Libitina Burke (mortem) wrote in cultureic, @ 2016-04-24 19:52:00 |
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“Father,” she stated, arms crossed and a look of disapproval etched firmly on her face. “Mother was too distraught to learn she was married to a criminal so she had me come in her place.” Her mother knew of his illegal activities, it was getting caught that she had a problem with. Oh how the mighty had fallen. Her father had once been a proud man; a respectable man. Now look at him. Even still she loved him dearly. When she first heard he had been taken in she had assumed the worst. They must have figured out his dealings with the Death Eaters and he was doomed to play the part of the Dementor’s toy. Turns out it wasn’t quite so serious, but still incredibly embarrassing. If he was going to deal in illegal goods he should be better at hiding them. “You need something to eat. You look like shit.” Probably the drug withdrawal, but that was one problem he could sort on his own. Ulysses looked—and felt like something that had been hit by a truck. He staggered out to greet his daughter, hair askew, hands shaking—unexpectedly going cold turkey was never pleasant, and doing so in a jail cell while you wondered whether or not they’d finally caught on to every horrible thing you’d ever done was the absolute worst. Far from the proud man he once was, he looked defeated. “I wish you didn’t have to see me like this,” Ulysses mumbled, sincere and painfully sober. “But thank you.” “So do I, but here we are,” she said bluntly. “Come on then, I’d rather not be seen here more than necessary.” Their walk was done in relative silence. She was used to examining things, spotting small details that everyone else missed. She didn’t miss the small tremor in his hands or the beads of sweat forming at his temples from the withdrawal. He was sloppy, both in appearance and in actions. He was lucky he hadn’t been caught with something much worse. “You can be a crusader or an addict, but you can’t be both,” she said, the silencing charm she had put up protecting them from unwanted eavesdroppers. “Not well. I’d rather not see you in Azkaban. You’re one of the few people I care about.” Her expression was softer now, her tone more of concern than scorn. “I’ll try to be better. I’m sorry.” Ulysses promised. It wasn’t the first time he’d made that promise, and it was unlikely that it would be the last. Still, he hated to disappoint her. He hated to be an embarrassment. All he wanted was to make things better (for her, for the rest of his family, for everyone), but to do that, he had to be better, too. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. “I’ll kick the habit. That was the last time. And I’m going to break Rothbard’s knees, that snitch. After all the business I’ve given him!” He could barely summon the energy to sound half-heartedly offended, but anything was a welcome distraction from the agony he was currently enduring. He looked at her, his expression contrite. “I love you, and I’ll make it up to you, I swear it.” “We’ll see.” She had no doubt in this moment he believed he was telling the truth, just as he believed it all those other times he had muttered similar words. It might get better for awhile, but it always ended the same. She didn’t expect this time to be any different. He had too many demons of his own making to run from. “Rothbard just lost the business and trust of everyone in the neighborhood. Break his knees if you must, but his pain is just beginning. Just you wait,” she said, almost cheerfully as she looped her arm through his. “I’ll break his knees and leave him out in the street for the neighbourhood to take care of—show him what happens when you betray one of your own,” Ulysses said, with as much feigned cheer as he could muster. “But let’s not waste any more of our breath on him—how is work? Any interesting cases lately?” Ulysses managed a strained smile. “I saw my first taxidermied human. Not embalmed, but taxidermied.” Her gaze was knowing, but she left the accusation unsaid. It didn’t matter if it was him or one of his cohorts. The end was the same regardless for the victim. “Amazing what some people come up with, isn’t it?” Ulysses choked. He cleared his throat. He said nothing. Some things were harder to acknowledge in the light of day, in the harsh glare of uneasy sobriety. “Yes. Hmm, strange.” was all he could manage. A beat. “I’ll buy you lunch. Where can I buy you lunch?” Her grin was an amused one and if she were still a child she might have rolled her eyes. His attempts at deflection were so weak it was amazing he hadn’t been arrested for something before now. Or perhaps he simply knew she could see right through his act so he didn’t want to insult her by trying. “Somewhere with steak. I doubt they were serving that behind bars.” “Steak it is. Whatever my darling daughter wants, my darling daughter gets,” Ulysses said, grateful that she was still here, still speaking to him, despite all his obvious flaws. “But not that French meat place—they’ve poisoned people one too many times.” If only that were true. Fortunately she had learned long ago to take and earn rather than wait and hope to receive. Her father taught her that. “True and they’ll all lived to tell the tale. If you’re going to do something you might as well do it well. We’ll go somewhere else.” |