Damocles and Celeste: Blind Date (backdated) Characters: Damocles Belby and Celeste Lestrange Setting: A fancy schmancy restaurant in London, 10 August 1979 (backdated) Summary: In an attempt to marry off their children, Mrs. Belby and Mrs. Lestrange arrange a blind date for the evening. What happens? Rating: Very G
Damocles Belby had not been surprised when his mother informed him of his date that evening. Annoyed? Yes. Surprised? No. But he supposed that is what he deserved for giving her his work schedule, she could schedule blind dates when he was off from work. It was almost embarrassing to have your mother set you up on a date, especially at his age, but, he reminded himself, he was doing this to please her, not to find a wife. And that, along with the fact that he looked good in his tux, lessened the humiliation.
"I must apologize in advance," he said turning to the woman on his arm. "I have not had the opportunity to try this restaurant before. I am following the recommendation of a friend. So if the food is sub par, forgive me."
Still unsettled about the fact that her weekend was claimed by an irreverent mother and her desire to shunt her forwards like a cattle cow so that she may hook a fiance, Celeste's mood wasn't changed by the flowers Damocles Belby had brought her (beautiful as they were). However, a public face of gracious joviality was to be worn outside the house and she didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her sulk on the arm of a marginally handsome bachelor.
"No need to apologize, sugar," she muttered briskly under her breath. A smile was tossed to a group of acquaintances passing by. She looked back at him with an arched eyebrow, and if only to show the excess of joy she wasn't entirely experiencing in his company just yet, she gave his shoulder a tight squeeze. "Just going to eat a salad leaf and some peas anyway. Got to keep the figure in check for boys like you, hmm."
As a healer, Damocles wasn't a fan of unhealthy behavior, and this included starving ones' self for the sake of beauty and a trim waist. So the mention by Celeste of eating so little made the corners of his mouth turn down in a very disapproving way. He figured he probably looked like his father right now, but he didn't care. But he would spare the lecture.
"It is more than alright by me if you choose to stray from your regimented diet for one night, I promise not to tell your mother," he said. "My wish is that you enjoy yourself this evening."
"Oh joy, a thorough gentleman!" she exclaimed. While her voice was low, there was an unmissable note of wryness in it. The most recent urge of rolling her eyes stemmed from the fact that Damocles Belby, healer extraordinaire, scholar prince and bleeding heart et cetera et cetera (all the titles she had given him after receiving a lecture about his distinguished profile from her mother) had clearly missed out on her attempt at humor. And this was, she thought, going to be the last.
"Don't tell me we are going to be served a pre-planned menu as well," she said as they navigated through the tables to the one that was reserved for them. "And the rest of the evening's enjoyment better not be Mum approved either. I'd like to-" not be bored to death "-know more about your vocation."
It was better than coming straight to the point, which was why don't you find yourself a babymaker somewhere else?
He looked taken aback by her comments. "No pre-planned menus," he assured her as he pulled out her chair. "I assure you. And as for the rest of the evening," if there was going to be a rest of the evening, "I admit to not really having anything planned. Which I am sure I will get a lecture for. No operas or ballets" those bored him to tears "so I suppose anything we do would not be Mum approved."
He honestly had no idea what to do with Celeste Lestrange. Her virtues had been touted enough times to make her seem like Venus, Aphordite, and Athena all rolled together in one package. And while he could not deny that she was beautiful and had wit, he could almost feel the frustration at being set up on a blind date pouring off of her. She did not appear to want to be there with him, and to be honest he would rather be at home reading that out on the town. But he was at the point in his life where it became easier just to listen to his mother instead of fighting her, at least about this.
"Mothers can be a very disapproving lot, can't they?"
“Oh, gods, I loathe the opera and I have always consider ballet as rather pretentious. I prefer a more relaxed form of dancing that does not require double-jointed flexibility.” The preferences were stated with a wave of her hand as she seated herself. She had to nod briskly in recognition of his courtesy in holding the chair for her, and even she couldn’t find fault with the mild-mannered man for the moment, especially since he seemed as clueless as she had felt when she was initially informed of her evening’s plan by her mother.
His latter comment baffled her slightly. The fact that he too may have been forced into this by his mother was both hilarious and sad, and since she didn’t prefer to commiserate and give herself frown lines, she chose to indulge the humorous side of the situation and ended up laughing.
“Am I to believe that you were sent here on your mother’s behest, against your own free will? Come, now, the truth and nothing but!”
"I have come to learn that with my mother there is no such thing as free will," he said in an almost joking tone as he settled into his chair and began to peruse the wine list. "Eventually her desires will be fulfilled. White or Red?"
"White," she replied, smoothing down the soft silk of her dress over her legs. She could make conversation when she needed to, and sound charming while doing so. Although she hadn't reached a level of comfort where she could attempt random joviality, she still worded her questions carefully. "And what does her desires include? Give me a hint here, so that I know what I'm getting into, hmm?"
After ordering a bottle of very expensive white wine, Damocles turned his attention back to the woman before him. "Well, what does every mother want? I imagine our mothers share the same desires, or else why would you have been forced to endure a night with someone you barely know?" He shook out his napkin, as he had been taught, and laid it gently on his lap. "In plain language, she wishes me to wed and produce an heir. However she is quite content right now with me agreeing to her blind dates."
Just as her eyebrows travelled a notch up on her forehead, her eyes widened underneath them. While she pretended to be the blase, unmoved woman of the world, there were some finer points of matrimonial arrangements that she truly did not feel comfortable with, and the clear indication of bearing children was one of them.
"I have a five year plan," she said, "and sadly that doesn't include reproduction. Just...generally speaking."
"If I tell you something do you promise not to share it with my mother," Damocles asked as he leaned in toward her.
Owing to the conspiratorial note in his voice, she couldn't help but lean towards him as well, although anything that started with promise not to share it with my mother was most likely to end badly, in her experience. But partially inspired by the confidence he was showing in her, and partially because she almost needed to say something similar, she nodded in affirmation for him to go on.
"Mine doesn't either," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. A look of bliss and satisfaction crossed his face as he leaned back as the waiter approached their table. The usual theatrics of uncorking a bottle of wine was performed (swirl, sniff, taste, and agree that this wine was perfect). Two glasses were expertly poured before the bottle was placed in its holder and the waiter bowed himself out of the area.
Holding his glass aloft, Damocles studied the way the light hit the wine for a moment as he thought about what to say. "To five year plans?"
Although still marginally suspicious of his statements (for all she knew, her mother might've just coached him about all the right answers), she accepted the glass of wine with an almost beatific smile. "May they extend to ten year plans," she said with a tilt of her face. With the lightest clink of glass against glass, the moment was toasted, and she took a sip of he wine while contemplating the man before her, without the strains of social decorum attached to such a blatantly orchestrated meeting.
"I'm sure I don't need to tell you how whatever I say henceforth is said in confidence, and that if you say a word of it to my mother or any of my family members I'd deny it all completely and tell them you tried to touch me in my special place without my permission." In one breath, she forwarded her point, both trying to seek a vow of secrecy from him and clarifying her intentions in case he decided to act smart. And then, her features relaxed into a smirk, betraying her age more clearly than otherwise her manner could not. "Other than that, I think we should enjoy ourselves! Tell me about yourself."
Damocles smiled as he sipped his wine. He was actually not dreading this evening. While enjoying it may have been a stretch at that particular moment, the possibility for a good time was still there. "Mmm. And the same holds for what I relay to you. Except for the part about touching me inappropriately, that part will change. To what, however, I cannot disclose to you the particulars," he replied as he set down his wine glass. In its place the menu appeared (he had seen their waiter lurking out of the corner of his eye, the man looked impatient), and Damocles skimmed through the restaurant's offerings.
"There is not much to tell, unfortunately," Damocles said from behind the menu. "I assume your mother already told you much about me. I suppose to make sure I'm not being controlled or an imposter you would appreciate these stories lining up." The menu was set down unceremoniously on the table. "I am the oldest of three boys, and my father, well I probably do not need to go into his business, but he works in real estate. My mother is a midwife, and it was from her that I inherited my desire to be a healer. While at Hogwarts I was a Ravenclaw, I was a Prefect and was in the Potions club. Now I work as a Healer in the Serious Bites Ward in St. Mungos."
He raised the glass of wine to his lips once more. "Anything else you would like to know?"
"Hmmm...umphfyes...yes." A sip of wine unintentionally downed too quickly when he was summing up his familial background choked her, making her words indistinct. She suppressed the cough behind a hand as she set down her glass of wine and reached for the napkin, wondering how could she put how did you ever caught my mother's eye and are you sure you're pureblood delicately enough for him. With a delicate dab at her mouth, she had gathered her composure so she eyed him carefully, trying to assuage the true reason her mother may have sent her out on a date with him. And even if it was some sort of a misunderstanding or a mistake, she was sure whatever amount of enjoyment she created for herself would be advice enough for her mother against attempting any such thing again.
"Yes," she began again, plucking up the menu that had been set before her by the lurking waiter. "You are pureblood, right? Where are your estates? The number of summer homes abroad? Oh, the usual." And a brief glance up to the roof with the perking of a bare shoulder was enough to signify she was partially going through the list as a joke. "In another words, your monetary value, good sir. I know it is vulgar, but that's what is lingering beneath the politesse and the charm in meetings such as these, isn't it? I've had my share of questions. You may ask me what you wish."
"Of course I'm a pureblood, traced back hundreds of years, on both sides of the family." Merlin this was worse than when he had been forced to recall patient history as a trainee. Any of this could be discovered easily with a little research, so he didn't mind sharing too much. Even if he didn't like to brag about his family's purse.
"Our main estate is in London, that is where I and my brothers were raised, but we have several scattered across the country that we have either inherited or acquired. While work was being done on our house here we spent several months in Oxford. A summer home in Penzance, another in Greece, Santorini to be exact, a chalet in St. Moritz which we use mainly in the winter for skiing, we also have a yacht we keep anchored in the South of France, plus some others I'm sure I'm forgetting. And as to how much I am worth, I shall tell you that my private vault in Gringott's is not lacking in funds."
"Does this satisfy your curiosity?"
"Oh, partially. Only one more question," she said, failing to hide the smirk that bloomed on her face. The Belby family may have been the society's best kept secret, or perhaps they had a certain knack for downplaying their presence amongst the more solidly set up families like her own. While she couldn't honestly recall ever having faced another Belby, or having heard of one through the grapevine, she did appreciate that it was one of the better looking ones who was sitting across her right now. "All of your properties...does any one of them have enough space to house a Quidditch pitch?"
And she couldn't help but punctuate the question with a swift wink. In the next moment she was ordering a mixed green salad with pine nuts and feta cheese, and honey and soy glazed salmon - both things that weren't on the menu.
Damocles politely placed his order with the waiter (he had chosen the fish special that evening) and smiled at Celeste as his attention once more turned to her. "If I'm not mistaken, several of our country homes have ample room. One of them, I believe, was a former farm in its heyday. There are still horses housed there of course, but not much in the way of agriculture production."
"Now I suppose it is my turn to ask you something. How did you become so interested in broom making? I seem to recall a journal entry in which you discussed a type of wood you believed no one had thought to utilize yet, no?"
"Gods, where to begin." With the statement she bought herself some time. Between fidgeting with the unfurled napkin in her lap and the thought of explaining her passion for flying, she could only hold back for so long. He had, for the most part of the evening, appeared to be nothing but accommodating. At any other point, in any other setting, she would've found his near-paternal behaviour to be extremely boring, but that one spark of interest that she had heard in his voice lent credibility to him. Besides, she hadn't ever let anyone else's interest (or lack thereof) to limit her conversations, and she wasn't about to start now.
"Have you ever flown?" she asked, and then, as if to illustrate a point, she sat up in her chair and held a bejeweled hand aloft, making a gentle gliding motion as she spoke. "Alone. High above the sound and clatter of the people below. Looking down on everything from a vantage point. I just...I suppose I fell in love with the feeling of it from early on. And it is one thing that sets us apart from muggles and their kind, you know? They need their machines and foul fume emitting engines to be able to reach those heights and we...well, we just need the will and the skill, don't we? It is in our nature, and nature readily lends us the materials to help us with the task. I'm incredibly interested in the dynamics of it. And really, Mr Belby. Who wouldn't love to fly?"
"Please call me Damocles," he replied automatically. Mr. Belby made him sound too much like his father, or grandfather for that matter. She had seemed uncomfortable, distant, for most of the night thus far, but when she spoke about flying Celeste seemed to glow. She was confident and comfortable, and Damocles couldn't help but smile. "Unfortunately, while I have been on a broom I haven't been able to share such an experience. I suppose I have been unlucky in this matter. The way you talk almost makes me wish I had my broom right now."
"Alright, Damocles." She gave him a long, studying look before her smile echoed his and coloured her entire face. "No, I suppose not. You look like you’re rooted to earth." A tender fist locked in the cavity of her free hand symbolized the words. "Firm and level. But we can surely try –“ she paused, then began again, pushing away the thought that like any other young woman, she was possibly warming up to him because of his brooding good look, "- if we meet again."
This was strange, this notion of the two of them meeting once more. He was fairly certain she hadn't meant at any of the large gatherings of purebloods, because such behaviour would not bode well at a garden party. So this had to mean the two of them one-on-one as they were now. For someone who was not anything of a dater, and who's first dates (as arranged by he mother) usually ended up being the last, the mere mention of the possibility of another encounter was quite unexpected. An even greater surprise was that he found himself to actually be enjoying the evening thus far.
"I haven't flown since I started as a healer trainee," he remarked, surprised that it had been that long. "How time flies, no pun intended."
She received the statement with a coy glance directed at him, which was thankfully cut off when the waiter arrived and their dinner was served. All things considered (he could hold a conversation and his knife and fork), he was a great improvement on the type of men she had been made to meet. The fact that he was refreshingly straightforward was also appreciated by her. While she wasn't picking out the wedding china just yet, she knew she could at least count the evening as a marginal success as far as her mother's standards were concerned.
"Well, you aren't old and crippled now," she said lightly, "and you still have time till your dead, hmm? Bon appétit!"