nicholas harrow scares flounder. (nickatnight) wrote in find_horcruxes, @ 2009-09-19 21:59:00 |
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Entry tags: | angus macdougal, nicholas harrow |
RP Log: Angus MacDougal & Nick Harrow
Who: Nick Harrow & Angus MacDougal
When: September 17th [backdated]
Where: Caer Dubh
What: Shortly after this conversation. Nick confronts Angus about why everyone in Caer Dubh is absolutely-frickin'-mad.
Rating: PG. Nothing terrible, save a few f-bombs from Angus (surprise, surprise).
Nicholas tromped inside the castle, anger still bubbling in his veins. Yup, still mad. Nope, still not sure if he was going to keep a good handle on his temper. Yup, he didn't want to see anyone or anything at the moment, at least not until he'd worked out just how on earth he'd managed to fancy such a strong-willed, head-strong, violent young woman.
Which was when he ran into Angus, her strong-willed, head-strong, violent grandfather. Nick really didn't want to see Angus, especially not with a hand-imprint still blazing on his pale face.
Still, their friendship hadn't survived four-hundred odd years because Nick had avoided confrontation with the man, and so he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, watching the older man and waiting for acknowledgment.
"Evenin'," Angus said, nodding to him. He'd been in a thoroughly lousy mood since his own conversation with Morgan, and figured that if Nick was looking at him like that, Morgan must've said something to him about it. Probably in a dramatic fashion that made it sound like he'd ranted and railed or something. That would just figure.
Clearly, though, Nick had something to say. That was clear enough just looking at him. So Angus stopped where he walked and looked right back at his old friend. If Nick wanted to talk, he'd talk.
"Hello," Nick returned in his typically polite manner, even if his expression was clearly seething between "hurricane" and "apocalypse". "Might I ask you a question, if I'm not interrupting anything of course?"
Angus shrugged, as if he couldn't see quite well that Nick was contemplating someone's murder - likely his, if Angus had to guess. "By all means," he allowed, taking his pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his flannel shirt. He'd been on his way to the smoking room when stopped, but the discomfort of the upcoming conversation left two options: smoke, or hit something. For once, he'd have to break the three hundred year old "no smoking outside the smoking room" rule.
While Nick was an occasional smoker (more for the oral fixation than anything), he was currently dying for a cigarette. For this, he blamed Angus, as Angus was quite certainly the person who had gotten him started so many years ago. "I should have spoken with you sooner, and it is entirely my fault that I did not," Nick said. "Morgan insisted that she tell you first, and I agreed to her request. She just told me that she doesn't want to "jeopardize the family". What did you say to her, if you don't mind my asking?"
Oh, for fuck's sake. What had she done? Gone and broken it off with Nick and blamed it on him? Morgan breaking up with Nick was even worse than Morgan dating Nick, as far as their family dynamics were concerned - and particularly worse for Angus's relationship with both of them, given that she'd put it on him.
"I told 'er to do what she likes," he said, flicking a cigarette out of the pack and then pulling out a silver lighter about forty years old to hold a flame to it. "And to get a carton o' Winstons when she hit the market. What'd she tell ye I said?"
"She didn't," Nick answered, and without comment stole Angus's pack of cigarettes and lighter for himself. He'd get Angus another pack, one of these days. "She said she couldn't do it because of you, and then smacked me when I told her to do what she wanted." He paused. "Which is apparently what you said, only you didn't get smacked."
Which really meant two things, as far as Nick was concerned. The first was that she'd truly decided that she didn't want to date, and was using Angus as an excuse. The second was that there were deeper motivations - fears, in all likelihood - keeping her from it. And damn if Nick had no idea which was which.
Angus let the cigarette thievery pass without comment. Morgan had gotten two full cartons of cigarettes when she went to the store, so it wasn't as if the household was hurting for them. He just took a long drag on his own and shrugged.
"I was swingin' the claymore a' Edward a' the time," he said. "Wouldn've been a good time to try fer a smack. But I dunno what t' tell ye - 's not like she's e'er given a damn what I think o' her boyfriends before."
That was apparently not the encouragement Nick was hoping to get, although he'd already told himself not to expect encouragement from Angus. Angus probably didn't like the idea of Nick-and-Morgan one way or another. Nick lit his cigarette and took a drag, silent and pensive.
Finally, he said: "I told her that life was too short. I don't know if she really understood what I meant by that."
Whether Morgan did or not, Angus certainly did. The remark hit him harder than it did her; he'd been a vampire involved with human lives for centuries now, and he'd seen more of their short lives pass than he even liked to think about.
One day, Angus knew, this generation would pass on like so many before it. He'd watched his hard-headed little Morgan grow up into a brave, capable woman, and one day he'd have to watch her grow old and die. He hoped he would; too many children were lost too young, in times like these. Even for a vampire, there was never enough time with the people who really mattered.
Morgan mattered to him, and so did Nick. In another hundred and fifty years, Nick would still be there. Morgan wouldn't, in all likelihood. Two hundred years at the outside, for a witch, and that was it. She would pass on just like other children and wives he'd known, and Angus knew it would never really be enough time. There was always one more adventure, one more thing he should have said...and when he looked at it that way, Angus knew it he couldn't ask her to give up anyone she loved, even if it ended up making him a touch lonelier for a century or so.
"I'll talk to 'er," he finally said, his voice gruff and quiet. "No promises she'll listen, but I'll talk."
Nick was still as a statue, the only indication of life the smoke rising from his cigarette. Talking. Nick was a diplomat at heart, and he believed wholeheartedly in talking. Now, whether or not Angus MacDougal (or Morgan, for that matter) put much faith in the action was truly up for interpretation, but at least Angus knew enough about Nick's character to know that pledging to speak with his mad grand daughter was at least something of a truce in the younger vampire's eyes.
Nick nodded, and finally moved to take a sweeping, much-needed inhale of his cigarette. "Thank you," he said simply, and let the words stand for themselves.
Angus nodded in return. He wasn't a natural diplomat, but he'd give it a shot. "So're we all right, then?" he asked. "Or do we need to go out back an' hit each other a few times?"
"It might make me feel better," Nick admitted. "But you're not bringing your broadsword, at least not unless I can bring my Winchester. Morgan told me what you were doing with that thing when she spoke with you earlier. If you can have at a few whacks, it's only fair that I can make off with a few parting rounds."
"Fair enough," Angus concurred, holding out his hand to shake. "Bare knuckles, no holdin' back, call it when the first bone breaks?"
Nick eyed Angus's hand but shook it decisively, every string of his body tense, waiting for Angus to pull him into a hold. God-only-knew what sort of death grip the man was capable of. Angus may have been the strongest by far, but Nick was quick. "If you're still conscious enough to call it."
Angus just grinned. "We'll see who's conscious a' the end," he said, and then pulled back for a hard left coming right at Nick's face.
Friendship was a beautiful thing.