Vic Mulciber (fromdefeat) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-04-09 20:04:00 |
|
|||
“Oh fuck,” Vic swore and nearly dropped the hot pan in the process. Her wand rolled smugly across the countertop as she nearly flung the tray onto it, a reminder that she was a bloody witch and didn’t need to grab hot cookie trays from magical ovens. “That was stupid,” she conceded. “It was,” Layla reaffirmed, although she wasn’t really paying too much attention to be snarky about it. Her thoughts were heavily around other thing, and what was going to happen. “Honestly, why are we baking?” she teased. “We can just have cookies delivered to us — unless you’re baking for a secret admiree?” She frowned. “Is that even a word?” Vic rolled her eyes, her smile brittle at the edges. “No. Who would I even send them to? And sometimes you just want something homemade, no matter how bloody burnt it is.” Truthfully she’d been trying to distract herself from the suffocating feelings of self loathing she wasn’t supposed to be having. Baking was apparently good for that, a completely normal activity that friends did for one another. She had the capacity for it, she would prove it. Her attempt to pretend she was unaffected was pathetic; the proof was in the singed cookies. “They’re for you. Now tell me you appreciate my hard work.” Layla looked over at the tray of extremely burnt cookies and winced. There was that guilt again growing stronger -- like it had with Alicia and the others -- at the earnest potential friendship gesture. That was because she wasn’t sure Vic was earnest that she was baking them for her, but here they were. “Oh they look. Lovely. I appreciate your hard work.” She pried one of the charcoal briquette look-alikes from the pan, and brought it up to her lips. “As a true friend —” her stomach lurched and not from the baking “— you’re not going to make me eat this, right?” Vic picked up one for herself, barely hiding the grimace. It was the thought that counted, right? “As a true friend I would be devastated if you didn’t keep at least one down,” she smirked. A beep from her phone signalled a notification from hooter and Vic only raised a brow in challenge, the smirk now a real smile as she reached for the phone. “As a true friend you wouldn’t refuse after all my —” Vic stopped, staring at the screen. “I hate you so much,” Layla sighed without meaning a word of it. She opened her mouth — and her phone beeped as well, in time with Vic’s. But Layla was stuck on Vic’s reaction. She swallowed the growing lump in her throat. “What?” “Um,” Vic blinked, trying to make sense of the jumble of words on her screen. The picture. “I — this can’t —” her hand was shaking. “What?” Layla pressed, already dreading what this could possibly be. Vic’s mum? She moved over, reaching out a hand to grasp Vic’s forearm to steady her and offer support. If there was anything that pushed thoughts surrender from the forefront of the mind it was the present. “Keats,” came out bewildered and rough. Saying it sounded like a confirmation and Vic wrenched her arm away from Layla. “He’s not dead. Why would he have done that. Why the fuck would he — it’s a mistake. ” “What?” Layla answered loudly, not because she disbelieved Vic, but it just didn’t seem like — she scrambled for her phone, letting the burnt cookie fall from her other hand onto the table where it shattered much like Vic’s world seemed to be. “Oh my Merlin,” Layla exclaimed, sucking in a deep breath and then refocusing on her friend. Who had just lost her best friend. And was about to lose another. “You should — should sit down maybe, I’ll get some tea or— we can find out what happened—” the sentence died in her throat. Layla didn’t know how to make this any better. There was no way to make this better. Vic’s breathing was laboured even as she nodded at Layla’s words. Right, yes. She would just call Keats, they would laugh about the bloody ridiculousness of whatever stupid mistake this was. She would— Hello, you've reached the voicemail of Keats Kubla Avery! Kindly leave your message at the sound of the beep. Thank you and have a wonderful day! Vic swallowed hard and inhaled shakily. She dialed it again. Hello, you've reached the voicemail of Keats Kubla Avery! Kindly leave your message at the… Tears leaked from her eyes as she pressed them tightly together, uneven breathing now verging towards full fledged hyperventilation. Hello, you've reached the voicemail of Keats Kubla Avery! Vic slid to the floor. Calling Keats in a gambit to prove that the news was false wasn’t what Layla had in mind. She stood there in nauseated silence, unable to offer anything of value, while she watched her friend growing frantic and desperate. It took only a moment before Layla sank down to the ground beside her grieving friend. On instinct she reached out to pull Vic into a loose hug like she always did for her sister when she was having a panic attack, back when they were both much younger. “I’m so sorry, Vic.” Vic went easily into the hug, shaking hand still completely covering her face even as she pressed it into Layla’s shoulder. “He’s not dead,” Vic reasoned like she was trying to bargain. “He wouldn’t— he wouldn’t do that to m—” Vic’s face crumpled as she gave in to the impetus and sobbed, brokenly. Layla said nothing. Vic needed to work through the shock, and all Layla could do was be there for her while she could be. “It’s—” It was what, okay? Keats was a Death Eater and not one that Layla cared for (out of the two total), but like Vic had realized when the situation and worries were reciprocated it didn’t matter. Vic cared, deeply. “It hurts more than anything,” Layla settled on, speaking honestly if not helpfully. Had Vic ever suffered loss like this before? She tried to swallow, but the lump caught in her throat and she half-coughed half-sputtered. And then she squeezed Vic awkwardly in a show of sympathy. Vic hadn’t. Of all the people she’d killed, of any Death Eater colleagues they’d lost, Vic had stumbled through it all almost untouched. She’d never had to really confront or take accountability for what her monstrous, self serving actions may have done to others, until Byron. And now her best friend was apparently dead. She thought of Lumos and wondered if this feeling, of a heart rending was in any way similar. She had done that to Lumos, Lumos who had been nothing but kind. Lumos who hadn’t deserved it. But Vic deserved this, Vic deserved to lose the person most important to her. This had to be a punishment, this had to be her fault. Layla wouldn’t have denied that thought, really, given her own thoughts about everything she’d done. The actions that broke all her friendships, shattered the lives of the people she wanted to hurt the least. It was punishment, and it was well-deserved. Things had to change. “Hey,” Layla said softly after a few long moments. “Let’s get to the sofa or something, and let me get a cup of tea for you?” Vic didn’t answer, partially because she was physically unable, but also because a condemning certainty made her tongue like lead. This was a punishment, this was her fault. She didn’t deserve to be comforted, but she tightened her hold on Layla anyway and pressed her phone to her chest until it bruised. |