Eddie Carmichael (edasich) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-05-08 17:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | eddie carmichael, robinet burke |
WHO: Robin Burke & Eddie Carmichael
WHAT: Darts
WHEN: Evening, May 8
WHERE: Out at a pub
WARNINGS: A bit of language?
"Twenty sickles says you don't make it," Eddie taunted. The ancient dart board shifted its position again, mixing up numbers and colours and generally making itself hard to hit. "C'mon, no more stalling and posing. Even the board's getting bored." “Stalling?” Robin repeated, his voice creeping up at the end in offence. It wasn’t the posing that bothered him, of course — Robin loved a good pose. Who didn’t? “I’ve never stalled a day in my whole adult life. Now posing, however,” and he trailed off, striking a pose, holding the darts in his hand. He was laughing as he did, a deep, amused sound which only trailed off slightly as he stared at the board. It had started to move again. Robin took a breath and threw a dart. “Ah,” he said, “a four. Just what I was going for. Gimme those twenty sickles.” "A four does not twenty sickles receive," Eddie said matter-of-factly. As if agreeing, the board shook and Robin's darts flew back to him. "My turn. Step aside, friend, let me show you how it's done." He took a long drink of his ale and stepped up to the line, tossing one dart with barely a glance as the board shifted again. Robin booed loudly as it soared through to its landing. “Well, I’m definitely not giving you twenty for such a poor shot,” Robin said, laughing. “What was that form? Are you trying to make the women of the room check you out?” "Oh, should I try and take yours?" Eddie straightened his spine and pulled back his shoulders. He held up the dart and lifted his pinkie. After holding the pose for a beat, he glanced at Robin for approval. "I think I'm the spitting image, frankly." Robin’s mouth dropped open, making him look like a comically lanky fish. “Are you calling me posh?” He asked the question like Eddie was asking him something terrible, like whether he’d murdered his own mother, or if he liked Marmite on toast. “Maybe. In spirit. It’s your inner truth.” Eddie grinned. “Locke thinks I live in the post part of Knockturn, did you see that?” A shadow crossed Eddie’s features. “Er, thought.” There was a moment of silence, Robin chewing on his lip for a split second, before he decided to breeze past it. He didn’t know how he felt about Locke dying. He had never expected it, but it was apparently a reality, even though Willy Locke had always seemed like the kind of slime that stuck around for a long time. “Yeah, I guess he did think that,” Robin said, voice ticking upwards as if a question. “Why does he think you live in the posh part?” Eddie's eyes dropped, and he took his stance again. "It's probably because my father's richer than god." His tone took a forced casual quality as he threw another dart. “But,” Robin said, slowly, “he’s definitely not a god. And anyway. Is he dropping you a cool fifty g every time you see him?” There was a smile that crept into the corners of his mouth as Robin said, “Because if not, you should look at charging for your time. You’re very important.” Eddie grinned slyly. "What do you think, should I start drawing up invoices? Round everything up to a full hour? As long as his girlfriend doesn't find out, it'll probably be fine." “What will she care? Paying for time with you is an honour, really.” Robin tipped his imaginary hat towards Eddie, laughing and circling slightly to grab a hold of his nearby glass. "Well, you know, every sickle I get from him is one she doesn't," Eddie shrugged, that forced casual tone finding its way back. "She's definitely tried to kill her last step-son. She did kill his cat, which …" Eddie's third dart hit the wall just next to the board. "Ah, fuck. Alright, you're up." “Wait, what?” Robin said, even as his fingers curled around his darts and he moved forward. His eyes had widened and he kept staring at Eddie. “Back up a minute. She tried to kill the son? I thought it was only the husband’s.” "Nah, I asked him about it. Him being Williamson, I mean. The auror. Former auror. Whatever his deal is now." Eddie shrugged again. "He's pretty sure it was her. There's some kind of will contesting thing going on, I don't know. The cat thing's fucked up though, right? I mean I get why she kills the husbands." Robin blinked at Eddie, a slow movement which was eventually accompanied by him screwing his face up. “Wait, again. Hold up. What are you talking about? Is she gonna just try and do you too?” "It's fine!" Eddie insisted. "I'll just watch my drinks. I hope this ale isn't poisoned," he added as he brought the glass to his lips. “I’d only poison you with your express permission,” Robin said, grandly, magnanimously, as he swept his arm through the air in a wide gesture. He grinned at Eddie, but it faded quickly. “That doesn’t sound fine, though. Are you just gonna wait to see if she does poison you?” "Her son thinks we should try to break them up. Besides, unless they get married and she does actually kill him, I'm fine! She's not going to risk pissing him off." Eddie took a long drink. "Probably." Robin stared at the side of Eddie’s face for a moment, squinting as if it would make things clearer to him somehow. It didn’t. He shook his head and lifted a hand to his head, pulling at his hat. “Probably! I mean probably you won’t die by poisoning, which is probably good because I’d probably kill you if you did.” A beat and then, “See? Probably is not a very good word.” "Well… what am I supposed to do? Like, the world's on fire. We could all die anytime." Eddie half-heartedly waved his arms around in fake distress. "So this one's … it's whatever. I'd rather just play darts, yeah? Throw the dart." “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Robin grumbled, taking up his stance. The board spun and he let his dart fly, keeping one eye on the board as he glanced at Eddie still. “Maybe you could poison her drinks.” The air felt a little heavier as Eddie wondered how seriously he should be taking Robin’s suggestion. In the end, he tried for a smile and said, “Nah. She’s probably spent the last few years building up an immunity to iocaine powder anyway.” “You could try it anyway and see,” Robin said, a sly smile on his face as he turned. “Just dust some over the top of something fancy and French and keep notes. Or you know, get a spy to keep an eye on her. You can use some of that sweet Lestrange gold to do it.” Robin stared at the board, totting up his score. “I’m sure your dad would be pleased you’re using it for nefarious deeds.” “Do you think she’d accept a house elf as a gift? Maybe one who specializes in de-aging self-care and espionage?” Eddie laughed. “Actually, a house elf spy ring sounds brilliant. They’re well-placed and completely ignored.” “Yes!” Robin looked excited, eyes alight. He could just picture it, a house elf scuttling around. “You’d have to, of course, be its master otherwise you know it’d just be loyal to her. But then you’d also have to have it pretend to be loyal to her almost always. It’s a thin line that you’d have to walk. Do you think you could handle it?” "My entire life is walking a thin line," Eddie said, matching Robin's enthusiasm. "This is nothing. Hell, if this works, it could become a whole thing. It'd sure liven up the life of a house elf." “I think it sounds like a good undertaking,” Robin said, cheerfully, nodding away as if underscoring his point. “I mean, what’s the point of life if there isn’t some kind of danger to it? We can easily source a house elf.” "We should hold interviews," Eddie suggested. "How will we know we've got the right elf for the job otherwise?" “They’ll have to come in their best house elf garb for us,” Robin said. “Like the illusion of clothes, you know? Their best illusions.” There was a pause as he bit his lip and then, with the tone of someone realising something important, he said, “I’m talking crap.” "At least forty percent of the time, mate," Eddie agreed. "But what of it?" “I don’t really think we can get you a house elf to poison her,” Robin said, sounding more than a little saddened by it. “Maybe you could come up with another way. Like if you poison something Rabastan is gonna give to her. She’ll never suspect. And then just keep doing it and it builds up and bam. Threat busted.” "Maybe I should just throw a poisoned dart," Eddie said, gesturing to the board. "Better get practicing. No more stalling and posing, Robin." “Fine, but you can’t throw it because I’m a better shot than you. I’ll prove it,” and Robin turned, letting one of the darts fly. He didn’t wait to properly check the score before he jumped up in celebration. Of course it was a good one. |