Eleanor Gamp (embalmer) wrote in disorderic, @ 2017-11-25 20:16:00 |
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“The band is booked, bands,” Merrick corrected before Eleanor could. “One orchestra and one shaggy haired quartet of youths your daughter insisted upon.” Between them, an elderly gentleman lay peacefully, dead to the world, veins leisurely filling up with embalming potion. “Malcolm also wants an opportunity to showcase his newest brew,” Merrick continued, gaze flicking up and over at his wife, amusement clear in the twist of his mouth. “Naturally I said yes.” “Oh, how marvellous! I look forward to everyone pretending to enjoy it,” Eleanor said happily, unfazed by the decedent laying before them. “The youths on the other hand…” She made a face at the thought of shaggy haired musicians making an appearance at their party. Still, if that was Christina wanted, that was what what she’d get. “That nice realtor boy is coming by. The one whose family deals in castles. I think she’ll like him,” Eleanor said casually, moving to take another potion down from a nearby shelf. Merrick’s smile slipped into a frown. “I don’t think we agreed on ‘nice.’ Unless you’re just trying to be kind, because we both know anyone can buy a castle these days. Large, impractical, crumbling shacks. The overhead would be monstrous,” he punctuated the statement with a chuckle, like the thought was too adorable and trite to contemplate. His daughter with a castle realtor? Eleanor shrugged. “Well, their estimated net worth was nothing to sneer at. Perhaps he’d get sensible someday and move into the graveyard business,” she said, not really caring too much either way. “But you’re right, castles are a gaudy mess. I can uninvite him if you like. Who else would you suggest?” “No one,” he said immediately, and when his wife met his eyes he gave her his most charming, innocent smile. “Merlin have I told you how brilliant you are today?” She gave him a conspiratorial grin. “Once or twice, but you may tell me again. I never tire of handsome, brilliant men showering me with compliments.” she said, then added an unrelated, “Can you please pass me that cream to your left?” Merrick grasped the container without even looking, eyes still on Eleanor. “Then it looks like you married the right man, because I never tire of giving them,” he leaned forward and over the deceased to place the jar in Eleanor’s hand, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, and then a much sloppier one to her cheek. “Or of being handsome and brilliant,” he winked as he withdrew. “Don’t uninvite the realtors,” he continued with their previous subject, back to business so quickly. “They may be labouring under foolishness, but they’ve clearly amassed a landowning network for themselves, taking advantage of purebloods with only their names left to keep them warm. I want it.” Eleanor laughed lightly—at the kisses, at the compliments, at the cutthroat nature of their potential guests—everything. She took the jar and twisted the lid off. “See, I knew you’d understand. Even if nothing else, we can befriend them. Old Mr McCormick looks like he’s seen better days. Perhaps he’ll want to sell off some assets before he ends up in one of ours. His grandson might overlook something valuable that isn’t as flashy as a castle.” Merrick hummed in agreement, deferring to his wife’s genius as always. “This party will be an excellent opportunity to remind some of them that life is a fleeting thing, and who better to trust with the remains of it than us. Also to showcase my jumper.” He grinned. “Your jumper is fantastic, as always,” Eleanor said. On anyone else, she'd have considered it hideous, but as far as she was concerned, Merrick Gamp could do no wrong. “And I've got the speech and gift bags ready. Perhaps I should reach out to Rosier for some chocolates—it couldn't hurt to stay in his good graces considering that family's track record in the last war.” Merrick nodded. Yes, the Rosiers did have a talent for dieing. Very convenient of them. “His chocolates do seem to be ruffling feathers though. It may be prudent to look into another organization raising money for other causes as well. It’s a shame we can’t openly show support for the Wandless, they are an increasingly large and destitute group in need of our services. We should ask Goldstein for her opinion.” “She does appear to enjoy being heard. Perhaps we should sponsor her rescue mission. People may die trying to break into Azkaban.” Eleanor said cheerily. She considered herself nothing if not generous. “What do you think they're doing with the Wandless when they expire? Has the Ministry offered anyone a contract to take care of that? We could offer a humanitarian discount.” Merrick cross his arms over his chest. “That’s an excellent question. Clearly the Ministry doesn't care about their fate, but they’re already causing problems in Diagon Alley and the more the Ministry ignores them, the more desperate they’ll become. They’re living in horrific conditions,” he mused, not without genuine sympathy for what Merrick saw as a ludicrous ruling. No access to Heath care, they’d need a good undertaker. “We could give them dignity in death. The Ministry could pay us for it, it could help with their image problems.” “If anyone could convince them of that, it’s you,” Eleanor said, confident in her husband’s diplomatic abilities. He always had been the more sympathetic one, and she trusted his instincts. “Perhaps we should ask our dear Christina what causes are in vogue at the moment. She may have ideas as well.” Merrick uncrossed his arms and came around the recently deceased to take a seat beside his wife. “Kids their age do seem to be incredibly involved in social justice. Potter,” he said in example and leaned in so that his shoulder was pressed against Eleanor’s. Harry Potter’s stand was proving to be more profitable to them than the first war. Bless him. He seemed a foolish, very dead boy. “Sometimes I fear we’re growing out of touch.” “We’re not out of touch—everyone else is out of touch. So caught up in politics and pop culture that they waste their entire, precious lives, and only realise it once it’s too late,” Eleanor said breezily. She kissed Merrick lightly on the forehead then continued her work, scooping some of the skin cream out of the jar for use on her dearly departed guest. “Causes change, but we’re building something that will last forever.” Merrick watched the cream take effect as it always did, illuminating the ashen, bloodless skin, and making the dead appear glowing in his repose. Causes did change, along with the opportunities to take advantage of them. They would need to be more careful navigating both sides of this war this time, however. The public seemed far more engaged and self aware; their more violent friends visibly desperate the longer the Potter boy lived. Merrick turned to his brilliant wife and rested his hand against the back of her neck, gently kneading. “Death is the only certainty,” he agreed. “Death, most people’s idiocy, and my love for you,” Eleanor added sweetly. She set to arranging the dead man’s hair. “Now, let’s continue giving Mr Green the send-off he deserves. He’s paid a small fortune for the privilege.” |