layla 'double betrayla' fairbourne (boundless) wrote in disorderic, @ 2017-11-22 15:30:00 |
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“Obviously I don’t have a problem doing what needs to be done,” Layla proclaimed airily, although her words were slurring from the amount she’d drank already this this evening. Seated on Vic’s couch, Layla held the tumbler in both hands on her lap looking forlornly at the small amount of rum left in the glass. “But this —” Layla waved a hand referring to the so called ‘Angelina Problem’ “— is… it’s different.” She raised the glass and drained it down the back of her throat seemingly oblivious to the burn. Layla Fairbourne had more than enough on her mind, and it showed. Vic, lounging carelessly against the other arm of the couch took a long sip of her own wine in solidarity. It was her second bottle, a marvel considering her regular wine appetites, but tonight Vic was playing the role of sympathetic listener for Layla. One of the few people she genuinely liked. “I still fail to see how it’s different,” she admitted. “Want another?” Bleary-eyed, Layla looked up from her glass towards her friend with exasperation. “I — yes,” she sighed, fidgeted with her complicated feelings, and figuring a refill on the alcohol was easier than addressing said emotional issues with Vic Mulciber, who clearly wasn’t getting it. “There’s a difference between me messing with vigilantes or planting shit to kill muggles and murdering one of my best friends.” That was what she presumed Bellatrix meant, anyway. Vic pondered this even as she stretched (painfully -- Merlin wasn’t she only 33?) over the couch arm to point her wand over at the bottle of rum. As the alcohol floated dutifully over to Layla, the older woman sighed. “Ya, I get that, I’m sure for those of us who exorcised their conscience to bring devotion to a new level of cult-glory, best friend probably doesn’t register. You care about her,” how, was beyond Vic, but it didn’t matter. Vic had her own inexplicable ties to certain people. “She’s not just...someone to you. But she is a problem Layla, she’s mouthy and Gryffindor foolish, and while I absolutely appreciate an irreverent pureblood dick joke, she’s flaunting it. And she’s totally a vigilante. So.” She stopped. Where the fuck had she been going with this. “So, it’s really not an if she’ll die. It’s a when. I feel like you know this is true.” Layla was in the process of pouring herself another full glass of rum when Vic stopped rambling. “Oh so fucking what?” Layla challenged, and then gave a dissatisfied ‘hrmph’ sound as she settled back into her seat clutching her beverage. “So she’s mouthy, big deal. Aren’t we all?” She brought her glass to her lips, but then stopped short to get out her point. “And yeah, she’s probably a vigilante, and I know that she’d want to be one anyway even if she isn’t. So what!” She took an overly large sip and barely stopped herself from sputtering. The alcohol was doing little to stop the younger woman from expressing herself. “It’s not like we’re not all vigilantes here, or that we—” meaning the two of them “— don’t laugh at everyone here taking grievous offense.” But as quickly as that indignation had come, Layla sighed again. “And I don’t want her to die.” Which was really the crux of it all. Vic inhaled deeply, her silence an acknowledgement that, ya, she knew. “I didn't say all that to be a hypocritical dick, or that because she’s those things she deserves to die more than us or something. But you are answering your own ‘so-what’-ing.” She gestured blearily and smacked her hand off of the wine bottle. “We’re Death Eaters. She’s getting in the way of the stuff we have to do. She’s doing it for that reason. That’s your so what. It’s her or you.” Layla glared at her drink with an intense fury for a moment. Or at least one that someone well into their cups could manage. “I know I’m answering my own question,” she snapped. The vitriol lacing her voice wasn’t directed at Vic specifically, but she was the one pointing out logical things right now. “So, what, I just go kill her and do it myself, or Merlin forbid — let Montague do it?” She brought one hand up to massage one of her temples as if it would somehow make things less confusing. “Uh, yea Layla,” Vic retorted, immediately on the defensive. It was a reflex. Was the wine going to be thrown? Better drink more of it before it becomes a casualty. “That is literally the choice Bellatrix gave you. Look --” she sighed, and shifted so that she was cross legged and leaning closer to her younger friend. “You care about her, you don’t want to kill her, but unless Johnson can suddenly no longer be found, Bellatrix expects you to do it. And even then, she’d expect you to track her down. You can’t protect her. You need to think of yourself. I’m sorry.” Unhappily, Layla turned to face her friend nonetheless. She took another swig from her glass and tried to maintain her composure. It wasn’t Vic she was upset with, and all her older friend had done was lay out the predicament that Layla found herself in. “That’s not —” she threw up her hand in exasperation luckily sparing Vic’s couch a stain from her drink, “— that’s a stupid choice and not fair.” She wished she didn’t sound so petulant, but the shoe fit. “But I know you’re right,” Layla begrudgingly admitted a few moments later. “I just don’t know if I can.” That sounded better than the truth, that she wouldn’t. But even Vic Mulciber didn’t need to know that, Layla reasoned. “I mean, you’re right, I don’t have a choice here either way.” “You do though, someone else could do it if you can’t.” “I meant in a way where Angelina lives, but yeah. I know that too.” Vic said nothing to that, what could she say? If not Layla, then Montague. If not him then likely Bellatrix herself. What was clear was that Angelina couldn’t live. They made their bed as Death Eaters and would have to deal with the consequences or die by them. Vic had never had many close friends her life and couldn’t put herself in Layla’s position right now. But it was because she valued that rare friendship she had with the younger girl, that Vic selfishly wished Layla would do it if only to keep herself safe. Vic no longer had Briony, but she had Layla. “Do you,” she cleared her throat. “Do you want a hug?” If there was anything that was going to take Layla by surprise this evening it was that. She looked incredulous at the older woman for a while. “I must have drank more than I thought because I think you just offered to give me a hug, Mulciber.” It was an old game: pretend they didn’t have emotions or sentimentality. “But yes.” |