auror edward w. watkins (ingratiating) wrote in find_horcruxes, @ 2009-12-01 22:41:00 |
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It had been a long while -- too long, in Edward's opinion -- since he had allowed himself to drink more than was ever a good idea, but since he was not scheduled for patrol the following day, and since he hadn't allowed himself to let go so completely since directly after John Dawlish's funeral, he thought he deserved it. Besides, it was a time for celebrations. They had just been to see Queen, and one of his best friends in the entire world was finally a man in Edward's estimation. Those were both worth taking one night off to be incredibly irresponsible. It would be worth it so long as the Death Eaters didn't do anything that evening, at least. As promised, Edward and their friend Sam had been buying all of the rounds so far, so it was assumed that Edward would continue to do the same when he pushed himself away from the table and headed towards the bar. Since Sam was off flirting with a pretty girl at a nearby table, it was up to Edward to buy the next round for them (even Sam, because he assumed Sam would return shortly; it was, after all, a boys' night). When he pushed his way back to the table, he was pleasantly surprised to find Boyd still sitting there, as though he'd expected his friend to disappear in the few minutes it took him to bring two pints back. "BOYD! Where the fuck did Sam go?" Edward asked, glancing around at the nearby tables and seeing no hide nor hair of their friend. "Guess this," he pushed what was to be Sam's pint towards Boyd, "is yours." Boyd gave a look over one shoulder, and seeing nothing Sam-shaped there, he looked over his other shoulder. Then, he summarily shrugged at Ed. There was no Sam. When did he walk away? That was weird. "S'weird," Boyd aptly remarked. "He was here." But! But. But, this was an advantageous lack of Sam, Boyd realised as he reached for the pint with two welcoming hands. "No' complain' though -- thank ye very much, Eddie." "No need to thank me," Edward insisted, literally waving Boyd off. Even though the entire night had been on him -- the concert (although technically, that was thanks to Meredith), the beer -- he wasn't looking for a lot of gratitude or any sort of sappiness. He deserved to have a good time, and Boyd? So did Boyd. It wasn't every week his best friend lost his virginity, after all. "Right then, I've got to make a toast. As your best mate, it's part of my job." He lifted his glass and cleared his throat. "Here's to you for finally having sex!" he said in a voice louder than he'd expected. He glanced to their right, and the group of people at the table there were snickering. Whoops. Well, Edward thought, he wouldn't be much of a best friend if he didn't royally embarrass Boyd from time to time. "Cheers!" "Tosser," Boyd grumbled, as he turned to give the chortling table a wave. After a brief pause, they burst out laughing even louder. For that, Ed was given a half-hearted sock in the shoulder because was he the closest, and, well, he sort of deserved it. Still, Boyd raised his drink, a stupid grin plastered across his face because, in the end, he had finally done the deed. ...Even if Addie seemed a little disappointed after it. His grin faded a bit at the memory. But she did say they'd just have to practise some more. The grin rebounded doubly so, and Boyd wasted no time in drowning out the pub for a moment as he upended his mug. "I love that girl, Ed," he added once a large measure of his drink was vanished from its glass. "Even 'er sister seems t'hate me less. Life's good, mate. Life's good." Edward didn't even flinch when Boyd hit his shoulder, partially because it didn't hurt, but also because he was expecting some sort of retaliation. He deserved it, and honestly, he didn't mind. "That's me," he agreed with a sharp nod. "Big fat tosser. It's another one of my jobs." While under normal circumstances, he might have teased Boyd further about how gooey he had become over Addie in such a short amount of time, but Edward was surprised by just how much he didn't care that night. "Yeah, life's good," he echoed, nodding his head again. Even his life was going well, despite his brother's owl to their mother and how nosy his mother was. The beginning of November had been terrible, but it seemed to Edward that it just might end on a happier note, at least where his personal life was concerned. Work was a different story all-together, unfortunately. "So Felicity came around?" he asked, somewhat surprised. Things hadn't seemed to be going very well with Addie's sister last he heard. "Cheers to that, too." Boyd shrugged widely, some of his drink sloshing over the rim of his mug with the exaggerated movement. "Sorta. See -- I talked to her an' I think she's mostly done tryin' to rip me a new hole." He raised his glass again. "So cheers t'that, too. Yeah." Another drain of his pint was taken. "An' cheers to Queen," he added after a pause. "Anythin' else ye'd add to the list, mate?" "Well that's a relief." Dramatically, Edward exhaled as though he'd been holding his breath for a while. He might not have been in any immediate danger from Felicity's wrath or whatever it had been, but he hadn't wanted Boyd to be either. He tilted his head to the side as he thought Boyd's question over. After a moment of mulling it over (and after taking some time to drink more beer), Edward shrugged. He'd told Boyd everything interesting that had happened to him in the last few weeks. "Not cheers to my brother, who thought it'd be a brilliant idea to tell Mum all about my dating life or whatever it is because he thought Mere and I were going to tell her all about how he snogged your cousin Isobel. Which, I might add, we didn't, because we're nice." There was a silent pause as Boyd flipped that snippet of news over in his head. "Ye ought to punch him," he sagely told Edward. "Always helped me deal with me own brothers. Doesnae solve much, but... makes a bloke --" He squinted at his beer. What did it make a bloke? "Feel better?" Good enough. "Unless he's the one gettin' punched," was added. "Yeah." And, then, Boyd lifted his focus, regarded Edward for a moment, and pulled a face. "I gotta find a ring, Ed." If only he could, Edward thought, because he honestly thought he might take Boyd up on that suggestion. If only Lawrence weren't still away at Hogwarts. Edward had a feeling he would be over his annoyance by the time Lawrence came home for the holidays -- if he was coming home. If he knew what was good for him, he might stay at school. "Yeah." Edward's scowl morphed a second later into something more akin to confusion. "What d'you need a ring for?" Oblivious that most of the explanation about this ring had taken place in his head, Boyd gave his mate a long-suffering look over the rim of his mug. "How else 'm I gonna ask Addie t'marry me?" He scoffed -- into his drink, which bubbled up -- and shook his head. "Ed, ye gotta pay attention. Takes a ring fer a proposal, right? So... I gotta find a ring." "But wh--" Oh. Oh. The memory of the conversation with Boyd about marrying Addie returned to him, and Edward nodded in understanding. Of course Boyd would need a ring to propose. "I'd say you could propose without one but I don't think that's how it's supposed to go." Never in a million years had he thought that at only twenty two years old, he would be sitting around talking about engagement rings with Boyd. Or with any of his friends, for that matter. It wasn't terribly unusual, a fast-paced relationship like theirs, but Edward still hadn't expected it. Still, since he'd been given a bit of warning, the shock was fading, for the most part. "Guess that means I gotta get a kilt, yeah?" he asked with a grin. "Yeah, 'cause... ye can ask any question without a ring -- but that question requires one. Ed, I bloody well cannae ask her that question without a ring," Boyd carried on. For a brief pause, he frowned at some random spot on the far wall. It was distressing in a sort of way his alcohol-saturated mind couldn't place. Boyd jammed a finger into the table top, brow furrowed as he kept on: "Then it's gotta be a ring she likes. An' I gotta fig -- I gotta figure out how I'm gonna ask her." He tilted his head, fixing Edward with a pained, eye-squinted expression. "This is hard. Never mind about yer bloody kilt. Man, I'm havin' a crisis here." Edward stared at Boyd, mouth hanging open slightly. Was Boyd really going on and on -- fretting -- about this? "Technically, you could still ask," he began, but then he shook his head. Boyd probably wasn't going to listen to him, and he was probably right, too. Addie would expect some sort of really romantic moment, right? Didn't girls all want that? Helpless, Edward lifted his hands and shrugged his shoulders. "Don't look at me," he told Boyd, "I'm completely useless here. Never have tried to ask that of any girl. Never even wanted to." What he thought Boyd needed to do was just say exactly what was in his heart, because if Addie had given him a chance after that John-Lachlan-Boyd business, Edward didn't think she'd mind if he rambled on about something stupid while trying to ask her to marry him. Shit, she'd probably think it was sweet or something. Instead, Edward turned his attention back to his beer. "You'll sort it out," he insisted, hoping that would be enough to reassure Boyd. That was true. Why he was looking to Edward for any help was beyond Boyd, but there wasn't anyone else around. There was Ed. Only Ed. "Ye-eeeah." Wait, they were three, weren't they? Where did Sam go? A second thought and Boyd realised those were steps already trodden. Well, not that Sam would've been any more help. Just as well in the end. "...Oy, so..." Boyd dredged the banks of his memory. What was her name? A-ha. "So how about Miriam?" Edward really should have expected the conversation to turn towards his love life, or whatever it was, after talking about Addie and especially after bringing it up himself (despite that being more in the context of how annoying his brother was), but he didn't, so when the question came, his eyebrows shot upward again. "How about her?" he asked, pretending he had no idea what Boyd was getting at. He wasn't sure how to answer the question, either, so he thought if he ignored it, he wouldn't have to. Over Boyd's shoulder, Edward got a glimpse of the side of Sam's head, and then a woman's hand reaching up and -- "Oh shit, Sam just got slapped!" He couldn't have planned a better distraction if he'd tried. Grinning, he gestured for Boyd to turn around. Boyd tried to twist his neck around, but found it a handicap that he'd not only looked in the wrong direction, but he wasn't possessed of the range of motion necessary to get those extra degrees needed to see what the hell Ed was talking about. He quickly turned about the other way, and caught the sight of Sam looking not only stunned, but very much slapped. Whatever worried about marriage he'd been whinging about were out of mental reach with this latest scene. "WELL DONE, SAM!" It seemed like a good thing to shout at the time, but Boyd reconsidered that in the seconds proceeding. Ah, well. What's done was done. The woman regarded him from across the pub, looked at Sam, and then huffed off in a fittingly huffy way. "Aw, he's lettin' her walk away," Boyd remarked, pulling a half-attempt at a scowl. And, then, the expression fell clear off in favour of confusion. "...What were we talkin' about before?" As Boyd shouted across the pub, Edward beamed and started applauding, which was also not the wisest decision, considering the look the woman's friends were giving him, but Edward was more concerned with continuing to embarrass their friend than anything else. It wasn't every day Sam caused that much of a ruckus, after all. At least not while all three of them were in the same bar. "Well if he follows, he might get slapped again," Edward pointed out, "and I don't think he likes being slapped around that much." He paused, nose wrinkling up. "Or maybe he does." Why he was thinking about whether or not Sam liked being smacked around, Edward didn't know, but it was distracting enough for him to nearly miss Boyd's question. "Hm, wha-- oh." He shrugged his shoulders, casting his eyes down towards his beer. "You were talking about Addie?" he suggested, knowing that they hadn't been, hoping that Boyd wouldn't know the difference. "FOLLOW 'ER, SAM!" Boyd took the liberty of shouting. For the proper enthusiast performance, he flipped their friend two thumbs pointing straight up. It was probably a good thing the woman was out of hearing range, given that she'd walked out the door and slammed it shut behind her. Boyd reeled his attention once more back to Edward after that, leaving Sam to fend for himself -- which was likely much to the gratitude of that same Sam. Apparently Ed was talking about Addie, which was weird. Why would he -- oh, right. That was the answer to the question that -- right. Right. "Addie," Boyd echoed. All at once, he started smiling again. "What're the odds, Ed? What're the odds that a girl like her... gets a bloke like -- no. Wait. Fuck. ...Ah, ye know what I mean." The dopey expression on Boyd's face had returned -- to Edward's relief, because he didn't particularly feel like talking about his own dating life, and because Boyd getting goofy over his girlfriend was such great fodder for mocking him. Edward looked at Boyd with a quizzical expression, attempting to follow what his friend was saying without much luck. "What are the odds that," he began slowly, trying to repeat what he thought Boyd was getting at, "a tosser like you gets a girl like her? No fuckin' clue, mate, but someone willing to put up with you is one in a million. Look at me, for example! And I've been putting up with you since we were eleven. Not an easy feat, trust me." Boyd attempted to look unimpressed, but hell if he got anywhere near it. If nothing else, maybe he was at least squinting with annoyance at Ed for the crack. "Shuddup, Ed," he retorted as he reached out an unsteady arm to shove his mate solidly in the shoulder with. Only, the laws of physics dictated that for every force, there is an equal and opposite force, and without steadying himself on his chair -- or bothering to keep his balance -- Boyd discovered the underside of the table with immense success. He remembered teetering in retrospect, and, feeling it fitting despite the lateness of it, said the only thing that there was to say for himself: "Fuck." Edward had more luck with his balance than Boyd did, holding onto the table and bracing his legs against the chair as Boyd shoved him, so he teetered only a little bit as Boyd was the one lucky enough to make close friends with the floor. It was the laughter that came after that nearly wiped Edward out, and it was by the grace of God that he didn't spill any of his beer by knocking into the table as he laughed. "Need help down there?" he asked between snorts, his abdomen aching pleasantly from the strain of laughter. "One day I'm going to wish we'd gotten that on camera. Shit, I really hope I remember that come morning." A hand raised up, just high enough to clear the table so that Edward could see the double-fingered salute. "Gimme a bloody hand," Boyd's voice said from beneath his chair, though it was punctuated by a snort which cascaded straight into laughter. "Oh sod all." Yeah. He wasn't going to be getting up any time soon. Knowing this, he reached out, grabbed Ed by the arm, and pulled. He honestly had been about to reach a hand out to help Boyd up, but Edward had been taking his sweet time, wanting to draw the embarrassment out as long as possible. That and he'd been waiting for the laughter to subside more so he wouldn't buckle over in laughter while trying to help Boyd to his feet and wind up on the floor himself. Unfortunately, he was about to make friends with the floor anyway. He yelped as he felt Boyd's hand latch around his arm and pull him down. Completely unprepared, Edward flailed as he fell sideways, knocking into the table once more before landing on his shoulder. The pain was dull and barely noticeable through his laughter. "You giant arse!" That was when a large man wearing a stern expression wandered over, and Edward leaned over to Boyd, whispering, "maybe we'd better leave now." "Ah, what for, Eddie? We're just havin' fu --" It took two tries, but Boyd finally followed Edward's line of sight and spotted the approaching golem-like entity. "Oh." The man really did not look happy. "Oh," Boyd repeated. He started to make an attempt to pull himself up by his chair, but it wobbled for have no leverage against his weight. "Shite -- where... where're my feet?" At second glance, the man in front of them looked sort of like a bouncer, or at least someone who was there to keep the bar patrons in line, which wasn't really what Edward and Boyd were doing, sprawled out on the floor. "Attached to your legs," Edward informed him, pushing himself up to his feet before extending a hand to help Boyd up too. "Time to go, lads, think you've had a bit too much tonight," the man informed them, gesturing for them to head to the door. "Yeah... right." Edward held up one hand and then reached out for his beer with the other, downing the rest in one go. It would have been wasteful to leave it behind, that was his reasoning. "Now we're good. Where's Sam?" They were already being ushered out at that point, and once outside, Edward burst out laughing again. "We just got kicked out! Who does that?" Outside the door, Boyd was working on dusting his jumper off, brow furrowed deeply at how it wasn't working... until he realised it was just the pattern of the fabric. Looking at Ed, he raised one brow at a sharp angle. Ah, Sam could find his own way out. Maybe. Hopefully? "S'all yer fault," Boyd countered, trying for a solemn expression. After all, the alcohol was in there, and they were not in there with that alcohol, which was most distressing. Ed's laughter caused a crack in the act, though, and within a second flat, so was Boyd clutching his sides. He wasn't even sure what he was laughing about, but in that moment the world was a hilarious place, and it wasn't long before he sank down against the pub with a big dumb grin on his face. "My ma's gonna kill me, Ed," he told his mate as he looked upward. And then a whole new round of snorts and hysterics started up. "Your ma's never gonna find out," Edward informed his friend, though he didn't sound or look nearly as serious about that as he wanted to. If Boyd's mother found out, it would only be a matter of time (precisely the amount of time it took an owl to fly from Mingulay to Tynemouth) before his own mother found out, and if his mother found out, then he was sure to receive an earful about it via owl or worse -- in person. Even though he was an adult, and a fairly responsible one at that, he didn't want to face his mother's wrath. "Why we're worried about our mums though, I've got no idea. We're bloody pansies." "Damn right you are," their friend Sam told them with a grin. "Was wonderin' where you tossers went. Getting kicked out already?" He tsk-tsked them gently, his grin widening. "Help me get him up." Edward waved their friend over before stretching out an arm for Boyd. "C'mon, you idiot. We need to find another pub." |