maps_theo (maps_theo) wrote in greatergood_rpg, @ 2010-08-21 13:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: theodore nott, character: tracey davis, date: august 2000, place: private residence |
RP: Ich lad sie ein wir trinken Sekt, Rum, Wodka, Wein und Bier
Date: Saturday, August 21; midday
Characters: Theo and Tracey
Location: Tracey's home
Warnings: ...We shall see.
Public/Private: Private
Summary: Tracey's been avoiding him, so Theo wants to talk.
Status: Incomplete
Theo'd woken up late at some apartment in Copenhagen. To his surprise, it was a familiar apartment and a familiar face was at his side. He hadn't remembered who he'd gone home with the night before, so it had been someone he'd slept sometime in the further past. That wasn't pleasant; Theo hated anything that smelled of a relationship. He didn't remember the name, didn't bother asking, and had made excuses to leave town as soon as he could. It was his fiancé's birthday, he said, he'd suddenly remembered, now he had to go. Theo had the distinct impression that the Danish boy expected him to return as soon he could. Yeah, no. Theo'd be sticking to Amsterdam now, thanks.
He'd taken the floo back home to freshen up. He actually looked fine, and he must've showered sometime before he slept because the stink of alcohol was off him, thank god. Theo dressed Saturday casual: a thousand galleon blazer jacket and t-shirt off the charity racks with his favorite pair of designer jeans. It wasn't a full-on formal get-up, but he didn't need it that.
So it was his fiancé's birthday, a special day by all means, he ought to do something about it. Hell if he had made any plans yet, but Theo figured the least he could do was drop by and visit. No doubt her mother was expecting him to appear and shower her daughter with the love of legends. Well, he didn't have the love of legends, but he could conjure up a fresh, summery bouquet of pink roses peppered with a few stalks of lavender for fragrance.
He disapparated with a quiet, clandestine pfiffle (which struck him as a rather effeminate exit, he'd have to work on that), reappearing in the Davis' foyer. It was undeniably French, all rich dark hardwoods with sculpted marble inlays and a deep green carpet with what smelled suspiciously like Slytherin pride. "Love?" he called, keeping up appearances just in case her family were about.