robinet burke. (robinet) wrote in disorderic, @ 2017-12-24 15:44:00 |
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Entry tags: | robinet burke, rolf scamander |
WHO: Rolf Scamander and Robinet Burke
WHAT: Debating curses and talking about liars
WHERE: Borgin and Burkes, Knockturn
WHEN: Sunday 24th December~ MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE
The rusty bell above the door announced Rolf’s arrival. “Hey, Robinet,” he called out, tugging off his hat as he stepped into the store. He excitedly glanced around at the objects lining the shelves, his expression a mixture of awe and apprehension. Despite his close friendship with Robin, Rolf didn’t visit Borgin and Burkes very often. He found very few things off-putting, but the store, with all its dark objects and cursed artefacts, was the textbook definition of unsettling. He could deal with an XXXX-rated beast, but he was helpless against harmless looking bric-a-brac that could melt his flesh (or worse). But there was a part of him that found the store appealing, too. It was forbidden and mysterious and enticing in its own way. He smiled as he approached the counter, all too conscious of how out of place he was in the store. “Has it been busy today? I can leave if you have a lot on your plate.” Robin looked up from the ledger he was copying things into, a detailed note of every item that had ever passed through the store, its use, its history, its enchantments. At his elbow was a box, covered in a dark sheet, and he’d been carefully filling in its provenance, a task his father had assigned him before he’d walked away, talking about conference calls. He lifted one shoulder. “It’s not too bad,” he said to Rolf. He tapped his pen against the page and grinned. “Most people either have already purchased their Christmas revenge gifts or they’re going nice this year.” There was a slyness in Robin’s smile as he said, “I’ve been trying to look up if we have anything that would replicate the feeling of standing on lego for you. It’s not going too great, man.” “That’s not very surprising.” Rolf cocked his head to the side, letting his smile fade to a neutral expression as to not give away his sheepishness. Still, there was a slight pinkish tinge to his cheeks — Robin had called his curse suggestions cute. Days later, he was still somewhat mortified. Robin noticed, still, and his smile grew wider. Rolf’s gaze swept over the counter and snagged on the covered box. Curiosity piqued, he motioned toward it as he asked, “What’s that?” “It’s from Hungary,” Robin said, immediately, reaching out to tug at the cover. “It’s only a jewellery box, but the mirror in it was said to show something so terrible to everyone who looked in it it drove one woman mad. You know, Countess Zsófia Bretzenheim?” He looked at Rolf with an expression which clearly said he expected the name to be infamous. “Is she the one with all the dead husbands?” Rolf asked, his attention flitting between Robin and the jewelry box. He stepped closer to the counter, as if drawn to the box. “Or the dead step-children? It’s hard to keep track of murderesses.” Robin’s grin was huge and delighted, his eyes lighting up. He leaned over the counter. “Both!” he said, with a rather unseemly amount of glee. “She killed her two of her husbands and framed the kids! Amazing. She was genius. And very, very beautiful. She’s my history wife.” The corners of Rolf’s mouth turned up in a speculative little smile. “Should I start calling you Mr. Bretzenheim? Your legion of adoring fans will be very disappointed.” “I think we’d be the Burke-Bretzenhem’s. I’m extremely traditional, you know,” he said, breezily. “Zsófia argued only a little, but she came around. I won her over with my wit; she made me laugh enough I nearly considered putting her name first.” Rolf snorted, which quickly turned into a laugh. “She must’ve been very fond of you. I mean, she didn’t murder you and pin it on your children.” A beat. “Although I don’t think anyone would believe Debbie is capable of murder.” Robin raised his eyebrow. “Debbie’s a mean cat,” he said, lying through his teeth. “I wouldn’t put a bit of murder past her. She’d be my ideal partner in crime.” “Debbie is a sweetheart,” Rolf replied, smiling as he leaned against the counter, his body angled toward the jewelry box. “Just like her owner. That’s why you’re going to help me find the perfect cursed… thing for Willy.” “He can’t have the jewellery box,” Robin said, too quick, reaching out towards it. He almost stroked the box, over the cover, before he pulled himself together, shaking himself a little. He looked up at Rolf and asked, “Do you really wanna buy something from in here?” “I don’t know,” Rolf admitted, shoulders slumping a little. Time had dulled his anger and indignation, as had his conversation with Thea. “Theodora thinks it’s punching down. Doing something to Willy, I mean. But he can’t keep doing what he’s doing, you know? Throwing around the ‘m’ word and insulting my cousin. He basically—” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “He basically wanks off to the idea of Death Eaters doing anything. It’s disgusting.” A burst of laughter left Robin, a full, deep sound and he reached out to shove at Rolf’s shoulder and then drag him back, clapping it. “He probably does,” he said, trying to aim for solemn. “I wouldn’t doubt it. Someone saw him buying an astonishing amount of lotion the other day.” Rolf tried to mask his laughter and failed — his grin was hidden behind his hand, but the telltale movement of his shoulders gave him away. Robin chuckled to himself again, the thought lifting his spirits. It was certainly easier to think about than the fact that Robin fundamentally didn’t believe in punching down: there was rarely such a thing. If someone hit out, then they deserved whatever they got. He looked at Rolf for a moment, squinting slightly and then said, “You know you can do what you want to Willy. He’s old enough to know his actions have consequences. It’s not like he’s a small child.” Robin tapped the counter a few times, quickly, with his knuckles. “Do what you want, Rolf.” As his laughter died down, Rolf twisted again, leaning forward with elbows propped up on the counter. His attention honed itself on the jewelry box as he spoke, “It’s just that I’m still very upset with him. Graham, too. And I don’t have an endless supply of ashwinders, so…” He looked up at Robin and flashed him a sly smile. “What can I send him that’s bad but not, you know, too bad?” “Ugh,” Robin said, pulling a face. He didn’t want to talk about Graham, really, not with Rolf, so he did the only thing he knew how to do — resolved to completely avoid the topic. “What about something that would blind him?” There was the slightest elevation of Rolf’s eyebrows as he considered the idea. “Blind him for how long?” “A couple of da — hours,” Robin corrected, eyes on Rolf’s face. “It’s not too hard. It won’t even make him bleed, probably.” A very, very small part of Rolf was delighted by the idea of Locke going blind for several hours. It was the part of him that rankled at being called a bad Slytherin. But… “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he said slowly, trying not to make his disappointment too apparent. It seemed like the sort of thing Robin would seize on. “Imagine being blind on Knockturn. He wouldn’t last twenty minutes.” Robin sighed. “Life is a series of challenges we must overcome,” he said, sagely, with real feeling behind it, face tilting upwards. “It’s one of the most important lessons it teaches us. And Willy.” “All right, all right, I’ll keep it in mind,” Rolf replied, raising his hands in defeat. “What are your other suggestions?” “Well,” Robin said, “I suppose you could just make him bald. You don’t want to make his skin rot, do you?” It was a rhetorical question, but Robin’s gaze still flicked to Rolf and then away, his interest and curiosity unable not to snag on the question. “Or I reckon you could get him something more fun. The not being able to understand English one is hilarious, you know. I’m never wrong.” Rolf sidestepped the question with, “His skin is already rotting.” The second suggestion, on the other hand, seemed to strike a chord with him. His whole bearing changed, like a cat that had caught sight of its quarry. “What does it make the English sound like?” he asked, his eyes sharp and intent. “Mermish? Gobbledegook?” “Sure,” Robin said, after a beat. “I’m not sure. Most languages sound like gobbledegook to me, so I’d say that’s a good bet. Why, do you wanna do that one?” “Yes,” Rolf said firmly, his mouth curving into a hesitant smile. “You think it’s a fun one, right?” “It is fun.” He looked at Rolf for a minute and then smiled back at him. “You could try it out yourself if you wanted. Take it before you have to spend time with people you don’t really wanna talk to anyway.” “Or we could test it on Graham,” Rolf shot back, uttering Graham’s name as if it was a swear word. Sucking in a breath, Robin shot Rolf a look and then glanced down at his ledger. “Hmm, perhaps. I don’t think you will, though.” “I might,” Rolf said, his brow furrowing. “I am really, really…” He searched for the right word and ultimately decided on, “ticked off with him. I defended him! I trusted him! And then he goes and joins the Death Eaters?” Fervently shaking his head, Rolf slammed his palm down on the counter. “That’s unacceptable and I’m not going to stand for it. He deserves to lose his hearing and his vision and… and… his dick should fall off.” There was a pause, Rolf’s words hanging in the air, and then Robin’s laughter swallowed the remnants of it. He cupped his chin with a hand and looked up at the other boy. “Slam your hand again and talk dirty like that some more,” he said, a grin spreading over his face. “Say it again, Sam.” Rolf could feel himself turning pink. “I stand by what I said but I don’t see the point in repeating it.” “You’re a terrible spoilsport, Rolf,” Robin said, gravely, his chin tilted downwards. He shook his head, but he was grinning, which hugely undermined the action and his tone. “Anyway, I don’t really have a thing that castrate someone. You’d probably have to break out the slicing spell yourself there, man.” “Really?” Rolf made a show of looking about the room before his eyes met Robin’s. “There’s nothing here that can castrate someone? What about…” He nodded toward a glinting gold watch on a shelf behind the counter. “That watch looks spooky. You give it to someone, they innocently check the time, suddenly it’s noon and they’re dickless.” “Maybe you should go look closely at it,” Robin said, with a wicked grin. “See if it works that way.” He stood, finally, unhooking his ankles from around the legs of the chair and pushing it back. “It’s beautiful. You know you want to have a good look.” Rolf shot Robin a skeptical look. “Nice try, but I’m not putting on a cursed watch.” Still, he leaned forward over the counter to get a better look at it. “It is beautiful, though.” Robin turned, lifting it off the shelf with great care, and then turning back to Rolf. He slid it across the counter and then leaned against it: their heads were almost touching. “But what if it’s just a really pretty watch?” Robin asked. “It’ll probably make my eyes bleed,” Rolf replied, eyeing the watch as if it might lunge at him. “Or, because you really want me to try it on, it probably just does something really embarrassing. To which I say, no, Robinet, there’s no way I’m trying on your evil cursed watch.” Beat. “Even if it is pretty.” Robin sighed and popped the cover off the watch carefully, taking it out of its case and holding it up. “I would never do that,” he said, with absolutely no sincerity whatsoever. “Not to you, light in the darkness, sunshine in December, sunshower in a drought. But — I’ll show you what the watch does.” It was a quick movement, a fake out, born of a childhood surrounded by pickpockets and thieves and Robin slid his own watch off. He feinted like he was going for Rolf’s wrist, hand grasping for his wrist firmly: his own watch in the hand that went to his wrist. As Robin’s hand gripped his wrist, Rolf’s free hand shot out and caught Robin’s wrist in a tight hold. He may not have grown up around pickpockets and thieves, but working with sharp and fast dangerous creatures had honed his reflexes. One eyebrow arched as he gave Robin a look that plainly read nice try. “So what does the watch do?” Robin grinned at Rolf and twisted his wrist over, holding the watch up so he could see what he’d been trying to put on his wrist. It very clearly wasn’t the pretty watch. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s just a historical piece. There was a rumour that its owners put cheering charms on it, even. I’d have been doing you a favour.” Robin smirked. Rolf rolled his eyes as he relinquished his hold on Robin’s wrist. “I could use some cheering charms,” he admitted after a ruminative pause. “Stupid Graham.” Robin shrugged. He rotated his wrist, then put his watch back on, not looking at Rolf as he said, “Well don’t think about it, then. Easy peasy.” He put the nicer watch back in its box just as carefully as he could, slowly, giving it a lot of attention. “It’ll do you good.” “How can I not think about it?” Rolf exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. He looked up at the ceiling, glowering at it for a moment, before he added, “How are you so relaxed about this? Someone we know is a Death Eater. That’s a huge deal!” He couldn’t shrug again but Robin wanted to. It didn’t really matter to him, as long as it didn’t impact him — Robin didn’t want Death Eaters on his door, unless they were Richenza or looking to buy something. He couldn’t say most of that: it was clearly not something Rolf would care to hear. “Is it?” he said, instead, pointedly looking around the shop. “I don’t think it makes much of a difference to me.” Rolf’s gaze snapped back to Robin’s face, confusion and disbelief flashing in his eyes. “How is that possible?” “It just is,” Robin said. He moved to slide the watch back into place, turning away slightly. “I won’t let it impact me much. It’s upsetting you, though, which I get. It’s cool.” “I just feel like an idiot,” Rolf said, eyes downcast as his mouth pressed into a thin line. “An idiot who can’t trust anyone anymore.” “That doesn’t sound at all like you,” Robin said, turning back. He reached over the counter and ruffled Rolf’s hair a little. “You’re my nicest friend. To other people. Probably to me too.” Robin considered Rolf for a moment: he would know some Death Eaters, more than Graham, probably more than Robin knew about. He didn’t go out looking for them. Rolf was good to people. Robin sighed. “You’re not an idiot, anyway. I mean you’re a lot of things but you’re not really an idiot. Death Eaters aren’t all out there being, you know, Lestranges or Thea’s dad about it.” Robin looked around the shop, trying to make sure there was no one around who would hear him he didn’t want to and then lowered his voice, “Feed everyone you know some truth serum.” Ducking his head, Rolf covered his mouth with his hand to avoid a snort of laughter. “As tempting as that is, that’s a ridiculous idea. You’re ridiculous,” he said, trying to sound as serious as Robin, but the smile lurking on his mouth betrayed him. He sobered up a moment later, though, adding: “Everyone kept telling me I was bound to know some Death Eaters but I didn’t believe them. I didn’t want to think anyone I knew was capable of — well, that.” Shrugging, he reached out to tug Robin’s hat down a bit. “I know that’s a bit idiotic. It’s okay, I’m making peace with it.” Robin wrinkled his nose at Rolf, laughing softly as his hat was pulled down over his forehead, He kept wrinkling his nose, but didn’t fix the hat. “Francine would tell you everyone you know is a Death Eater probably,” he said, tone lighter than it should have been. “Are you gonna believe it?” “Of course not.” Rolf smiled. “At least she still doesn’t think you’re a Death Eater.” “That’s because I have a trustworthy face and demeanour,” Robin said, grandly, straightening to his full height and gesturing at himself. “It’s never been in doubt. My dalliances with dark magic are purely for fun.” “Uh huh.” Leaning forward, Rolf’s smile turned arch. “Speaking of dalliances with dark magic, I think we have an object to curse. Or a cursed object to find? Either way, I want to see how the language spell works.” Robin tipped a small bow towards him and said, “The customer’s wish is my command. Follow me.” Slipping from behind the counter, he started towards one corner of the shop, tucked away behind some displays of antique furniture. “You’re gonna love it.” Rolf trailed behind him, eyes wide as he glanced around the store. “Or it’ll terrify me. Either way, that works for my Locke problem.” |