InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Who shot JR?"

Marcus Flint (marcedflint) wrote in finnigans_rpg,
@ 2015-03-10 22:07:00

Entry tags:

character: marcus flint, character: tristan travers, status: complete

rp: well, this is awkward.
Who: Tristan and Marcus
What: An awkward reunion
Where: Monument Alley
When: Tuesday, March 10, mid-afternoon
Rating: SFW

After a rather grueling morning practice, Marcus hd gone home to change, and then decided that he wasn't particularly in the mood to make his own lunch. A short internal debate later had him heading out the door, his feet automatically taking him the direction of Finnigan's without much input from his brain. As most of his idle thoughts these days, his mind turned to Roger, though the context was thankfully one that wasn't one that would make blush, merely considering Quidditch and what they might do to get out of this slump the team seemed to have fallen into.

Not paying enough mind to where exactly he was going, Marcus found himself crossing the park in Monument Alley when he abruptly collided with something - or rather, someone. "Sorry about that," he said automatically, glancing up to see who he was going to need to make amends to for his clumsiness.

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alliterative
2015-03-13 12:17 pm UTC (link)

Tristan dropped the box of flowers he'd been carrying and kept from cursing mostly out of sheer force of will. He didn't know if he'd get some kind of bad mark for accidentally cursing, and, while he had nothing against gardening by itself, he didn't want it to count against him and have him spending more time playing landscaper. Not that community service was playing, but it helped him get through it if he didn't think of it as a punishment. Sure, no one called it a punishment exactly, but he was smart enough to know that giving back to the community as penance for his crimes was a fancier way of saying punishment. And while it made sense on some levels, he was also pretty sure that this was just a way to get and exploit free labour across the country for multiple platforms. He supposed he should be lucky that this was the free labour camp he ended up in as opposed to one that involved picking up garbage.

"'S'alright," Tristan said, squatting down to check on the flowers. If they'd been damaged, he figured it'd be his fault regardless of what actually happened. After all, he was the ex-convict, right? If nothing else, he made a great scapegoat. He patted the soil of each flower in its little plastic pseudo-pot, checked the leaves and petals to make sure nothing looked bent or broken or worse than it had when he'd picked up the box a few minutes ago.

"Flowers are alright, too," he said, more to himself than to whoever bumped him as he picked the box up and stood. After all, he doubted whoever bumped him cared about a box of flowers, especially one carried by a wizard in a tacky orange robe that signaled him as part of the work crew scattered around the park. Still, in the back of his mind, Tristan thought he'd have made this man fix the flowers or pay for them had any real damage come to them.

Getting a proper look at the wizard he'd collided with, it took Tristan a very short time to match that face with one in his memory. Recognition did not cross his face, but memories flashed through his head, some recent and related to the newspaper and overheard conversations, but most distant and crystal clear. And far more personal than anything recent. He didn't want to recognise this man, didn't want to have any memories associated with him, and he certainly didn't want to feel both embarrassed and foolish for those things. He decided he wasn't going to and hoped that enough years had passed that he wasn't as recognisable himself. After all, he hadn't had long hair or been so skinny or as tall the last time he'd crossed paths with this wizard.

"If you'll excuse me," he began politely, giving him a smile, "but these flowers, sadly, aren't the kind that can plant themselves." He nodded and began to walk away, focusing his eyes on a little flower bed that was, unfortunately, all the way on the other side of the park. He'd have Apparated over there if he didn't think it'd draw more attention to himself instead of less.

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marcedflint
2015-03-13 09:34 pm UTC (link)

"Good," Marcus commented about the flowers being undamaged - he would have hated for his distracted mind to have caused any trouble, unintentional though it would have been. With that in mind, he made himself focus on the present, rather than out in the ether he'd been in before.

There was something terribly familiar about the man, though nothing obvious that he could immediately place. It was more of a sense that he knew this person, and niggling nervousness about not being able to recognize them. The orange robe wasn't helping him figure it out, the color interrupting his thought process as he tried to comb through his memories for some hint as to whom he was looking at.

It was the smile - perfectly polite if not entirely sincere, the same sort of one Marcus had learned from childhood and now used on reporters - that caused the jolt of realization of who, exactly, he was talking to. He was frozen in shock for a moment while the man walked away, because while he had been aware that the other wizard was out of Azkaban and in the area, thanks to Pandora, he hadn't considered the possibility that he might encounter him one day. "Tristan?" he said, the name coming out of his mouth without any input from his brain.

There was, of course, the possibility that he was wrong in his assumption, but Marcus didn't think that was the case. It was just as likely that even if this was Tristan, the other man would just keep walking - after all, it would be no less than Marcus deserved after the brutal way he'd cut off all contact between them years ago. An apology immediately came to mind, but he reined it in, at least for the time being. He would offer it the first chance he got, assuming he was correct about the wizard's identity, but he knew as he considered it that it was much too little, far too late.

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alliterative
2015-03-14 12:26 am UTC (link)

Tristan paused briefly at his name, closing his eyes for a few seconds. He didn't want to talk. He wanted to be anonymous. He wanted to just be some delinquent sort like the rest of those in orange robes working in the park that way, the kind of person most people ignored because of a misinformed belief of being better than those in orange robes with a probation worker overseeing their actions. As much as that attitude pissed him off, he wanted that just then. He didn't want someone saying his name, with the implication that that person might want to talk, however brief or long that potential talk would be. He just wanted... to plant his flowers, do what he was supposed to do, and go home.

Instead, he turned around, hoping that this could be short and quick. Maybe the probation worker in charge of this group would come over quickly and yell at him to get back to work. Somehow, he doubted he'd be that lucky, but he could hope.

"Yes?" he said, eyebrows quirked up in curiosity. Truth be told, he didn't want to know what Marcus wanted, didn't want to hear anything he had to say. But he didn't have a good enough excuse to completely ignore him, not when he'd given himself away by stopping at his name. However, maybe he could make it quick. He did have to get back to landscaping the garden, after all. That was a viable excuse to keep this whole thing short. Or so he hoped.

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marcedflint
2015-03-14 03:12 am UTC (link)

The pause confirmed what Marcus thought he already knew, which was both gratifying for being right, and terrifying, because he had no idea what was going to happen next. It would be a lie to say that he had never thought about this before, but that had been back before the war truly got underway, before he'd become his father's blunt instrument of destruction, before Azkaban. Everything had changed, and it was strange to think of how many years had passed since there had been something between them.

Knowing that there was still a chance that the other wizard could walk away at any moment, and he might not get another opportunity to say what he needed, Marcus skipped all the pleasantries and nonsense conversation filler to get directly to what he wanted to say. It had been bottled up for years, because it wasn't the sort of thing that could go in a letter, especially while the younger man had still been in Azkaban, and he himself hadn't. He owed him more than that, since they had, once upon a time, been friends.

"I never got to apologize," he said quietly, since the words were Tristan and no one else. "For what it's worth, I am sorry. For everything."

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alliterative
2015-03-14 01:36 pm UTC (link)

Although the apology registered in his brain, Tristan didn't know how to react. This was not the time or the place for this. That much he knew. And part of him was annoyed that Marcus would decide to make now the time and place. He'd had years to pick a time and place that was more appropriate than right here, right now, to pick a moment that would be far less impulsive, and, in Tristan's mind, more sincere than blurting it out after a random run-in. And while part of him knew forgiveness was good for his own mental health, he didn't have it in him to deal with any of it just then. He was just too tired and annoyed and not in the best place to figure out where he stood with this apology.

"I... don't really know what to say right now," he admitted, just as quietly. He didn't see the point in lying, and he wasn't going to falsely accept an apology. Not this time. "Thank you, though," he added, acknowledging the fact that Marcus didn't have to apologise at all. Tristan hadn't thought he was sorry, though he hadn't spent all that much time thinking about it in the long run.

"I don't mean to be rude," which was oddly true, "but I've got to get back to work." He gave a little nod toward the park and others around in orange robes. He doubted he had to really elaborate. "I--" He closed his mouth, pausing. He'd been about to say he'd see Marcus around or maybe say that if he wanted to talk, they could some other time, but he couldn't get it out. He didn't know if he would see him, if he wanted to see him, or if Marcus would want to see him. And, more importantly, he didn't know if he had anything he wanted to say, if there was anything either of them could say to each other. Once, they'd been friends, but now Tristan didn't know where he stood. With Marcus or with anyone.

"Have a good day," he said, managing a sincere albeit small smile as he took a step back. He nodded, then turned and began heading across the park, trying to focus his mind on the task at hand and the possibility of going home to sleep the rest of the day away, if he could manage to sleep at all.

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marcedflint
2015-03-14 11:09 pm UTC (link)

Marcus wasn't really expecting a response, so he shrugged and muttered, "Figured it was past due." Which was a bit of an understatement, all things considered, and while he could have found a better way to get his message across, he hadn't wanted to waste this opportunity.

"Of course," he said, taking half a step back to get out of Tristan's way, even though he appeared to be walking in the other direction. "I won't take up any more of your time."

Returning the smile with a small one of his own, Marcus watched Tristan walk away for a brief moment before turning himself, his feet carrying him towards Finnigan's a bit more slowly than when he'd first started making his way.

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