angelus (rosier) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-05-10 08:12:00 |
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Grace liked the little grocer on the corner. She’d been going long enough that no one bothered her, had been boring and inoffensive enough that the paps had long given up following her in. It was too bad. The sheer amount of ice cream she now bought for her brother probably would have made some speculation rumour mill. As it now stood, she could comfortably pick up her milk in workout clothes without a second look. Which was what she would be doing if not for the sudden appearance of Angelus Rosier. “Uh,” she blinked. “Rosier?” Rosier did not grocery shop. Ever. Except for right now because the chocolate shoppe needed something, and he couldn’t send anyone else to get it. Keeping places staffed, especially in Diagon, was a very big chore these days with the way the world was. So here he was, running into Grace Jordan. Who was… what? “I hadn’t heard about the ice cream embargo. Was this on the Wireless?” Grace looked down, forearm starting to numb from the numerous pints cradled in her arms. When she looked back at Rosier she had an eyebrow raised, defiant. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was breaking news.” Instead of the death and murder. She cocked her head to the side. “Did you get lost? You’re aware this is a grocery, right?” Rosier looked around and then wrinkled his nose. “Is that what they call this?” he quipped, leaning into the whole thing. “Yes, I’m aware, as odd as this is — what’s with the ice cream?” “I don’t understand your question, it’s ice cream.” She wasn’t about to offer that her vigilante brother was living with her, so if Rosier wanted to think Grace was losing her grip after...things and eating her weight in ice cream, that was fine with her. She took a few steps closer, the basket of her other groceries swinging at her elbow. “Are you looking for emergency cheese?” “It’s a lot of ice cream,” Rosier pointed out unhelpfully. Mostly because he thought Grace was completely losing it as she pondered, not because it had anything to do with her brother. “Emergency milk products apparently,” Angelus answered her question, looking miffed. “Why everything is so difficult to find in here I don’t know.” Wasn’t there some mystical milk section? Grace gave him a long suffering look, wondering if she should take pity on him. “This is a freezer, milk is next aisle. Why do you need emergency milk products?” Angelus squinted. “A what?” Okay, maybe he was just fucking with her now. Maybe. “Rosier’s ran out — we’re making a milk chocolate batch and somehow it fell to me to get some.” The ice cream seemed to droop slightly in her arms. “Business not doing well?” Weird that the owner would be the one slumming it in the grocery store. Rosier rolled his eyes, “It’s doing great, but staffing is an issue. Most people don’t want to work in Diagon anymore, admittedly, which I get, but you know.” Then, however, his demeanor changed as an idea struck him. “Wait, what about you? Do you want to work for Rosier’s?” Grace gave him the response his question deserved, a look of utter incredulity. “Weirdly, no. Kind as your offer is, I’m pretty occupied getting Keaton’s charity in working order.” “I might have even made you a supervisor,” Rosier scoffed, but didn’t seem too put out. Keaton’s mention. Well. That changed things. Keaton was the first death that really, really sunk home — it had been awhile since Richenza’s at that point, and no one had been sure how or why there. Keaton’s was outright murder. “And? How’s that going?” Grace relaxed somewhat, ice cream shifting in her arms. The question seemed sincere so Grace gave a sincere answer. “Good, I think. It’s been a bit of a go with the lawyers, but Keaton left a lot and I think we’ll be able to implement the sports camps and programming sooner rather than later.” She gave a real smile, though small. “For all wizarding children. Since we’ve been limited on the sports front because of bigoted murderers, we’ll be doing what we can to help individuals who have been affected in the Quidditch attacks too.” They were positioned to offer financial support to the Wandless and identify the ones who had fallen through the cracks. And they’d be using pureblood money through the charity to do it. Oblivious to Grace’s intentions, Rosier was contemplating making a snide comment at her ‘all’ wizarding children bollocks. Despite what she wanted there currently were no muggleborn children present in the wizarding world. At least not officially. But he said nothing. There was no point in driving a knife at his former classmate. He mulled it over, and then finally, “Right, well, I can donate to that. I already bought into Quidditch stores anyway — shame to let anything close before it starts back up again.” “Ya?” Grace considered him, weighing his sincerity. This is what she’d wanted, what she’d mentioned to the others. Getting Rosier’s support, financially and otherwise would help matters. And yet, with Keaton now dead, Grace felt the instinctive anger bubble up anyway. She had a lot of it these days and Rosier and his attitude somehow always seemed to be there at the wrong time. “Is this...guilt, since some of your family were responsible?” Rosier scowled. “Oh fuck off,” he snapped. Whether his family had contributed to things or not seemed moot to him. “As if I haven’t always cared about Quidditch and getting people involved in it, which has nothing to do with my family, Death Eaters or otherwise.” It was not moot to Grace. “I know you have, but since Death Eaters are the reason Quidditch has been cancelled, that Muggleborns can’t play, that people have died, continue to die,” maybe there was a touch of hysteria there; her boyfriend was one of them, “I don’t think the two can be separated. Keaton was killed by them, this is his charity.” And money was money Grace. He was willing to help. She exhaled sharply in frustration. “Sorry. That -- sorry.” “Bullshit you are,” Rosier pressed, pointing a finger accusingly at Jordan. “I’m not a Death Eater. I’ve said nothing but praise for Keaton.” “And absolutely nothing against the Death Eaters. A lot of good praise did for Keaton,” she snapped back. “Yeah? What did you or anyone else do that did anything for Keaton? Nothing. He’s still dead.” The line of Grace’s mouth was mutinous. “He is, and every day before that and every day after has been about doing whatever we could to help the people who needed it. Keep your money and your support, I’m sure it can go to some suffering Pureblood somewhere.” She moved to go around him. Rosier stuck an arm out so that he blocked Grace’s path away, resting it on a shelf. “Yeah, great,” he said, still sounding annoyed, “and yet you’re going to tell me when I do something it’s not good enough because of who my family is. Funny how that works out, isn’t it?” Liberals, they were never so liberal after all. “It’s not good enough to offer to help people with one hand and support the people who hurt them in the first place with the other.” Rolling his eyes, Rosier stood defiant. “You don’t know shit all about what I do or don’t do.” “So you don’t support them?” She knew he hadn’t been pleased with what happened over Quidditch, but that was something that had affected him personally. “No, you idiot. I’d be totally fine if this never happened. If I supported it, I’d be one, and I’m not.” His scowl didn’t abate; he was far too tired of everyone just assuming he was some murder-loving person even despite growing up with him in school. Grace wasn’t impressed. Totally fine? Glad they’d cleared that up. “Fine,” her arms were practically numb from the ice cream. “Whatever. Your dedication towards Quidditch and your ambivalence towards the war in general has been noted.” She was tired and lashing out like some morally righteous harpy in the dairy aisle. Well done Grace. “Excuse me.” “Fine.” Rosier wasn’t going to argue with her, he was tired of arguing with people who wanted to be on a pedestal to preach. “Cya.” He pushed past her, bumping shoulders like an ass, on his way to fetch what he needed. |