What Would Rhys Cadwallader Do? (cymru) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-01-26 08:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | rhys cadwallader, victoria mulciber |
WHO: Vic Mulciber & Rhys Cadwallader.
WHAT: Not judging one another's literary choices.
WHEN: Today, Friday January 26th.
WHERE: The used bookstore in Diagon Alley.
WARNINGS: Snark, deception, romance novels.
Rhys had kept his ID intact despite already having ascertained what it was; now, he supposed, all he had to do was ensure whomever was keeping track of where he went and what he purchased found nothing to suggest he wasn’t a Harmless and Cooperative Citizen. With that in mind, he’d ventured alone to Diagon for the first time in what seemed like forever in order to show that there was nothing suspicious about his activities: he picked up some surprise cupcakes from a favourite bakery he and Nora had used to visit when they’d lived in London, he window-shopped at Quality Quidditch Supplies knowing full well his Quidditch days had long gone, then—feeling drained from even that relatively tame outing—he found a quiet place to sit in the used book shop, perusing the shelves and levitating out any volumes that caught his eye. He’d obtained a small stack of Harmless and Cooperative (and hopefully Regime-Pleasing) books: Ancient Magical Families of Wales (it included the Cadwalladers), A History of Remarkable Architecture of Wizarding South Wales (it included the Gentle Green), and Halfbloods Who Hacked It (“Ugh,” he’d groaned audibly). He’d just lifted his wand to pull a copy of Poltergeists I’ve Known and Tolerated down from one of the uppermost shelves when he noticed that he was not alone. He startled and the book hit the ground with a prominent THUD, disturbing a large dust cloud and causing Rhys to hurriedly apologise, “Sorry! Sorry to disturb you, that was—I wasn’t trying to do that.” while looking thoroughly flustered. While surprised to find that she wasn’t the only individual under the age of 50, and ostensibly not creepy, in the small bookstore, Vic startled at Rhys’ reaction, her own books falling to the floor. “Fuck,” she coughed, annoyed. “weren’t trying to what? Suffocate m — Rhys,” she stopped short, blinking at her old classmate dumbly. Rhys startled at the sound of his name, and a familiar voice he hadn’t heard in ages. He looked up in mid-book summoning, catching the item just as he recognised her face. “Vic? Is that you? You’ve got glasses,” he exclaimed, pleasantly surprised. He set his poltergeist book down with the others, tucked his wand away, then slipped his arms through the cuffs of his crutches and brought himself to his feet. He made his way over to her, then—suddenly unsure of how to greet his old classmate (he never had been sure of whether she actually liked him or not)—offered her an awkward handshake. “It’s been forever since I saw you in person. How have you been?” he asked, all his former pretenses of ironic detachment forgotten for the time being. “I heard you got a promotion? Congratulations.” Vic blinked as Rhys approached, her surprise at finding him here of all places exchanged for general surprise in seeing him in the flesh at all. What few times the 02 Detention Club (if you could even call them that) actually met up the past year, Rhys was never one of them. He’d always begged off, and while it had never been said, they knew why. She hadn’t seen him since… Rodolphus Lestrange fucked up his spine. Vic cleared her throat at that reminder of her membership to a certain group and looked at his outstretched hand.“Seriously? I think we can awkwardly hug you know,” there was a hesitant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I mean, unless you’re finally acknowledging my superi— oh my fuck.” She gasped, realizing that yes, she was in fact wearing the glasses no one ever saw, because they were only worn when she was in her sweats and reading… “Oh my fuck,” she dove for the battered romance novels that had spilled across the floor. Rhys had leaned in for an awkward, one-armed hug when she made a dive for the books on the floor, which he hadn’t paid much—if any—attention to, though he certainly paid attention now. “Are you alright? Apologies again for startling you,” Rhys said, pretending to ignore the romance novels. Vic closed her eyes at the latest public humiliation and gathered them quickly into her arms. She met Rhys’ eyes resolutely, chin tilted and imperious as she shoved the books onto the shelf beside her. “You didn’t,” she argued. “No one except the locals really come here and you’ve uh...caught me on a day I’m not, shockingly, in the office.” She adjusted her glasses and refused to be embarrassed in front of him. He was, unfortunately, one of very few people she actually semi liked. Distract. “Thanks, about the promotion.” Again, he ignored it, much as he had ignored her embarrassment years ago at Hogwarts. The last thing he wanted to do was to make anyone else feel uncomfortable. “You’re welcome. Sorry I didn’t congratulate you sooner. I’m a bit out of the loop these days,” Rhys admitted. He paused before swiftly changing the subject, “So you live in the neighbourhood?” Vic brushed the comment off. “Don’t apologize, it wasn’t exactly publicized.” If there was any bitterness there she didn’t bother hiding it. “Yeah, I have a flat here,” she shrugged. “It’s claustrophobic, but close to work and far away from my family.” There were literally wards barring Bree. She tilted her head, considering him. “I ran into Nora a while ago. She said you were good?” It was a roundabout way of just asking him, but Vic felt strangely awkward to be so eager. Journals and hexts were one thing, in person was something else. “I miss London. It was good for both those reasons,” Rhys said, with just the slightest hint of wistfulness. At Vic’s question, he tried his best to stand up as straight as he could and look healthy, strong, and confident, never really having been one to admit to any more difficulties than he had to. “She mentioned. I’m good! We’re good. The B&B’s doing well, the shop’s doing well. It’s all good, really.” He neglected to mention Rodolphus, or health or financial worries, or anything else that had plagued him as of late. He smiled instead, then quickly attempted to steer the conversation away from himself. “I’ve always liked this place. Less hustle and bustle. More rare finds. Can you believe I once found a 1676 first edition of Composers of the Modern Era? It’s spectacular, really.” She rolled her eyes, happy not to talk about Rhys’ injury if that’s what he wanted. It made her feel guilty that he suffered and continued to suffer. She knew a little something about pride too. “I really can’t,” she offered in deadpan, nose wrinkled in familiar disdain. “First edition? Oh boy.” Rhys pretended not to notice the eyeroll or the sarcasm. He continued to avoid talking about himself, instead returning the joke with one of his own, “And what have you got there? Boggart in the Bedroom? Didn't know you were into the classics.” Vic reached forward and snatched the book out of his hand. “Hey,” she snapped, ears flushing bright red. “You know what, it just might be. I’m really looking forward to finding out if Gisele can ‘keep a firm grip on Rafe’s wand...” Vic bit her lip. Well. “Apparently Rafe dropped his. Fucking moron, there’s a boggart in the bedroom.” “What an absolute idiot,” Rhys agreed, deadpan as always. “Has he never been to school? Seems to me like he failed Boggarts 101. She should run off with the boggart, honestly.” Vic snorted. “See? Now tell me you don’t want to find out if that’s exactly what she does.” “I’ll have to get you to send me a book report,” Rhys teased. Then, he chuckled, rolled his eyes, and admitted, “We have a lot of those in the B&B’s guest library.” No longer fearing the harsh judgement of her very questionable literary choices, Vic relaxed into old patterns. “Is that a selling point in your brochures?” “No, but sometimes it rains and staying in and reading is better than going outside and sinking in the mud,” Rhys said, not judging anyone’s literary choices in the least bit. He’d been reading just about anything he could get his hands on to pass the time. He gestured to one on the shelf just to the left of her, relaxing slightly. “Personally, I’d try that blue one over there—The Merman In Me—O+ world-building. It’s got a Mermish to English dictionary. The author really went all-out.” Vic blinked. “You’ve read this?” She scoffed, unable to fight the delighted, yet derisive laughter. “And reviewed it like a total nerd. Let me tell you Codwomple, I am not reading these for their world building. Which others have the Rhys Catwoofer book club seal of approval? I’ll avoid them; I don’t want to learn.” Rhys rolled his eyes so hard they nearly fell out of his head. Still, he was amused by how ridiculous this all was and pointed out another. “That one right there, that one’s about muscle-bound dragon-taming hunks. Everything about dragons in it was factually and philosophically wrong. You won’t learn anything, you’ll love it.” “Oh my god,” she actually muttered under her breath. “Sold.” Rhys looked pleased. “See? This place ought to pay me commission,” he said. Not feeling as though he needed to pretend anymore, he turned and sat back down in the armchair she’d found him in, needing to rest. He patted the arm of the chair next to it. “Come on. Tell me about the new job. And don’t you dare tell me the chair I’m already sitting in is yours somehow.” Vic hesitated, eyes sliding from the chair beside Rhys, to the front of the store. She wasn’t sure how the evening had turned out like this, how easy it was to fall into old patterns. She didn’t deserve his kindness, but she had always, in even the smallest measure, wanted his friendship. Things had gotten worse, her family’s Death Eater allegiances more obvious, her own more suspicious, and somehow Rhys still treated her like none of it had. “That one?” She scoffed, decided. “Gross, no. It’s velvet.” She dropped into the chair beside him anyway. “There really isn’t anything to tell. Since I’m the only competent person in the Department, it was only a matter of time.” Rhys, as always, pretended to disregard any rumours or suspicions, though he was far too much of an Auror to forget them completely. He chose, however, to be kind, just as he had so many years ago; they were simply classmates catching up, friendly-ish until proven otherwise. “How are you liking it? Is it everything you’d hoped it would be?” he asked her conversationally. Vic opened her mouth, the triumphant, smug Yes on the top of her tongue. Instead, she found she couldn’t quite get it out. “No,” she admitted slowly instead. “I-“ she stopped, brow furrowed and couldn’t figure out why she felt she could be honest. She was coming to realize that a lot of the things she so desperately wanted, took did not leave her so satisfied. “I have high standards and expectations of everything and everyone,” she recovered with a smirk, “of course it’s not. It’s a bureaucratic clusterfuck, now more so than ever.” Rhys watched her with an expression of empathy. “I can only imagine. Though good on you for not lowering your expectations,” he said. He paused before adding an encouraging, “You can make it better.” An individual could make a difference anywhere if they put their heart into it; despite it all, he still believed that much. Vic opened her mouth to respond but felt the weight of his genuine belief strangle any words. She got up abruptly. “Uh yea, thanks,” she cleared her throat. “So I need to go. A person should only be in sweatpants in public for so long.” She gave what she hoped was a smile, still hovering awkwardly. “You know, you should come out with the 02’s next time.” As much as he’d enjoyed unexpectedly running into an old classmate (that never happened these days), Rhys had to admit, he was spent. “Yeah, I’ll try, though I can’t make any promises,” he said. “I should probably get home, too. Don’t want to get overwhelmed and splinch myself.” He was only half-joking. He reached for his books—books that were just purist enough to hopefully deflect anyone’s desire to teach him a lesson—then frowned as he tried to figure how to juggle heavy tomes and crutches. As much as he’d thought the rest of this through, he’d neglected to suss this part out. Vic reached forward automatically and gathered them into her arms. She raised an eyebrow as if expecting him to protest and turned towards her own, shamelessly pilling them on top. She hadn’t actually looked at Rhys’ collection, but she just automatically assumed nerd, and if he wasn’t going to judge her for hers, she wouldn’t judge him for his. “Well, if you don’t, I’ll just have to send you my book reviews via owl.” Rhys gave her a thankful smile as he pulled himself to his feet. “Deal. Try not to learn too much.” Vic smirked. “Me? Never.” |