the salesperson said conducted heat better or something of the sort. They were the most expensive and the most flashy, so of course, naturally he had those picked out for Greta. . .and he knew nothing about cooking pots himself, as he knew nothing of the practical skill of cooking, only how to comment on the end result.
"You would rather have curry, which you could get every night of the week if you pleased, than join me for dinner?" Greta looked at Barney with fake hurt. "Don't you be ridiculous. You can't abandon me. You're coming for dinner and you have NO say in the matter. You'll have to suffer and have your curry tomorrow because I want you to come to dinner and you should do what I say because..." She bit her lip thinking of a reason why. "because if you don't come for dinner, I'll never ever EVER make German Chocolate Cake for you again!" A very serious and grave threat...that she would never uphold, but still.
She let him think of that while she turned to the presents which had conveniently lined up right next to her table. Goodness! With so many large pink and white boxes, Greta hardly knew where to start, so she went for the closest and tore in like a kid on Christmas. Opening each box, her eyes grew bigger and her squeals much louder; these were the prettiest pots and pans she had ever seen! And they were made of copper, which means they would heat so much faster! "OH BARNEY!" She practically swooned, petting a pot almost like a small puppy. "These are beautiful, and gorgeous, and shiny, and perfect, and copper, and all those other adjectives you'd use to describe them! I don't even know what to say! You don't know how long I've wanted these! I was going to give them to myself for Christmas! But they're so hard to find! And I can't believe you bought them for me! Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you!!!!!" She squealed again and jumped up to give him another huge hug (forgetting he was eating cake) and a big kiss on the cheek.
"It's part of my diet! You know, the five basic food groups," Barnabas joked, beginning to list them on his fingers. "Your cake is the main one, then French food, after that curry and Indian food. The last two are alcohol and sauerkraut! You know this!" Alarmingly, that was the makings of his daily food intake for the most part. He let Greta threaten him, keeping the silly grin on his face and nodding as she spoke, only sitting upright at attention as she mentioned no more cake. "Okay! Okay!" he laughed all the while, holding his hand out to stop her. "I'll stay for dinner!"
"But I still might eat the whole cake," he said after a silly, overdramatic pause.
Barnabas leaned back in his chair and watched her open the gifts, even more pleased as now and then he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection. They were the shiniest and brightest cooking pots money could buy, that was for sure, and of course that was his style. "All the good chefs and cooks in France use those, they all have them on display in their kitchens, so of course you need some too. They should be good for heating chocolate, I hope," he said happily, though knew absolutely nothing of making chocolate. Barney grinned again, relishing in the attention he got from giving such a good gift (so this was why people felt so good when they gave to others!), and hugged her with one arm - as the other shovelled more cake into his mouth. "You just promise you'll cook me something good with them, you know, to see if they're really all that great."
She was very glad that Barney agreed to stay for dinner, but nothing could top her happiness over these pots and pans. Goodness! She hadn't felt this happy in...weeks and it was so nice to feel bright and sunny again, even if it wouldn't last forever. But she knew every time she used these pots and pans she would smile and think of Barney and hold on to this happiness that she felt for as long as she could. "Oh my goodness! You better believe I'll cook you anything you want! Anything at all! I could even try and make a curry, but I doubt it'll be as good as your Indian restaurant." Greta was a good cook, one of the best, but there was something about Indians making curry that really made it right. "You just tell me what you want and you've got it buster. Anything you say!"
Oh she was so happy, so very happy at this very moment, nothing was going to ruin it. In fact, after another kiss on the cheek, Greta grabbed her chair and pulled it right next to Barney's so that they could sit nice and close. She rested the pot carefully on the table and promptly dug into the cake. "Oh Barney, everything is better when you're here. How do you do it?"
Barnabas was always of the belief that there was no better emotional therapy than new, shiny, expensive things to buy, or good things to eat. It worked more effectively if you combined the two treatments, and this gift seemed to kill two birds with one stone. He'd have to give gifts more often if that was the case! And he could even avoid having to go all into detail about his own messy breakups. . .at least for the time being. It was a real win-win situation. "You'd make a better curry than them, believe me," he complimented, taking another bite of cake and talking with his mouth full, as if unwilling to wait to take turns between eating and speaking. "I saw where they get their meat on Fridays. Dodgy at best."
What a ray of sunshine he was.
Barney laughed and smiled, still riding on that high of feeling like a good, giving person, and the cake made it all better. "What?" he snickered, looking right at her as he laughed. "If that's the case, I'll bring a new copper pot every time I visit. Like one of those add-a-pearl necklaces, or charm bracelets, only add-a-pot. Because really, I don't think it's me, I think it's the gifts," he grinned, just teasing her.
Greta's nose visibly scrunched at the idea of dodgy meat. "Oh ewwwwww" She expressed her utter displeasure quite unhappily. "I would only use the freshest meat, I promise. Pinky promise." Greta took great pride in absolutely everything she cooked, and she would never dream of using anything dodgy, especially not for Barney. "I'll work on my curry, get back to you when it's perfect." As if she'd let him taste anything but.
"Oh you goose, you know it's not the pots. I mean the pots are lovely, more than lovely...what's a better word than lovely? SUPER! Super Duper! The best EVER! But you know I'd be happy if it was just you, with your lovely smile and happy outlook on the world." She teased and took another bite of cake. "So tell me! Your trip in five sentences and I want all the good juicy gossip. Did you meet anyone? Charm some girl with your business card? Gamble away all your money in casinos and have to walk back to your hotel shirtless? I want to know EVERYTHING."
Barnabas shook his head and gave her a jokingly reprimanding look, narrowing his eyes and smirking all the while. "When has anything you've ever cooked for me not been perfect? You've spoiled me, you know, you've turned me into this monster I am. I have to compare everything I eat to your food, and it never quite matches up. So I can attribute my success with the column to you!" he laughed out loud in his snicker-y, almost vindictive sounding chuckle, a habit of his. "Instead of a monetary kickback I'll just buy you more cooking stuff," Barney smiled.
"Splendiferous," he added, also thinking of better words, or not even words at that. "Resplendent. Pulchritudinous," he said, thinking of the best words he possibly could. "Ha ha ha," he sarcastically crooned at her, taking a bite of her cake in joking reprimand.
He put down his fork just long enough to think of five sentences, and began listing them. "One, I got sick off of that Le Trentin hellhole they call a restaurant. Two, I think I saw Princess Grace there, though I don't know why she'd be stopped at a streetcart selling bottles of soda, but I'll just tell everyone it was Princess Grace. Three, I lost my gambling money and had to owl the Prophet for an extension on my paycheck. Four, I did lose my shirt, but not from gambling. . .it got carried out in the tide while I was swimming, and I think a Great White Shark bumped my ankle while I was swimming after it." It was a wonder anyone listened to him, really. "And five, I got a bit drunk at a tavern and learned a French pop song." With that, he grinned at his list and picked up his fork again, back to stuffing his face.
Of course, Greta was all blush when Barney complimented her. Sure, he was her friend, but he also was still the harshest critic in the Wizarding World. Sweet words from him were better than cupcakes, and Greta was always grateful he liked what she made him. "Barney!" She giggled, her cheeks turning a pretty pink as she brushed off each of his compliments and gestures of kickbacks. He was just the best friend ever.
Greta was all too eager to listen to Barney's five sentences. She even stopped chewing long enough to give him her entire attention, her eyes growing wider with each statement. For all of Barney's complaining and whining, he really did live the most glamorous life. It was a wonder he didn't appreciate it all...but secretly, Greta knew he knew he was lucky.
"One. I'm sorry. That is awful. Food should never make you sick. You poor dear." She pet his head. "Two. REALLY? Princess Grace?! That's fantastic!" Yes, she totally ignored the fact that it was unlikely Princess Grace. "Three. Barney, you shouldn't gamble like that...it's dangerous. Although I would always send you the money if you needed it." And she would, honest to goodness, anything for a friend like Barney. "Four. A shark?! Goodness gracious! That's just so neat-o! Where were you swimming with sharks?" She was so captivated. "And five. I want to hear that song. Please sing it now."
"It's true, though!" Barnabas exclaimed. He couldn't be biting sarcasm and tearing the hard work of others to shreds every moment of the day, after all! Besides, he truly did believe that Greta was among one of the best cooks he'd ever met - not caught up in ego or expectations, and just honest. While he didn't know at all how to cook himself, he'd eaten enough to taste the sincerity and as cliche and sappy as it sounded, "love" in food. Rarely was he able to mention it in his writing, though. "Don't blush! And don't make me go into my tirade on how you should become a pastry chef because you could fly circles around all of them," he smirked.
It was really a shame that he didn't appreciate all he had. It was the trials and tribulations of his upbringing, really, or just the attention-craving side of himself knowing he could get more attention with negativity than positivity. . .a warped perception of things, really, but he didn't know any better. You caught more flies with honey than vinegar, sure, but who wanted to watch the aftermath of something as normal as flies stuck in honey? No, flies drowned in vinegar. . .you didn't see that everyday.
Yes, it was clear that Barnabas Cuffe's idea of how things worked was slightly askew. And cynical, at that.
"You can tell that to the executive chef. Straight out of school, I should have known better," he sighed, recalling a whole day stuck inside from food poisoning. Maybe it was psychosomatic and brought on my himself and his snobbery, but not a good experience at all. He crinkled his small nose as she pet him on the head, but knew better than to stop her, and merely gave Greta a silly look. "It probably wasn't, but I'll just make everyone jealous and say it was her." He loved watching people be jealous of him - it truly was one of life's little gifts. "No, no, I mean, I had to gamble for the article. See what it was like. And I'm just really bad at it," he smirked. He continued answering her list with, "The beach outside my hotel! I don't know if there are Great Whites off the Mediterranean coast, but I bet it was." It was most likely a piece of seaweed or something of the sort, but hey, better to pique interest. Barnabas laughed out loud and shook his head, a rare blush coming to his cheeks as he replied, "Oh, no, no no no no no. I tell you what, if I drink too much wine at dinner, you'll end up hearing it. Speaking French based on just drunk memory alone works a little better with some alcohol."
And once again, Greta flitted her hand at Barney's exclamation that she should've become a pastry chef. It was sweet, but silly. Greta would get so bored working for someone other than herself, and here at the bakery, she was able to make whatever she wanted. If she felt like pies one day, she made pies, cakes another, that was fine. She didn't follow a menu or a schedule, and on top of everything else, she got to roast chickens and make sandwiches for the lunch crowd. Her shop was everything she could have ever wanted and she was grateful for her life just the way it was.
But every now and then, she was envious of Barney and everything he could do. Sometimes, she wanted to go to Paris, spend months studying under some famous chef, or just go to all the glamorous resturaunts that Barney visited. But that was the problem with running your own shop, you couldn't skip off on vacation randomly. You had responsibilities. So for now, she'd just live vicariously through her friend, and his supremely gorgeous and extravagant presents.
"I'll tell you what. I will write him a very mean owl that says Dear What's his name. You made a big mistake making my best friend Barnabas Cuffe sick, but you're making a bigger mistake making anyone sick. That is not the point of cooking, and you should be ashamed of yourself. Yours Angerily- Greta Catchlove. That'll teach him, don't you think?" She giggled. This was just what she needed; quality time with one of her closest friends just to be silly and forget all the bad that surrounded her. This was going to get her back to before. "And if you promise not to gamble anymore, I promise we'll get good and sloshed tonight and I'll even sing back up to your French pop song. Avec fromage, sans mono, a oui oui, ho ho ho." She let the stream of nonsensical French words poor out. "See? I'm totally fluent in French. And with some good wine in our systems, we'll be ready to get on the Wireless with our new cover song!" She gave Barney a very glamorous pose, and pretended to be French and smoke a pretentious cigarette. "Zont you tink I could be French?" Her attempt at an accept was laughable, but so was this entire afternoon.
Barney thought it would be a great civic duty for her to be a pastry chef - of course, then he'd probably have to make reservations in advance to go wherever she worked, so perhaps he shouldn't have pushed her so often, but still. Leave it to him to always think everyone could have more of what they had already - that was Mr. Cuffe for you.
Traveling and Floo-ing all over the world did get lonely and disconnected at times, though - luckily, Barnabas always had his curry-scented flat, his small office with the chatters of Dempster and Grizel echoing off the walls, and of course, his friend Greta to bake him and cook him delicious things when he needed a break from pate and tins of caviar that cost an exorbitant amount of money. He needed something to center him.
"You can try, though he is a Beauxbatons graduate, and you know how they can be," he smirked. Heck, they were just like Barney! Smug and stubborn and so set in their ways! "Or just send him a pie or a cake, let him weep over the real talent of others," Barney complimented. "No letter needed, just something edible rather than the tripe he sends out."
Barnabas laughed, as he usually did when he was happy, with his eyes narrowed and his grin wide - and alarmingly looking a lot like his mother. "No more gambling, ever. Nope. I'll have an intern do it for me next time." He clapped his hand on his knee as he let out a louder laugh, nodding, "Yes, lots of sloshed-ness. They won't be able to tell the difference here in England. I'll call up the WWN and let them know when we're ready to hit the airwaves."
"Well you see," he said, also falling into silliness, which was actually a good thing for him to do once in a while. He narrowed his eyes comically and hunched over as he sat, elbows all shifted forward ungracefully, holding up his fork as a makeshift cigarette. Barney used an overdone French accent as he spoke, looking more like a mobster in an old American muggle movie than anything else. "Zey seet like zis, and zey smoke like chimneys, and eef you want to be French, az a woman, you must forgetz to shave your legs. Zou see, zey are not as clean as uz."
If an actual French person saw him, they would probably challenge him to a duel - a duel he would surely not be able to fare well in.
"I'll be sure to get on that anonymous cake! Do you want me to put your initials in icing on top? Just so he knows who he's up against?" She would always and forever be in Barney's corner, even if he was utterly ridiculous. But food that actually made a person sick was not right, not in the slightest. No one deserved to get sick from eating! Not Barnabas Cuffe nor even a poor homeless man. Everyone deserved good food! It was Greta's life motto.
Her head tossed back with laughter as she watched Barney impersonate the French. Clearly, his impression, although horribly offensive and atrocious and exaggerated, was far superior to Greta's and it had her in utter giggles. She took back her fake cigarette, and inhaled deeply, taking a long pause to exhale imaginary smoke before continuing on, "And I vould not vear deodorant either. Oui?" Oh Merlin, her accent sounded like some atrocious Russian-French meld, but who cared? "I zoo not zink I vould like to be French." She took another inhale off her fake cigarette, this time tossing her hair about as she exhaled in an attempt at glamorous sophistication before falling over with giggles.
"Oh Barney, where would I be without you?"
"Maybe a skull and crossbones, just to be even more foreboding. Though that might mean he mistakes it as poison. . .though really, it's just poison for his inflated ego, shows him what he's up against," Barnabas rambled, smirking deviously, as he did when he even jokingly planned some come-uppance. Sometimes, of course, he actually followed through with them - like, say, sending the staff of The Quibbler durian fruits in mass quantities.
Being offensive and politically incorrect and downright nearly racist was always more interesting than just being polite and truthful - or so Barnabas Cuffe thought. It was a wonder he wasn't beaten up on a daily basis. "Non, not at all," he continued in his accent. That, at least, he could speak from experience with. He sat back in his chair normally and nodded, out of his impression, "No, and even though I'd still be your friend if you were French, I prefer you the way you are." Barnabas grinned widely and tilted his head to the side, shrugging, "If anything, I'd say you'd fare better being Italian. Northern Italian, that is. You'd have to make a lot more tiramisu, though, but if you're willing, I'd be your taste-tester."
Barney smiled smugly, a reaction he was unable to kick. "You would be in the same exact place you are now. Though maybe without shiny copper pots," he stated matter-of-factly, though grinned all the while, undoing the snark. "Speaking of where you are," he began, sobering a bit now and turning back to his cake, though addressing her still, "have things gotten better with the whole. . .you know?"
It wasn't his fault! He was good at griping his own negative emotions, not helping others out of their own! But he'd try. Despite everything, he was still a loyal Hufflepuff.
"If-a I was-a from Italy, I could make you a pizza and a lasagna!" Greta attempted an Italian accent throwing her hands up in mock gesture. She was a failure at accents, but it was nice to just be silly. "And I've only made tiramisu a few times, but it's always been yummy. It's just hard to sell in small pieces." But that made her think on an Italian themed dinner party and how much fun that would be.
And then Barney had to bring up Gideon. Greta heaved a heavy sigh and rested her head on the table. "Oh Barney, I don't even know anymore. I've just been so sad lately, and I feel like I made the wrong choice, but we got into this horrible fight and I just had to break up with him, you know?" Of course he didn't know know. Greta couldn't go into all those details. She couldn't tell him about the Order, no matter how much she wanted to. But hopefully, he could understand at least a bit.
"But without him it's like...like there's a part of my heart missing...and I keep waiting for it to grow back, but it won't."
"If you were from Italy, I'd be morbidly obese, but the happiest bloody guy to ever live," Barnabas grinned, "simply because I'd live on the lasagna you'd make for me." And now he was getting hungry again. "It wouldn't be that hard, would it? Maybe trifle-style? In cups? Of course, that means you have some experimenting to do, but I'd be a willing taste-test participant," Barney crooned, as if baiting her into action - delicious, delicious tiramisu action, that is. He really did love food, in theory and the practice of eating it; when he tried to even get near a stove? That's when everything fell apart into a trainwreck of epic proportions.
He pouted a bit, not used to Greta being this upset, and put down his fork politely to focus his attention on her. Kind of rude to listen to your best friend while stuffing your face, wasn't it? And while he was absolutely horrible with advice - his near-firing from the advice column a few years back at The Daily Prophet made that clear - he'd try his best. "Well, maybe this is one of those temporary breakups?" Barney tried to offer. "I mean, those happen. Fights happen, and while you feel bad now, maybe you just need some time apart to. . .appreciate everyone a little better? Like a vacation, where you feel so tired of your hum-drum life and the routine, and you love it all the more and miss it when you're away, maybe it's like that?" Yep, horrible with advice. "Have you talked with him yet? Or would you even want to?"
"Well if you think it's possible, I will certainly try! I bet if I bought some plastic containers, at the very least I could make individual tiramisus...or if people didn't mind the mess, I could just scoop it from one big bowl, but I don't think that'd look too pretty." It was a great idea, actually, she'd have to figure out how to make it work. "Either way, you'll taste all my variations. I have a few recipies but none of them feel quite right, I have to mix and match and see what comes out."
It was really nice to talk to someone who was 100% on her side and had no idea about the entire situation. After talking to Dorcas, Greta had felt guilty, but Barney was just helping--not that Dorcas didn't, but it was different when she made you feel bad for dumping your boyfriend for doing something he believed in--Barney was amazing like that. "I guess...I just don't know anymore, Barney. I keep wavering between whether it was the right or wrong decision and I wonder if this time apart is good at all since I'm miserable almost all the time, you know? And I haven't spoken to him since that night. I don't even know what I could begin to say to him. I go to write him all the time, and I either stop or just strike it out. Everything I write sounds stupid, and everything I don't write I can't put into words. I'm just one big ball of mess and blah and I have this constant tummy ache and it's just really really awful."
Barnabas racked his brain to try to think of something suitable. As long as it was in theory, he could possibly come up with some idea to make it all work, after all. He always regretted never learning how to cook, and perhaps that was why he was so interested in it. . .that is, nitpicking how other people cooked. Luckily, Greta was so talented that she evaded that bullet of criticism. "Maybe. . .hrmmm. . .maybe if you could get chocolate to keep the layers together? Like a square of chocolate, on the side? I. . .I'm not making any sense, am I?" he asked sheepishly, insecurity being shown when he spoke on something he didn't exactly know about - or at least know how to B.S his way out of. "Like. . .a fence. Of chocolate. Maybe. I've seen something similar, I'll try to think about it. Should be interesting to figure out, at any rate? The physics of chocolate?"
"Maybe he's miserable too," Barney offered, desperately trying to put his selfishness aside and think in someone else's perspective. He didn't handle breakups well at all, himself - he basically turned to hitting on the belly-dancer at the Moroccan restaurant down the street from The Daily Prophet offices and trying to take her home. If that didn't work, he bought himself a huge bottle of cheap wine and passed out. He couldn't very well tell Greta the same path of action to take! Besides, belly dancers weren't her type, clearly. He sighed and leaned against the table a bit, really trying to think. "Soda water usually takes care of stomach-aches for me," he said, sort of missing the point. "Or. . .emotional soda water, in an abstract metaphorical sense, if you catch my drift. Maybe. . .hrmmm. . .maybe ask his brother to try to talk to him for you? Get help somewhere else? Have a middle-man, a messenger, but a messenger you don't shoot," he said and smiled, showing a bit of humour to ease the situation.
That was an idea! Sort of...The thought of putting squares of chocolate between layers of tiramisu was not brilliant, but there was potential. "No, it's the start of something, Barney! We could melt the chocolate to make a gate of sorts. I'll draw it out tonight after dinner. I think you're onto something, Mr. Cuffe. You are ever so brilliant!"
Part of Greta hoped Gideon was as miserable as she was. It would give some validity to her feelings, but not entirely. After all, at the end of the day she had dumped him. It really wasn't fair to let herself be this unhappy. But even in her moping stage, at least Barney had a way of cheering her up, making everything better. "Emotional soda water," she gave a weak giggle "I like it." But then she sighed, "I don't think I'm allowed to talk to Fabian. I think he's automatically on Team Gideon. Gosh, I've never broken up with someone before, I don't even know the rules of what happens when you do break up with someone." Throning her chin in her palm, she looked to Barnabas, almost despondent, "I think I just need time...and friends like you. I just wish it would stop hurting already...that or a time machine would be useful. Do you know where I could find one of those?"
Barnabas gushed in the glow of his genius, or his imagined genius, that is. "Yes! Mold it very thin into sheets and just. . .prop the layers all together so they don't go all gushy." He sat back in his chair, very self-satisfied, and grinned as he said, "Hey, maybe I could go into the. . .dessert sculpture business! If they fire me because I hurt Celestina Warbeck's feelings or something of the sort, I'll do that." Barney simpered to himself at being called brilliant, keeping himself from replying with an infuriating, I know.
"Soda water also cleans up stains, which I suppose is another metaphor in a way," he said with a nod, hoping his weak attempt helped in some way. "Well, I find, at least for me, there's always a few stages of a breakup. You'll think you're broken up and then you'll find your way back to the person, a few times, or just once more, and then it's the real breakup." He was probably full of absolute nonsense, and sure, his life philosophies were a bit warped, but he was trying! "Don't worry about rules, if there were rules then divorces wouldn't be so messy and painful, I don't think. I mean, those are the. . .the pinnacle of breakups, I'd imagine!"
Yeah, Barney was really trying to chatter his way into some sort of sense.
The man pouted and shrugged, replying, "Luckily, you have lots of both. Time and friends. And I'll always be here when you need me, I'm not disappearing off to Monaco at crucial moments again." He grinned and shook his head, actually trying to think of a time machine sort of contraption. "Well you wouldn't want to mess up the space-time continuum or whatever it is they call it. You could change everything in the past, but come back and have stepped on a butterfly and mess up the course of nature or something, and you don't want to do that," he rambled, taking on a ridiculous tangent he'd read somewhere in a muggle story of some sort. "No, I don't know much about time travel. Everything else though is game," Barnabas laughed out loud. "Maybe felix felicis? Some love potion? I could ask Slughorn what he thinks, if you want." The sad thing was, he was actually serious about that.
Greta laughed at the idea of Barney in the business of doing anything but criticising people. While she always thought that her darling friend was harsh, she knew he was good at his job and he loved doing it, and that was what was important. "I think you should leave the cooking department to me, darling. But I promise I will give you ultimate credit when I finally come to my brilliant tiramisu creation. In fact, I will name it after you!"
She listened to Barney's explanations and metaphors and words, trying to understand them, but sometimes Barney went on such tangents that even Greta had trouble following. Finally, she picked back her understanding when he reassured her that she had time and friends, and Greta was able to jump back in once more. "Good. Please don't go far away again. I missed you so very much!" It wasn't fair when your best friend left you for too long. Greta hated being alone more than anything else, and she wondered if maybe that was what was bothering her about not having Gideon anymore. So many of her friends would go with him, but other than Barney, he was her best friend, and now he was gone...and she was more alone than when her parents had died.
But then she lost him once more on time travel and the space time continuum. What was he going on about? But Barney had always been more informed than Greta, so she took his word for truth and just listened to him with a bit of a tilted head. She gave her darling friend a weak smile and shook her head, "I don't think even Slughorn can help. There's no potion for a broken heart, Barney. I think I've just got to take it day by day, and rely on you to keep me from moping too much." She rested her head on Barney's shoulder and heaved another sigh. "It will be okay, right?"
"Oh, definitely," Barney remarked, nodding and continuing. "I'm just a creative mind behind it that hires other people with actual talent to do it all. Like all executives," he smirked wryly as he spoke. "Ah, no, don't," he laughed as he leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "Nobody would eat it if it were named after me!"
Tangents worked best when one wrote them in print, and even then to describe some awful experience at the theatre or a restaurant or something similar. When he just started talking out of awkwardness and found himself unable to shut up? THEN it was bad. Those closest to him that relied on words other than ranting and griping in witty language got the worst of it, too. He smiled, as usual relishing in the fact that his company was enjoyed, and replied, "I'll have you know I turned down an invitation for a week in Brazil next month, just because I'm all travelled out after Monaco. I'm going to just mellow out and focus on some op-ed work, I reckon, so I won't be going far for a while." After all, he didn't care for Brazil too much. Loneliness was never something really felt by Barnabas - more since when he was alone, he threw himself into crowds of people like a rogue cannonball and made acquaintances easily. Perhaps that made him more lonely than others, especially with all the travelling and the disconnect it brought sometimes, all which luckily went unknown to Barnabas. He wasn't too keen on noticing flaws in himself.
He decided perhaps everyone was right in saying that a man's view on love and relationships was a tad different from a woman's, so he'd keep his mouth shut on his ideas of the effectiveness of love potions. "Moping's fine, and maybe moping's healthy at this point, as long as you don't cry into cake batter, because I reckon that's a health code violation," he said with a weak smile, nodding and tilting his head on hers. "Things have a way of working themselves out. That's what I always say. Everything will be okay."
And if it wasn't? Then food and compliments and fleeting distractions took over!