Elinor writes articles about cat fashion shows. (copperpot) wrote in find_horcruxes, @ 2010-03-22 20:55:00 |
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Entry tags: | elinor turpin, nicholas harrow |
RP Log: Elinor & Nick
Who: Elinor Turpin & Nicholas Harrow.
What: An interview!
When: Monday evening, shortly after sundown.
Where: VRA Offices.
Rating: PG.
Status: Complete!
The sun had set a good thirty minutes before, and Nicholas Harrow had been at work for nearly twenty-five. While he certainly lacked the workaholic tendencies of some Order members, he nevertheless applied himself most seriously in his efforts with the Vampire Rights Association. And God knew it needed the help. Donations were down sixty-three percent. Last year, he'd had advertisements playing on the WWN, and colourful pictures in the Prophet. The lack of funding meant that he'd had to push their campaigns into a grassroots capacity, mentioning meetings on the journal system for free and hoping that word-of-mouth would keep them afloat. Nick desperately hoped that the upcoming rally with Cynthia Mortimor would help put them back in a positive light - or at least as a positive alternative to the massacre that had occurred last month at the Quidditch match. He'd set out tea on his desk for the reporter. Nick didn't drink tea, of course, but he believed in being polite. While some might've been aggravated at being interviewed for a "fluffier" beat, Nick didn't mind. He'd take what he could get at this point - and besides, the reporter in question was related to Gideon and Fabian Prewett, who Nick was quite fond of. He waited for Mrs. Turpin to arrive, taking the seat in the window's frame rather than at the desk, having never felt comfortable with the bulky piece of furniture. The moon wasn't yet full, but Nick could make out every last frame and line of the people on the street below. Likewise, he heard Mrs. Turpin approach before she'd even rounded the corner - the thud of her heart in her chest gave her away. Glancing up, he shoved away his worried expression for something much more friendly, and hoped to God that her questions didn't begin with: "So how do you feel about the recent attacks on human beings? Nostalgic?" Elinor had only returned to work on Monday and had yet to really do much on her beat. Cuffe was taking it easy on her, for which Elinor was thankful, and she's taken her time getting back into the groove of her typical day-to-day routine. Today she found herself at the VRA offices (for what Cuffe had insisted be a filler; how, Elinor wonders, was anything related to vampires filler?), and at the door labeled 'Nicolas Harrow' peering around the frame with a smile as she knocked with her free hand, holding her purse in the other. "Good evening, Mr Harrow? I'm Elinor Turpin, from the Daily Prophet," she said, gesturing to the press badge attached to her blazer. "Might I come in?" "Mrs. Turpin, do make yourself at home," Nick greeted her, opening the door more widely and giving an anachronistic bow that his girlfriend would've likely smacked him about. "I trust that the office wasn't difficult to find? It was much nicer when we were right next to the Ministry, but times, as Mr. Bob Dylan says, are a-changing." They hadn't been located next to the Ministry in literally three decades, but that meant little to someone who'd been around for over four-hundred years. "Do make yourself comfortable. What would you like in your tea?" Elinor gave a small laugh at his Dylan reference as she entered the room, taking in the space before seating herself, setting her purse on her lap after crossing her legs. "Cream and sugar, please, and thank you," she answered. "And no, not hard to find at all. I've found myself in so many strange, cubby-hold places over the course of my career, this was a walk in the park. I've practically become a human map guide to the United Kingdom." "And feline map guide, as well!" Nick replied, doing up her tea and presenting her with it. He'd seen the news article about the cat fashion show, and while he'd somehow acquired a reputation for dressing up animals, he doubted that cats would take to the hobby quite as enthusiastically as his pug. "I have a decent set of direction, but I'm usually lost because I generally navigate with landmarks. But once automobiles became more common they redid quite a few of the streets... and thereby left me most alarmingly doomed, I'm afraid." Nick took a seat behind his desk (still awkward, he thought), and steepled his fingers together. "I've not had an article in the paper for a while, so I'm afaid you'll have to lead me through this." "I can only imagine adjusting to changes in the world over such a long life, Mr Harrow," Elinor replied, opening her bag and pulling out her notepad. "And no worries. I've only recently come back to work myself, so we can take it slowly. Do you mind if I use a dictaquill?" The expression on his face seemed to indicate a certain knowledge of why she'd only recently come back to work; Nick didn't mention it because it was rude at this juncture, but he'd never been good at schooling himself to blankness. "Not at all. Where would you like to start?" She set the notepad on the desk between them, balancing her dictaquill on it steadily. "Testing, testing," she said first, and the quill leaped to like, taking down her words. Then, "22 March 1980, VRA interview, Elinor Turpin with Nicholas Harrow." She took her tea in her hand. "I believe it's best to start with the basics," she replied, smiling slightly. "How long have you been working with the VRA, Mr Harrow?" Nick had seen dictaquills before, but he'd still not quite gotten over the intrigue of magic. Being born a Muggle did that to you. "I've been with the VRA since the early eighteenth century, though not in my current position, of course. It's always been tied to the magical world one way or another - it simply made more sense to operate that way. I got my start as a grasper. Er-" Realizing that he was using out-of-date language, Nick gestured. "I hunted vampires that ignored the laws and preyed upon human beings, and delivered them to the tribunal, or to whatever body of government wished to try them. Now though, it's the sedentary desk life for me in the public relations department." Elinor held her tea to her lips with both hands, a habit she'd picked up as a child and had never grown out of. She took a sip, nodding, only slightly baffled by the idea of hunting vampires (never minding she was talking to one right at that moment). "And what does public relations for the VRA entail, given the current political climate? After the recent attack by Death Eater sympathetic members of your population, are you finding it more difficult to connect with the general population?" "Entails a lot of kissing arse," Nick muttered under his breath, but looked up in horror as the Dictaquill scribbled down the comment. "Oh! Bollocks! Don't include that. Or that," he added, his forehead wrinkling as the quill continued its merry scrawls. "No, what I mean, is that..." Bloody hell. All right. Think of something nice to say. "It's a challenge, certainly, because there has always been a negative perception surrounding the vampiric population, and for good reason. But there are so many of us that don't wish to cause harm, that simply want peace, and nothing to do with Death Eaters or those prejudiced ideals, so we have to be twice as visible, I think, to begin to combat the harm that the violence of last month brought with it. It's not easy, because we're attempting to both reassure uncertain people as well as speak to current rights supporters... all while trying to tip-toe around the very real elephant in the room. That is, the fact that a significant population of vampires did in fact participate in the attack on the Quidditch match." He shrugged. "Ultimately, one needs a stronger system of differentiation between those that follow the law and those do not, but before laws are passed... well, the issues need to be in the public eye. And that's what I try to do." Elinor nodded, pulling a sparkly unicorn sticker out of the notepad she'd left sitting in her lap, sticking it on the parchment next to the comment Nick has asked not be included. "Don't mind the stickers, my eldest daughter insists that journalism needs to be a much more glittery profession," she said, and then glanced over the information that he'd provided before speaking again. "And what specifically defines that differentiation, do you think? What is it you feel the DE-sympathizers are looking to gain by siding themselves with You Know Who, rather than pledging for equality and acceptance through the VRA?" He laughed quietly at the sticker, supposing that covering his error in a unicorn was better than having it be struck through. Leaning forward, he looked more like a young kid barely out of Hogwarts than someone who'd seen four-hundred years of history, especially considering the enthusiastic way he was beginning to speak. "I consider it a terrible sort of impatience," he said. "It's... well, there are usually two schools of thought that need to social change. One is nonviolent, the other very much is. I believe, as do the other members of the VRA, that when one is charged with violence, one needs to not be violent in order to educate. But there are other schools of thought," he added demurely, though God knew he could set himself to ranting about the Death Eaters if he had the opportunity. "It's also a mark of being young," he added after a while. "You want change, and you want it now. And unfortunately, when there's a megalomaniac making promises running about, the young are lied to." Elinor breathed deeply, working to keep her head about her, and her professionalism in tact, given the subject matter. "So you believe that many of the group that were involved in the quidditch attack were younger vampires?" she asked curiously before taking another sip of her tea. "And what is it you feel You Know Who is promising? Assumption might suggest he is attempting to appeal to a vampire's base instinct." Nick felt a twinge of irritation - not at the young lady sitting in front of him, of course; she had only voiced the assumption that many people would and had made before - at the thought that You-Know-Who's appeal went exclusively to vampires. "Perhaps he is," Nick answered, his words a little more deliberate now as he hedged his answer, "but I would argue that the thought of power, protection, and wealth appeal across beast or being dividends, otherwise his army would not include so many human witches and wizards." And with that, he bit his lip, looking pensive. "Whether it is certain that younger vampires are more drawn to him, I cannot say. But those of my age and older, for the most part, are either staying here with the VRA or have left the country." "Ah, I didn't mean to presume," Elinor apologized, placing a frog prince sticker next to her previous question (to indicate she had misunderstood his comment). "There are a great deal of wizards and witches who pledge allegiance to You Know Who, or so much is suspected, given the range of recent attacks and... disappearances--" Elinor paused, attempting to swallow as her mouth went dry "--and over the course of his rise in power and influence. Youth aside, could you say that he is reaching out to those, such as yourself, who have been labeled 'dark creatures', and playing off of socially constructed perceptions to offer something vampires--and perhaps werewolves, hags and similar--do not seem themselves otherwise attaining? A status, or way of life?" "Certainly," Nick agreed, relaxing a little bit more, and folded his hands on the desk in front of him. "I don't believe that anyone sets out to commit evil acts. However, if they feel that they are justified, evil acts are exactly what they'll do." The side of his mouth quirked, and he watched Mrs. Turpin closely. She was handling herself well, he thought, considering the subject matter. "Their youth and their misguided exploitation at the hands of You-Know-Who do not excuse them from justice's judgment, however." "No, most definitely not," Elinor responded, her voice quiet as she watched the dictaquill scratch across the page. "If you could speak directly to those involved in You Know Who's service, what would you say to encourage them to return to or join the VRA?" Nick paused. The question was not quite comfortable. On one hand, he couldn't help but feel unfairly responsible for these vampires making such terrible decisions - a mindset that Angus usually smacked him for, granted. But on the other, immaturity did not excuse the murder and fear that the vampires were propagating. Nick squared his shoulders and considered his words. "I would tell them that they had committed a grave error," he said, "and that they will not be met with hesitation when it comes time to pay for the crimes they've perpetrated." Elinor viewed him with interest, head cocked slightly to the side, fingers idly tapping her tea cup. A quiet moment passed between them before Elinor finally said, "You've been around for a long time, Mr Harrow. Of all you've seen in terms of war, how would you rate this particular siege on peace in the wizarding world in comparison?" "I don't think it fair to compare conflict or suffering," Nick answered, avoiding the question. "If you were to complain that you'd been mugged, my response would not be 'thousands of people get mugged every day'. That's a cruel way of thinking, in my mind." He shrugged. "I could not enlist for obvious reasons during the most recent World War, but I stayed here in London. Was one of those that climbed to the top of St. Paul's to pull the bombs off the roof." A slight smile. "There's a different war to fight every day. But they are all equally important." She returned his smile sadly, placing a smiling sunshine sticker next to Nick's last quote. Elinor would build her piece around that. "That is... an incredible thing to be told," she said to the comment about St. Paul's. Elinor had seen the pictures, of course, and it was difficult to imagine men scaling the cathedral to collect the German bombs and heave them. "And I don't mean to be insensitive, but certainly it's difficult to grasp conflict you... have not experienced first hand." She paused again, and took a deep breath, willing herself not to burst into tears in the middle of an interview. "Forgive me. I'm not. I'm not quite myself today." "You don't have to apologise," Nick said quietly, figuring that it was time to be honest, if not precisely professional. "I'm friendly with Gideon and Fabian. I am truly sorry for what's happened." And he was sorry. To lack that closure, to have smiling parents one moment and the next... Nick kept his voice low, even though the quill continued to write. "It can't be easy, returning to work so quickly." She was trying to keep smiling and failing spectacularly, a few tears sliding down her cheeks. "Thank you, it's appreciated," Elinor said, taking the dictaquill off of its perch, stopping it mid-sentence. "And it's not, but. I have to start somewhere. I-- I don't if there was anything else you specifically wanted me to include, beyond the upcoming rally, Mr Harrow?" "Just a reminder, that if they'd like to donate anything, please send it care of Nina Boswell," Nick answered, referring to his secretary and dear friend. He smiled ruefully. "That sounds a bit desperate. But then." We're desperate came the unspoken addendum to his sentence. Nick couldn't help it; years of politeness had him pulling out a snow-white handkerchief and handing it to the reporter, silent and non-judgmental. Elinor took the handkerchief with a nod of thanks, jotting 'Nina Boswell' on the edge of the transcript parchment before sliding the quill and paper back into her bag. She dabbed her eyes with the very tip of it ("like a lady, Elinor" her mother would say) and then folded it into a neat triangle, setting it on the desk beside her half-empty teacup. "Thank you very much for your time, Mr Harrow." "Thank you, Mrs. Turpin. We sincerely appreciate the coverage," Nick answered, getting to his feet. He'd been considered quite tall in his day, but now was barely average - only a few inches taller than the lady in front of him. "Do you know your way out? If not I can come with you outside; there's a safe apparation point just past the portico." "No, that's fine. I'll retrace my steps, but again thank you--and for the tea," Elinor said, slinging her bag over her shoulder and holding out her hand to shake Nick's. "It was a pleasure. We'll have to do this again, at a better time." Nick shook her hand firmly, plastering his defaulted friendly smile on his face. He wondered how long he'd have to hide the deep anger he was feeling regarding the war. As the public relations person, Nick simply wasn't allowed to say whatever flew into his mind, and it'd been a mark of his fluster that he'd nearly gotten off track today. "We will," he agreed. "Take care, Mrs. Turpin, and have a lovely evening." |