doris crockford likes to help (ex_smuggles569) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2009-06-12 21:18:00 |
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Doris was waiting outside the Three Broomsticks, smiling at people who entered and exited as she stood there awkwardly. She hadn't just gone somewhere with a friend in such a long time that she felt weird just standing around waiting. She studies her reflection in the window for a second. It was the first time she had abandoned robes for Muggle clothes in nearly a year. Fraying, torn up jeans and a white shirt that had a huge cigarette burn in one sleeve (she had fallen asleep smoking and it had fallen onto her arm once), her hair hanging loosely. She was the epitome of casual, and no one really gave her a second glance. Impatient, she pulled out her watch and stared at it for a few seconds. It would be just like Damocles to flake on her, wouldn't it? Sighing, she put away her watch and crossed her arms over her chest. She disliked waiting. It was never Damocles' intention to be late; in fact, he had reminded himself he was supposed to meet her that night, but he kept procrastinating, telling himself 'another 15 minutes more' 'another 10 minutes more' until he realised that he was going to be pretty damn late, and so he stopped playing around with the ingredients and quickly got ready. Because he had been rushing, he arrived with a sheepish expression on his face and a noticeable green stain on the shoulder of his shirt. Thankfully, he didn't smell too bad as he usually would. "Sorry I'm late," he said, sounding a little guilty. "Got caught up with work." "I can tell," she said, pointing at the stain. "It's fine," she added nonchalantly, opening the door for an older man walking into the pub. The place wasn't as crowded as it used to be, curfew was in a few hours and a lot of people had stopped going out at night entirely. This sort of thing disappointed Doris. She didn't understand a lot of things, really, and the stubborn refusal to continue life as usual was one of them. The only thing hiding did was prove to the purists that they had won. Stepping inside, she held the door for Damocles. "So, a table or the bar?" she asked cheerfully. It wasn't exactly Damocles' plan to get drunk that night; there was more work that needed to be done, and he'd already drank a lot for the last couple of weeks when he wasn't working on the potion or the IDs with Sturgis. It was just his way of coping, and he had a tentative plan to stay sober for a while. But since Doris was the one who had asked him out, he decided to humor her and let her decide. "Your pick," he said, and added jokingly, remembering their conversation over her entry in the journal a few days back, "as long as we don't get into trouble with the wrong side of the law." He gave the place a quick look around, too, noticing the lack of customers and remembered a couple of months ago often being there during work breaks with his colleagues or just alone to think. It was odd to think that the place was less crowded, and it was obvious how much things had changed since then. "What's life without a little illegal excitement," she replied with a shrug. "I'd say the bar. Tables always make me want to sit and have a meal, and I wouldn't want you out past curfew," she said mockingly. Doris was really really trying to actually stay out of trouble, despite how she joked. The new government probably didn't take petty criminals lightly (well neither did the other one, but being caught by purists just seemed...worse to her), and she didn't want to end up in more trouble than she deserved. Well, she didn't really want to end up in trouble she did deserve. Taking a seat at the bar, she winked at the man a few seats down. Jokingly of course, and then turned back to Damocles. "First round's on me, whatcha want?" she asked, drumming her fingers against the bar. She wondered what would happen if she got him really drunk. That could prove entertaining. He sat down next to her and grinned. "Coffee," he told the man behind the bar, who gave him a look that clearly said 'are you at the right place?'. No point in getting drunk (immediately) if they were going to catch up, after all. Damocles turned to her and raised his eyebrows questioningly. "So what's going on with you and work?" he asked. Obviously that was that was the thing that was occupying his mind at that moment (though it wasn't the only thing that was going through in his mind). "Is it getting harder? Since the border's closed and all." He wondered how he would be able to get more aconite if she couldn't get any access for them through her sources. Now that would be difficult. She had to roll her eyes. "I guess I'll have a coffee too," she said with a dismissive hand-wave. And then it was about work. Though she supposed her work was interesting enough to talk about on a casual level, she just hoped there were no legal types hanging around. Looking over her shoulder and then back at him, she shrugged. "It was a bit harder at first, but I've heard some people have been using Muggle channels to get things in bulk, I don't know how they manage it but I guess a real savvy Muggleborn could. I don't ask much about it. Don't know how much is fact and how much is just lie. Things have slowed down compared to about this time last year, but it's not so bad. Just gotta be really choosy about who gets what anymore," she said in a slightly lower voice, and following by a sage nod. So maybe she didn't actually mind talking about work. The barman dropped two coffees in front of them (he seemed a bit cranky tonight), and stalked off. Taking a sip of her coffee, she thought for a second. "So what about your work? Can I ask what you needed the aconite for?" "Choosy about who gets what, huh?" he repeated, a small amused smile on his lips as he lifted his cup of coffee and took a sip from it before resuming, "good to know I'm not the suspicious sort to you." There was a momentary pause as she asked him what he was doing with the aconite, and he looked at her, wondering if it was a good idea to tell her what was going on. He did owe her that, after all, considering she was helping him out. But he wasn't sure whether he should be going into detail or not, and so he shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal. "Just a new potion I'm working on," he answered, nonchalance in his tone. "I figured since I kept on failing for the last couple of years of making an original one, now would be a good time to try again -- even though it's a bad time." She laughed a little. "I know you considerably better than the rest of my customer base, we'll just say that. And you can never tell who's going to use what for what. Some of the stuff could easily be used for...well, evil." Taking another sip of coffee, which was a little strong for her tastes, but she could handle it. "Always the potions genius," she muttered affectionately. She had never been one for academic endeavors in school, so honestly everyone looked like a genius in comparison. "I think that's a pretty brilliant project," she said. "I think you could definitely invent something useful," she added optimistically, and she sincerely meant it to. Damocles laughed along, though he wasn't as optimistic as she was. He lowered his cup of coffee and finally settled it on the table, letting out a small sigh, though he was still smiling, but a little resignedly. "I don't know even know if it's going to work or not, though. Judging from my history --- well," he didn't say anything else. Doris was quite probably the only person who now had knowledge that even though he kept telling Marlene, Remus and Lily that they were going to be able to do this, that there was nothing to worry about; he had his own doubts with the potion. The measurements were difficult, the response of the ingredients were too unpredictable sometimes. "But thanks," he told her appreciatively. Pouting slightly, she glared at him. "You know, I think a little optimism might help the process be more successful," she said, pointing at him accusingly. The coffee was already starting to make her a little jittery. "Just have a bit of faith in yourself, potions are supposed to be really hard right? It probably takes a long time for anyone to make substantial progress. I mean has Slughorn ever invented anything?" She made a bit of a disgusted face at the thought of Slughorn. He had never been her biggest fan (to say the least), and often questioned how she had even made it into NEWT level potions just loud enough so that Doris could hear. It was a shame, such a brilliant mind wasted on such an ass. Taking another sip of coffee, she decided that work was a stale topic. "What about non-work things? What have you been up to?" "I know," he said, staring down at his half-empty cup of coffee distractedly, as if it held the answers to life's difficult questions. "But there's always that probability, and I don't want to put in too much hope into something that has a low chance of working," he turned to look at her. "For example, right -- would you risk getting someone something that you probably can't even obtain in the first place? Making that kind of false promises that you'd be able to won't really help anyone." He shifted the topic to her next question, blinking a little. What was up with non-work things? "Nothing much, I suppose," he answered, shrugging. Doris took another swallow of coffee, setting her half-full cup down on the bar and frowned thoughtfully. "I would hope that the person would just appreciate that I tried," she said. "But I don't know, that metaphor isn't exactly perfect." Tracing her finger around the edge of her cup, she fell silent for a moment. "So what you're really afraid of is disappointing people by failing, so you don't even get your own hopes up." It made sense. Though it depressed her a bit, but she thought that most people did that in some way. "Nothing much? That's sort of disappointing!" She laughed casually. "No girlfriends or exciting parties...life or death battles? Anything?" Not that she exactly had a booming social life right now either. Despite the pessimistic vibe that he was probably giving off, Damocles managed a smile. "Exactly. I knew you'd figure that out," he said jokingly. There was a few seconds of silence as he pondered on how to answer. "My sister died," Damocles finally said, not taking his gaze away from his cup of coffee. Doris's jaw dropped. She stared at him rather absurdly for a moment, taking in the news and considering her next words carefully (for once). She had felt like this when news of Caradoc's death had come to her, a lead weight seemed to have been tied to her heart. She felt awful for Damocles. Chewing on her lip, she pushed her coffee cup away and gestured to the barman. "Two firewhiskey," she mouthed, trying to be quiet so he couldn't hear her and refuse. "I'm really really sorry about that," she said, finally turning to him. She didn't know how to reply, she didn't think pushing the issue would make him feel any better about it. He didn't want to talk about this, but maybe it was because somehow, it was easier to tell her, since he had been keeping it to himself for some time and distracting himself with something else while still trying not to think about it too much. "S'alright," he said, still smiling, though less happier, nor did he seem to be in the joking mood like he had been before. "She lived a good life -- I just wished she got to see me accomplish something, you know?" She nodded and the barman set two glasses of firewhiskey in front of them." Sliding one towards him, she tried to smile. "It'll make you feel better," she teased good-naturedly. "I don't know how I feel about the concept of an afterlife but if there is one I'm sure she's keeping an eye on you." That was all she could really say on the subject but she didn't exactly know where to go from here without seeming grossly insensitive or just stupid. "And I can understand if you don't really want to talk about it. Grief tends to do that," she finally blurted out. "That's why I'm not going to quit now," he began, taking a sip of his firewhiskey, downing it and feeling a lot better than he had been for a week now. "If she sees me giving up she'd probably, I don't know," he took another sip of his drink. "attempt to strike me with lightning -- I doubt she can do that, though," he was definitely less depressed now, and he was glad he could talk about this without feeling completely miserable -- he didn't think his sister would want him to be sad either. Damocles smiled at her and raised his glass. "To Elsie, and the rest of the world that isn't already fucked up from the war." Taking a rather large gulp of her own firewhiskey, she smiled. "The power of a sister is immeasurable, she likely could strike you down." Trying to imagine that, she giggled a little and took another swallow. Laughing was probably inappropriate. She wasn't even sure what to say, but she clinked glasses with him. "Who isn't fucked up from this war? We certainly are," she chimed in cheekily. "But you know, it's not that bad." He gave her a questioning look, his head tilting a little to indicate that he was curious. "How's it not that bad?" Setting his glass down, he added, though not bitterly, more like he was addressing a fact; "people are dying everyday, everyone's too afraid to come out of their houses and can't even speak out much against what's happening... I think it's already that bad." "I meant being a bit fucked up from it all isn't bad, the whole war thing is shit. Purists are shit and I'm frustrated by it all. But I think that if we came out of it as the same people we went into it as, things wouldn't be right." She gestured to her head to accompany the sentence. "There are certain things you can only learn about yourself in the worst possible situations," she concluded with a shrug, a sage nod and the unceremonious draining of her glass of firewhiskey. Damocles raised his glass to drink, pausing halfway when Doris started talking again, before downing the rest of his firewhiskey. "I guess you're right," he muttered. "Should we order more or not?" she asked, pointing at her empty glass and smirking. Doris liked being right. "We should," he nodded in agreement, smirking right back before turning to the bartender and ordering another glass of firewhiskey for the both of them. |