Who: Ciara Fawcett and Francine Goldstein What: Francine is on a mission! When: Today, January 16th Where: Ciara's parents' pub in Dublin Status: Complete!
The folder Francine held had nothing inside, but it made her feel very professional and assured as she entered the pub. A professional image was very important to her, especially now that she was working on a real project with a professional journalist (even if said journalist was working for the Prophet). Scanning the place quickly, she found her subject right away and sat down in front of her, placing the folder on the counter and smiling nicely at Ciara Fawcett.
"Hello, Ms. Fawcett," Francine said. "I have stuff to discuss with you."
“Hi Francine,” Ciara said, slightly alarmed at the sight of the other woman. She’d been convinced that Francine didn’t like her, or wanted much to do with her at all, so she hadn’t expected a visit. It wasn’t as if people often wandered by a random pub in muggle Dublin. Not people she knew from the wizarding world, at least. And that wasn’t even mentioning the fact that Francine was clearly on a mission of some kind. “Um, can I get you anything?”
What did professional journalists get to drink? Was she supposed to order something fancy? Was there a Professional Journalist drink? Before she could ponder it further (she should've looked it up beforehand, but that was a mistake she wouldn't make again), Francine nodded and said, very firmly, "Water, please." Everyone, even professionals drank water.
Ciara got Francine some sparkly water and returned to her side, setting it down beside the folder laying between them on the counter. “I work here on my days off,” she said as way of an explanation. “So, what are we discussing?”
Francine took a sip before clearing her throat. With her hands clasped on the counter, she knew she presented a very serious image. "I wanted to discuss you. And your dad, of course."
“Me?” Ciara echoed. “I’m not – actually that good at talking about myself? And my dad…” She trailed off. She’d read Francine’s blog a few times. She definitely didn’t want him to end up on the winternet, like that. Peony was right. They could get to him anytime they wanted to.
“You don’t want me to talk about the whole working for the people that put him away thing, right? Because I know that’s weird. But it’s not like I have a choice.”
Her face contorted in an obvious rejection of that suggestion. "No, thank you. I don't want to talk about the Ministry." Francine played with the folder a bit, not opening it because then Ciara would see that nothing was in it, and continued. "My associate and I are trying to put together something that will make Muggleborn stories more well known. You know that people are trying to suppress everything related to them, unless it's to gloat about how they have them under lock and key —" She scowled for a second. "So we want to show people that they can't shut us up! And we have a lot of things to say!"
Ciara nodded. She’d been told to keep quiet, that it was stupid to argue against people who had her father in custody and she wasn’t sure whether or not to believe that. Some days speaking up seemed idiotic. Other days it seemed like the right thing to do. And Francine was a bit of a wildcard, to put it mildly. “What kind of things do you want to publish?” she asked. “Arguing for their case, or… just talking about them? Making sure people know they haven’t been forgotten?”
"I mean, I don't see why they can't be combined, but I guess if you're just talking about them, like if you're talking about your dad, then it's basically like arguing for his case although," she stopped, frowning, "why should we have to argue for them? They deserve to be free because they haven't done anything wrong." Francine stopped herself and nodded. "So basically, you could just like, talk about how cool your dad is or something."
“We shouldn’t have to,” Ciara said. “And really, the people who doesn’t believe that won’t listen anyway.” She spent most of her time actively trying not to think about how scared and alone her father was, but clearly Francine wasn’t doing the same with her mum. That made her feel more than a little guilty. “He’s basically been living like a muggle, though?” she said. “Ever since he inherited the pub. I guess that’s the weirdest part about all of this. They dragged him back into the wizarding world just to imprison him.”
"Maybe our angle can be about why they're SO obsessed with MUGGLES. Because that's clearly what this is. They couldn't just leave him alone even though he wasn't doing anything to them," Francine instructed, nodding every so often to herself as she got more and more into her idea. "And also we're going to have to make him sound cooler. Do you have FUN stories about him?"
“Um, not really?” Ciara said, trying to think. It was kind of hard, with Francine looking at her like that. “I mean, I have a big family and they’re a lot of fun together, him and his brothers, I mean. My uncles. But I kind of don’t want to bring them up in case the Death Eaters are paying attention.” That was something she couldn’t let go of. That possibility. “What are you going to write about your mum? Do you have any good stories about her?
"You can just avoid talking about them," Francine said with her best reassuring voice. Mostly, it sounded very emphatic. She didn't want to be responsible for Ciara's uncles going to Azkaban. "I think I'll start writing about the time she took me to Diagon for the first time because as much as I hate to PANDER to people," she sighed heavily at this, "we have to if we want to change their hearts and minds. Also I'm going to add a LOT of pictures."
“I’m not really a writer,” Ciara said, worrying now. “What if I’m not good at it? I don’t want to make you look bad.” There were things she could say, though. Like how they watched Doctor Who every Christmas, for as long as she could remember. Or was that bad? Maybe she shouldn’t bring in muggle things? “He’s really good at Halloween stuff,” she said, almost hesitantly. “Decorating and coming up with costumes and stuff. He makes little bags for all the kids coming by, the whole garden is full of decorations. He even makes the cat wear something. She hates that. A lot. I have pictures of it too. Would that… be something? Or is that… is that stupid?”
Francine wished that she'd brought a quill with her, another note that she needed to keep in mind for the future. She didn't want to ask Ciara for one, because then she'd think she wasn't good at her job and she was. She'd just have to remember everything Ciara was saying, but since she had a great memory, it would be fine. "Oh, don't worry, I'll make it sound great," she said with a wave of her hand, "and you don't have to write it if you don't want to. I could interview you and then write up a thing for you!"
Francine Goldstein writing the story was almost scarier than the idea of writing it by herself, Ciara thought. She’d read Francine’s blog a few times. It was… a lot. “Maybe we can write it together?” she suggested tentatively. “Or maybe you can show me yours before I write mine?”
"I'm sorry, I don't collaborate like that," Francine said, nose scrunching at the thought of having to share her blog with someone. "But I'm sure we can discuss something like that later."
“You said you wanted my help,” Ciara pointed out.
"Yeah, but I'm the journalist here." Francine brightened for a second. "Does this mean you'll do it though?"
“Yes,” Ciara said after a long moment. God, this would end terribly. There was no way this wasn’t going to end terribly. But what the hell. “Where are we publishing this anyway?”
As soon as she got the agreement, Francine clapped her hands together, in both excitement and finality. "Excellent," she said, bright and satisfied. "I'll speak to my associate and get back to you about those details. We haven't figured it out just yet." She made a show of collecting her things (her folder and her bag, which had nothing in it except her wallet and a mint) and stood up. "I don't have a card or anything, but don't worry, I'll keep in touch!"
“Okay,” Ciara said. “Let’s do it.”
"Excellent," Francine said through her unceasing smile. "It was great to talk to you."
“Great talking to you too,” Ciara said, only just managing to keep the question mark out of her voice. This had been a few really weird minutes. But maybe it would be good in the end. At least she’d feel like she was doing something. She hadn’t felt like that in a long time.