Vic Mulciber (fromdefeat) wrote in disorderic, @ 2017-11-28 15:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | victoria mulciber |
WHO: Vic Mulciber and Clay Wheatbuck (NPC)
WHAT: Vic further proves that she doesn’t deserve friends
WHEN: Backdated November 24, late
WHERE: Ministry Atrium
There hadn't been a lot of fanfare. None in fact. No mention in a Ministry bulletin or even the bloody whiteboard Carol insisted on using for team morale. Vic had simply been moved into the Deputy Head office and Hargreaves had said a few words about chain of command before patting Vic on the back and getting back to work No one else had even blinked. Assholes. Vic took a long, vengeful drag of her cigarette, mouth barely untwisting from her scowl. The atrium was silent at this hour, Vic, as always, one of the very last to leave. God, what was the point of all her hard work if she didn't even get the recognition for it? And now, even worse, her Mother had essentially been outed as a Death Eater. She knew comments about just how “dishonestly” she came to be Deputy Head were surely coming. “Assholes.” The fact that Vic was always one of the last to leave didn’t account for those poor, unfortunate folks that worked evenings, intrepid ministry security guard Clay Wheatbuck among them. He was just finishing his hourly rounds, updating his twitter feed (@clay_theguard), and trying not to think of the menacing looks his boss, Wartley, had been giving him recently. Clay had just pushed open the doors to the lift and walked into the atrium on his way to the security booth there when his nose caught the telltale smell of cigarette smoke. Turning to investigate, he noticed Vic Mulciber, a former classmate of his. “Oh, hello, Vic!” he greeted cheerfully enough, but then his eyes dropped to the cigarette. Vic didn't startle too badly at Clay’s greeting, their late night run ins not so unusual. Despite his dopey cheerfulness, she liked the guy. He’d called her a hedgehog, prickly on the outside but nice and cute underneath. He was her friend. “Hey,” she grumbled back and noted his stare. With a raised eyebrow she took another long, pointed drag, daring him to say something. “Want one?” “I haven’t smoked once since I found out Darlene was pregnant with little Stella,” Clay tutted, but he also restrained himself from chiding Vic, anyway. They were former classmates at Hogwarts, and he got along with her even when he knew (unfortunately via gossip that circulated the Ministry) that a lot of people weren’t too fond of her. “You’re working late again, hey? Never any rest for you lot up in that office.” Vic gave an unladylike snort, fury crawling up her throat again. “Not you lot, me. I put in all this extra time and what does it get me Clay, hmm?” She gave a sharp, humourless laugh. “Definitely not respect. I made Deputy Head, did you hear about that?” Her unhinged tone suggested it was a hypothetical question but there was a part of her that wished he'd tell her he had. It wasn’t that Clay was that poor at reading the obvious tone or mood, but he was simply too… honest for this kind of chat. Even a poor lie could have done better, but instead here was Clay Wheatbuck, honest idiot of Class of ‘02. A hand came up and scratched the back of his neck. “I’m real sorry, Vic, but I hadn’t heard that. I’m on night’s all the time, though, I don’t hear much about that kind of thing until a while later.” His hand dropped to his side again and he gave a sympathetic look. “Well, they’re lucky to have you, then. Someone has to keep the place running.” Vic broke off into what could have been a hysterical laugh, chin tipped up as she let the disappointment wash over her. “Ya. They are. Thanks,” she she added on a sigh, though she meant it. The cigarette flared as she brought it back up to her mouth. “Did you just start your shift then?” Giving Vic another sympathetic smile, Clay nodded again, “They are, they just don’t see it, but they will one day, yeah?” He knew that Vic always worked excessively hard, but people were just off-put by her being… her. “Yup, just got on shift, really. Looks like another quiet night, which is nice, you know? Everyone seems to think there’s just people walking around killing other people here, which is dramatic.” Vic couldn’t help but smile slightly at that. She hid it by twisting it into a grimace. “I know, it’s offensive. We can’t help that those Death Eaters have won, we’re all just trying to do our best by serving the public. We’re putting our necks out for them so that they can still have some sense of order.” She inhaled again and shook her head, the put-on exasperation more real that she expected. “People are so ungrateful. I mean, look at you, giving up your nights like this. Where’s your thanks?” Grimacing at ‘Death eaters have won’ despite how true it was, Clay did have to concede the point altogether. “Yeah, we’re honest folk just trying to make a living and not let—” his voice dropped “—terrorists win, you know?” He felt guilty even saying that aloud as if they’d somehow hear him and come after him or his little family. “Well it’s true I don’t get many, but sometimes just a good night’s work is reward enough, you know?” Vic liked Clay well enough, she did, but his humble acceptance of very little was unpalatable to her. A good night’s work, reward enough? If that was even remotely true, Vic wouldn’t have spent the last 33 years barely subsisting because her hard work alone had never left her satisfied. If it wasn’t enough to the people who mattered, why would it be enough for her? “No,” she tossed her cigarette to the ground and poked Clay in the chest, finger brandished. “I don’t know, and neither should you. You’ve made sacrifices Clay, you continue to make sacrifices for these ungrateful pissants and you deserve the respect, appreciation and recognition that comes with those sacrifices.” She was nearly snarling. “You are way too nice for your own bloody good, so a bit of a fool, but you work hard. People are going to whinge that they couldn’t do anything, that they stopped trying because ‘terrorists’ run things and keep us all in line with oppression, death threats, and actual murder, but those are just pathetic excuses. You’re better. I see that. And if they won’t give you what you deserve, then you’ll just have to take it.” Clay swallowed the lump in his throat as he resisted the urge to take a step back his friend due to her sudden vehemence and venom. “Well I—” he started, then stuttered, his eyes flicking down to the cigarette just to avoid looking at his friend. He couldn’t not look at her, though, and he recaptured her with his attention. “I don’t know — what do you mean, take it?” Vic opened her mouth, caught suddenly by how little that entire diatribe had actually been about Clay. “Nothing bad. Merlin Clay, what's with the look. I just meant...show some initiative, of course. I bet you could be head security guard by the end of the month, even.” ’I’m on night’s all the time, though, I don’t hear much about that kind of thing until a while later.’ Her gaze sharpened. “The unsung heroes, quietly doing your jobs.” She continued. “You must hear a lot of gossip.” “Me, head security guard?” Clay laughed then, happy that Vic was joking again. He smiled at the thought. “I mean sure I like showing initiative and all, but no one’s gonna promote me over Wartley. Plus, that’s extra hours too, and Stella likes it when I’m home and stuff, just dad and daughter time. Oh, hey, I forgot to tell you she’s big into Briony’s vids now.” His smile didn’t abate at the memory. “Well, sure, we don’t hear everything, but we hear what people are talking about a lot, you know? If there’s big news and stuff. I try to not spread it around.” The companionable smile on her face died at the mention of her sister and her sister’s unfathomable fame. Vic understood her instinctive reaction as irrational, but she couldn’t help it. Once again she struggled and failed, while her sisters got everything they wanted without any actual effort. Working hard got her nowhere. And the one time she was underhanded, it was an empty victory. And not even fully her own because her mother didn't trust in her ability to Imperius someone. Vic felt the press of her wand against her forearm. A suggestion. Clay was a helpful, well situated guy. He could be even more helpful. “Gossip can be so dangerous,” she agreed absently. “But you know, information is important these days especially when it feels like you can't trust anyone. People like you and me, we need to stick together. We just want to do our best, to be helpful, right?” Clay laughed, seemingly oblivious to the decidedly dangerous change in his friend’s mood. “Oh heck yeah, Vic. You don’t want gossip spreading around, it’d be like that one time everyone thought Rhys was humping — well nevermind.” It was an old school tale. “Yeah, course we want to be helpful.” He looked down at his watch for a moment, his rounds were running late. Vic took advantage of Clay’s distraction. “Imperio,” she said under her breath, so soft it went unheard in the chasm of the atrium. Evelyn and Rose could think whatever they wanted, but if there was one thing Vic devoted her attention to, it was perfecting her mother’s favoured curse. Let this be the proof. “You will be helpful,” she assured her friend, sweet, kind, good natured Clay who only ever saw the good in Vic. If the sudden surge of guilt Vic felt was stronger, more bitter than she’d felt with Callum Corner, that could just be easily ignored. War was not the time to listen to one’s conscience. There were no friends in this war. There couldn’t be, Vic learned that a long time ago. |