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Tweak says, "Knicked your knickers!"

Melinda Bobbin (_melinda_) wrote in finnigans_rpg,
@ 2015-02-13 16:23:00

Entry tags:

character: melinda bobbin, character: tristan travers

Who: Melinda and Tristan
What: Dipping strawberries
Where: Sweet Nothings
When: Friday, 13. February, 2005
Rating: SFW

Melinda loved her shop. She loved being out front with the customers almost as much as she loved baking, cooking and decorating out back. Almost. Well, usually it was almost, this week she preferred to stay out back, and with the extra business for Valentine’s Day, she had a very good excuse. Back there, she could get lost in the routines, in the efficiency that she so preferred, in the precise measures and temperatures or the intricate detailing on some of the cakes. Back there, there was nobody asking for advice on romance or seeking her approval for Valentine’s Day. What even was that all about? Just because she was a witch and had specialised in pretty, romantic treats she was also well-versed in romantic gestures? Well, maybe she was – she honestly didn’t know – but when it came to her own love life, anybody who read the Prophet, followed Quidditch or just was slightly in touch with gossip would be aware of just how much of a mess that had been, which she figured would automatically disqualify her to give any kind of advice when it came to romance and relationships.

Apparently her customers didn’t care. Which was good.

And hard.

As soon as the early morning rush had slowed down, she had retreated to the back, leaving the shop in the capable hands of one of her part-timers. Her new baker, Mark, just proved himself even better than she had expected, when he simply continued his baking, humming along to whichever tunes he had in mind and left Melinda to work with the chocolate. Before long, she too was humming quietly to herself, gradually adding the chopped chocolate to the already melted, to get the temperature perfect. With a wave of her wand, a huge board with newly rinsed and dried off strawberries came to hover in front of her and one by one, she started dipping them into the tempered sweetness.

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alliterative
2015-02-15 03:47 pm UTC (link)

Tristan had meant to show up earlier that morning. However, Fluffy had appeared in his room with news of his mother, per his own orders. The house elf had shown up a number of times since he'd been released from Azkaban, all with different bits of news and information regarding his mother and how she was doing. That morning's bit of information resulted in him taking a side trip to visit with his mother, while simultaneously avoiding his brother, who, thankfully, had been out. Tristan assumed he'd been out looking for someone (or maybe a few someones) to spend the holiday with, and who was he to begrudge his brother his fun? He'd suspected if things had been different, he might've been doing the same.

Although he wasn't late arriving at Sweet Nothings, Tristan still felt like he was based more on what he wanted to do than what Melinda had said as far as when he could arrive. He didn't work here or for her, after all. He was helping out mostly because, determined to make it on his own at least to some extent, he needed the money. It was the only reason why he'd volunteer to help Millicent out, though he'd suspected she'd have turned him down anyway in favour of going to a sweets shop. He'd been right, of course, and he'd been suspicious of Melinda's offer as well. To be honest, he was still wary of it, though he couldn't completely say why, though he kept that wariness of his features as he entered Sweet Nothings.

Tristan wasn't used to or comfortable with wearing Muggle clothes, but after spending time the last couple of days practising making dipped strawberries to make sure he didn't mess up and risk not being paid and being kicked out, he'd realised that his normal wizarding robes weren't the best attire for such things. As such, he'd went on a small shopping trip yesterday after his community service (he both loved and hated the Valentine's themed topiaries -- loved because they moved but hated because they were, well, stupid) and bought a pair of what was called jeans and a long sleeved shirt (in a shade of green that the sales lady said brought out the green of his eyes, though Tristan had no idea if it did or not). Althugh he didn't like the tightness of either piece of clothing, he could see the practicality of wearing them for certain tasks (though he'd admittedly had to charm the pockets of the jeans to accommodate his wand and change purse), and the practicality of having sleeves that were a bit more clinging as they seemed to stay up when he rolled them up, though he currently had them rolled down.

"Hello," he greeted the witch behind the counter as he approached. "I'm Tristan. Melinda said she could use some extra hands?" He glanced around, not seeing the other witch, thinking maybe she was in back and hoping that this witch knew about him coming in to help and didn't think he was trying to get in the back to steal sweets or something.

Luckily, she didn't think he was some kind of sweets snatcher, and, a moment later, she led him into the back. He looked at the two people humming to themselves, watched them go about their own tasks for a few seconds before politely clearing his throat just to be sure to get Melinda's attention without unintentionally startling her. "Hello," he said, giving both Melinda and the wizard a small but friendly smile, his hands coming together, fingers twisting a ring on his left hand.

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_melinda_
2015-02-15 07:40 pm UTC (link)

The clearing of a throat had Melinda look up, and the minute she saw someone in the door to the kitchen, she knew it was Tristan. It had to be. He looked quite different from the boy she remembered from school, but there were still traces of him there. Like most people she knew, she knew what had happened – that he had been with the Death Eaters and had gone to Azkaban for that – but she could count and that way see that he obviously had sat out his sentence and was now working to get back into society. Some people would probably claim that she should keep her distance from him, but since he was willing to give it a try, she was glad to give him a chance. And she really could use his help. After all, the worst that could happen was that it didn’t work out in which case she would be down some strawberries, and Tristan would have to find another way to make some extra money. If she thought about it, then she could probably still help out that way, by finding something else for him to do. For now, though, she smiled at him as she wiped her hands on her apron, leaving a slight smear, before she went to him, holding out her hand in greeting. “Hello, Tristan,” she greeted him. “Glad you could make it.”

Hands on her hips, she looked over to Mark and gave him a small nod to let him know that she had this and there was no reason for concern. “Uhm…” she turned back to Tristan, getting her mind back on the standard information for new employees. “If you’ll follow me, we’ve some lockers out back where you can put your things,” she nodded to the ring on his finger, “your ring, and I can get you and apron before washing up and get to work, and if you’ve any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

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alliterative
2015-02-17 02:46 am UTC (link)

Tristan nodded, dropping his hands to his sides at the same time. Then he followed Melinda toward the lockers, not really sure what else he had to put up beside the ring and the winter cloak he'd put on over his Muggle attire. His wand was in his pocket, but he didn't know if that counted. Wouldn't it be a little easier to have it on hand, just in case? And, honestly, he felt a bit better about having it nearer to him ever since being released from Azkaban. Not that he anticipated using it for more than basic things like summoning strawberries or chocolate. But he couldn't help the feeling either way. In the end, he put his ring and cloak up, glancing around as he took the offered apron from Melinda.

As he put it on, he caught sight of what appeared to be rules listed on the wall. He read them, tying the apron in back, then, noticing that one mentioned hair, pulled out his wand from his pocket. Part of him knew he could put his hair up without magic, but he tried that before and found he couldn't seem to get it right. His hair didn't want to cooperate with him, and he chalked it up to a total lack of experience in putting hair up. That, and maybe it was somehow ingrained in girls. Either way, he used his wand to perform a quick and simple spell to put his hair up on his head and out of the way. He tucked his wand back in his pocket and followed another of the instructions, heading to the sink to wash his hands, rolling his sleeves up on the way.

Self-consciousness washed over him as he realized that part of the scar left behind by the Dark Mark peeked out from the rolled up sleeve. However, he ignored it as he walked over to Melinda and asked he where she'd like him, taking a moment to listen to her instructions. He refrained from letting her know he'd tried dipping strawberries at home to prepare, instead moving to an open work station and beginning to work on an order of chocolate covered strawberries, his brow furrowed a little in concentration.

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_melinda_
2015-02-25 10:50 pm UTC (link)

Tristan, it seemed, was adaptable. From what Melinda could see, he took in the instructions and observed his surroundings following the guidelines that were there but that she didn’t seem to need to point out to him. The only thing she really did, was pull out her own wand a few inches, to make him aware of the wand pocket sown into the apron. From there on, it went smoothly.

Glancing over at him as she dipped a strawberry, Melinda couldn’t help but smirk a little at the furrow on Tristan’s brow. Dipping strawberries was far from difficult, but even she had to own up to the fact that the first time she had made the treat as part of her business, she had been worried that the furrow on her forehead would become permanent and the knots in her shoulders would turn into a hunchback. “How are the topiaries coming?” she asked, hoping that maybe a little small-talk could make him relax a bit about his dipping. “Or are they all set for tomorrow?”

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