nymphadora tonks is back from the stars. (hufflepunk) wrote in reoccurrence, @ 2020-08-26 20:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | greengrass daphne, tonks nymphadora |
WHO. tonks & daphne.
WHERE. 57 knockturn.
WHEN. backdated to august 20th.
WHAT. an unorthodox job interview.
STATUS. complete.
WARNINGS. explicit sex talk. obvs.
It wasn't without a great deal of thought that Tonks arrived at 57 Knockturn. She could count with multiple fingers people who would willing to help if only they were entirely honest about their situation. Harry, Sirius, even Regulus, all of them likely to step in. Perhaps it was pride, that thing she was usually so resistant to and reluctant to admit that she had. But then it wasn't so much the idea of asking. She was a soft person at heart, her willingness to give meaning she knew when also to accept something in return, and didn't have any reservations about being undeserving like certain people she knew and was married to. It was more that asking led to more asking, did not free them from the trap of uncertainty, would not stop them from draining what little they already had first. No matter how grateful and willing they were, help couldn't sustain them forever, was only a temporary measure to keep heads above water. Temporary, she had noticed, was a favourite word of the Ministry's. She had long started to suspect they were slipping it into the public's vocabulary so that when they all finally disappeared, it would be the first word on everybody's lips. Temporary solutions for temporary people, wasn't it all so tragic it was temporary? Even before this she had craved permanence. From that first little flutter in her stomach she had dreamed up (naively, terribly optimistically, she knew) a nice, modest little life for the three of them. Safe and together and managing. This was simply a means to that end. Enough for a flat of their own, somewhere within the restrictions, somewhere Teddy could visit. Enough to save up, so that they would be stable enough for her to find a different job in the long run. Enough time and energy to dedicate herself fully to the resistance and helping find Pettigrew, channelling all her stress into brute determination to undo all the circumstances that had placed them in this mess in the first place. She could ask for a hand to pull them up, but she wanted to climb out herself and kick the fuckers who put them there to the ground. Tonks had mulled it over and over, and each time came to the conclusion that this, albeit temporary itself, was the most straightforward route to something permanent. Despite all the moralism and judgement, the strange shameful thoughts that nagged her own head that didn't even feel like hers because she would never find anybody else doing this type of work shameful, it was just sex. Free of the thick cloud of stigma she wouldn't have spent a week agonising. Work was work in whatever capacity. And so, with all of that in mind, she found herself standing before Daphne Greengrass in her office at the brothel, looking fairly plain, nondescript and notably not herself until she scrunched up her nose and returned to her pink hair and heart shaped face. "Hi." Daphne, who had very little shame to speak of these days, was not contemplating the morals of her small business (as much as her sister might want her to, but Daph would start taking her advice verbatim when she decided to resign herself to a life of neutral palettes and trying too hard, bless). Rather, her attention was squarely on the misery of trying to find loopholes in the Ministerial decrees and legislation to give her some sort of edge when it came to advertising or... frequent shag cards, or something. It was a mess of frequently contradictory piecemeal ordinances and the biggest headache she'd suffered in years. Her own fault for opening a new business rather than taking over one of the handful that had been slowly failing since the war killed or imprisoned an entire generation of the wealthy and privileged. Her attention jolted up from tapping red lacquered nails on the pages when a Monday night sort of girl walked in. There was no time to think much more than I suppose I could put her in a mask before the visage practically melted and mousey hair changed into bright pink right in front of her. Daphne couldn't help herself; she stared at Tonks's casual demonstration. "Holy shit." And then there was that part. "Yeah," she said, with a resigned sort of sigh. The only true uncomfortable knot. (Aside from the Remus part, though she had satisfied herself with setting that aside entirely until she had all the information she wanted and could come at that discussion both informed and ready to drop the whole thing in a heartbeat.) That unsettled feeling in her stomach had very little to do with the sex, or the brothel, instead finding its roots in teenage whispers and a very early awareness of her own body. Still, as much as the potentially very lucrative nature of her talents in such an industry vaguely disturbed her, she was also hyper aware of the bargaining chip that offered her. "That's a good one. You can't teach that," Daphne commented, shoving her papers to the side of her desk and gesturing for Tonks to sit down in the plush upholstered chair on the other side of her desk. With one graceful movement of her hand, she slipped two fingers around the stem of her wineglass and neatly lifted it off her desk. Terrible etiquette. She didn't much care.; there were more important (and profitable) things to focus on just then. "Do you want anything to drink? Notwood's passable at mixing." Tonks took the seat, glancing momentarily around the office. It didn't quite match up to what she had expected, but then she had no real base for said expectations beyond imagination and pop culture, both prone to sensationalism. "I'm alright. Thanks though," she replied quickly. Notwood earned a small frown, because she was certain she had seen Oliver out there. Especially certain because she had purposefully picked somebody else where to ask where she could find Daphne, even meta'd. Regardless, as much as a glass of wine to soften her edges would be a relief, she was committed to a clear head. "Suit yourself," Daphne replied with a shrug, taking a healthy sip of merlot and leaning back in her chair (she had deliberately picked a jointed desk chair that made leaning easier, because if she was going to be sitting at any sort of desk for any sort of amount of time she wanted the option to be as lackadaisical about it as she possibly could). "So, you haven't done this before." It wasn't a question. "No," Tonks replied. "But now you need money and there's a decided lack of employment opportunities for people in your situation, yes?" She raised her brows and nodded her head to one side. That about summed it up. "Pretty much, yeah." Then Daphne nodded, sighed, and launched into the speech she'd had to give more times than she'd liked since she'd started hiring. "That in and of itself isn't going to get you through this sort of job, and I don't want to put you in it if you're not going to cut it. That's bad for my business, and bad for you too. Especially as a married woman- either your husband is all in, or your husband isn't in at all, but there's no middle ground on this." Tonks twisted her lips to one side as she said her bit, nodding slowly at the last few parts. "I know that," she responded. "Not from experience, obviously, but – well. I've put a fair bit more thought into this than counting it just as easy cash. And I'm pretty used to going all in on things." She glanced to the side and down before meeting Daphne's gaze again. "As for the latter part, I'm here to find out more before I talk to him. If he's not in, I'm not, plain as. But I –," the mental calculation was quick enough to figure this woman could have been at Hogwarts when he was teaching, but she obviously knew of him anyway, and even then was definitely not going to offer up any private parts of his past like that. "Leave that to me," she settled on, sounding confident even if she didn't particularly feel it. Yes, he had done this in the past, no, they hadn't been married then. The thought came and then went again, as she pushed it aside. It wasn't helpful right now. "Fine, that's him. But what about you? Give me your philosophy on sex." It was a terrible way to put the question, and outside of a work atmosphere Daphne would have never phrased something so coarsely (sober-ish, anyway). But the sheer number of eager inexperienced things that she'd had to turn away- who probably would seek out employment elsewhere, but she didn't want that under her roof. That's why it was her goddamned roof. Tonks gave a little snort of laughter, genuinely amused. "Philosophy?" she queried, one of her brows arching. The amusement granted her a moment to relax back, slipping closer to her normal easy nature. Getting questioned on it was a nice change from the stock standard answer (usually some sort of manifesto, and Daphne had no patience for manifestos) and the corners of her mouth twitched up in turn. "Morals. Concept of. Importance placed on." Merlin, like that one like bright eyed idiot who'd come back from some jaywalking accident and walked into a brothel talking about how important an emotional connection was during sex, immediately letting Daphne know she hadn't had enough sex to realise otherwise yet. Another thing she hadn't expected, but as the little shrug of her shoulders suggested, she supposed it was both a fair and relevant thing to ask. "Dunno, bloody hell. That's like asking me how I feel about food as a concept," she said, that amusement still lingering in her voice. A frown worked its way into her forehead as she thought on it more, readying a proper answer. "Morals, um, I don't know. I've never really thought of it as a moral or immoral thing. Not raised like that. I'm pretty sure my parents bonked shit tons and they weren't puritanical or anything. I got the wait 'til you're ready talk. It's something you want and enjoy or... it isn't. There's nothing inherently shameful or especially good about either of those things. Don't have any big grand ideas on that front. Concept of and importance..." She puffed out a breath. "It's just sex. That's pretty much what I settled on before I got here. I've blown a guy I just met in some grimy public bathroom and I've had the kind of tender, indescribable... whatever," with a small blush at that moment only. "But at the end of the day it's the same stuff that goes into it all, right? Sometimes there's an emotional need to be filled. I don't expect all your clients coming here with the mindset of just wanting a fuck. But other times that's all there is to it, a physical craving. Always it's just.... bodies, doing whatever." Tonks concluded with another shrug. Fine, whatever, good enough. The answers themselves didn't terribly matter so much as what she didn't say, and she didn't say anything that set off immediate alarm bells for Daphne. One good point was raised, though, something Daph originally intended to touch on later in the interview process but might as well be addressed now while it was fresh. "Uh huh. And you're not wrong about that emotional need, which obviously means an emotional component that 99 out of 100 times won't actually exist needs to be conveyed. So-" and she paused in her speech to take another sip of her wine and smirk, "-let's see how good of an actress you are. Convince me that you find me enthralling." Another snort, followed by a bite of her thumbnail as she looked at Daphne, eyebrows raised. A brief flicker of really? across her face, and then she was neutral again. "Alright then, what's your type? Assuming I'm going to be using this --," with a wave at her face, "I'd likely already have the gist for that, yeah?" Raising her eyebrows in turn- after all, plenty of people thought they were considerably better at deception than they actually were- Daphne tapped a fingernail on the edge of her glass as she considered. "I had some thoughts on that, but we'll get to that later. Freckled gingers," and she bit back the usual self-deprecating commentary that followed that admission because that whole side of the war had been stocked to the gills with gingery, freckly types. "Athletic builds. Longer hair." A small smile played at the corner of her lips, and while her attempts at pinning an age on her proved no more accurate than the last, it was safe to say she couldn't be far off from the majority of the Weasleys. There was a momentary temptation to shift into one of them and see if she reacted, but any brief amusement it might have given her would be instantly countered by weirdness thanks to context and setting. Instead, she paused for a second longer, weighing up – she had already made a rule for herself that she would stay a woman for this, and Daphne had said actress. She didn't have much idea of what the gender balance was at this place, if there even was one, and the woman before her hadn't specified anything. Tonks reached up to where her hair was knotted in a bun and pulled out the elastic, letting it tumble out. As it did the pink deepened, taking on yellowy tones and then reds as it settled into a bold ginger. The length fell to her just past her chin and then kept going, stretching to her collarbone, past her shoulders, and it took on a thicker texture, slightly tousled. She shrugged her jacket off, tossing it lazily over the arm of the chair. Underneath she had on a plain black tank which worked nicely for revealing her own fairly toned build, but she added a little more definition, a spattering of freckles across milky skin, and removed the tattoos she usually kept there to display them better. Her nose became thinner, her chin a little smaller, eyes wide and lashes heavy, and the freckles crept up her face settling in soft flecks of browns and golds. Something else about her changed too – subtle shifts in posture, expression, like she was not just taking on a new body, but some new sense of self with it. Before she had been sinking back in the chair, elbows splayed out. Now she seemed to take up less space, leaning forward slightly with an attentiveness she hadn't had before. "This alright?" she asked. Her voice was just the ever so slightest bit breathier, and the question sounded almost self deprecating. Daphne, of course, had grown up in the very thick of magic just above Diagon Alley, and she'd seen her fair share of odd sights over the years and in her travels. But spontaneous human transfiguration was unique, and she watched with more than a hint of outright fascination as Tonks did it yet again. No need for a wand or a potion- the DMLE's loss was her gain, and unless the woman was completely terrible at this Daph needed to get her onto her staff. In the meantime, though, she looked up and down at the finished effect. "Not bad," she replied, a smile of approval on her face despite herself. While she would have preferred a light sheen of sweat and slightly different clothing- that was detail dressing, and this wasn't about indulging all her whims but rather assessing ability. She splayed her hand in a 'go on, then' sort of gesture. The thing about all those subtle movements and slight gestures, the small shifts that allowed one to become somebody else (or act, she supposed – it varied how she thought about it in her head, sometimes letting go of herself entirely was easier) was that in order to pull them off convincingly you had to be able to recognise them in other people. She was good at making it appear organic, as if she had just imagined up a person and decided on their mannerisms, but she'd have to have an awful lot of space in her head to manage that over and over. Rather, like her notorious impressions, they were things she had noticed in others and stored up over time. Borrowed bits and pieces, little collections. Tonks was good at putting them to use, but only because she was also good at noticing them in the first place. And that expression, the appreciation in the other woman's face, was a fascinating detail. There was no quick start – she wasn't about to twirl some hair around her finger and bat her eyelashes, offer some simpering laugh. She had done this before, and as artificial as it felt to suddenly turn on, it wasn't terribly different to just a few weeks ago when she had been getting the information from Smith. Then she had flirted, shared a drink, went back to his flat, and taken most of her clothes off before she got the information she wanted and promptly apparated during her bathroom trip to "freshen up". If this took a moment, it took a moment. (And in any case, in this kind of establishment more time equalled more money.) "Do you do this regularly, then? Ask women into your office to seduce you?" Eyes fixed on hers, a slight smirk on her lips. "No," Daphne replied, still smiling and watching Tonks intently. It was already a decent start, for sure, and when interviews had started Daphne would have hired her on the spot. But basic capacity just meant she was suitable for basic encounters; certain things Daphne had cooked up in her head since their brief journal discussion required a little more finesse. Besides, getting sussed out like this by a bona fide former Auror was genuinely fun and if Daphne couldn't have fun working as a madam, then she would never be able to have fun in any job whatsoever. She took a quick sip of her wine, swirled it around in the glass a few times without breaking that eye contact. "It's generally the other way around." A wider smile cracked out at that. A small, "Thought so," said as if it was to herself, though she didn't glance away. "Here? In your office?" With an arched brow. That 'thought so' was strikingly familiar to Daphne, with it or its ilk muttered dozens of times when her own suspicions had been confirmed. The next question, though, sent her into an amused snicker. "Salazar, no. That's just asking for drama, and who has time for that this early on?" Tonks smiled in return, shrugging lazily. "Well, I'm not entirely sure what the professional standards are in this industry. For all I know you're about to ask for a demonstration," she let the last word linger for a beat, tilting her head slightly, with the sort of confidence behind her words that suggested she really wouldn't mind if she did. And then sharply, finally, glanced down and out of the eye contact to look at her desk, running a finger along the wood. "Shame though, the desk would be good for it." "Oh, that is good," Daphne mused out loud, watching that finger drag along the edge with a detached enjoyment- her play brain, which she was proud of herself for being able to suppress under her work brain (probably because the work was, in fact, playful). At any rate, it was good, but just as many people wanted an escape from work as those who wanted to feel powerful because of (or in spite of) their position. It was also a good idea to see what Tonks did when someone tried to veer conversation. "Yes, it would. But I don't want to talk about work right now. Why don't you tell me a little about yourself-" fuck, she needed a name, "-Ruby." A small flicker of satisfaction twisted about her mouth that she didn't care to hide from Daphne, and then she was back to focused attention, eyes up and alert. She didn't blink at being named, and immediately knew where to go with that question, taking the same option she had with Smith when he asked it. The slight pink in her cheeks, the hair touch. "Alright then. Um –- I'm terrible at this, sorry, let me think," with a small self deprecating laugh. She was careful not to play too coy, she had just made a fairly forward move before, after all. But people liked to find stumbling points, hit on softer parts. "I'm an artist. Well, I'm –-," she waved a hand lazily behind her, again, a little self deprecating, as if it was a funny secret between them. But she didn't dwell on it. Draw too much attention and the fantasy would be broken. "But I'm an artist really. Sketches, charcoal. I like capturing people." And then, with a soft laugh, gathering some of that confidence back, her eyes slid slowly down Daphne's body, and then back up. "I need a muse." Tonks conjured up an excellent picture of the sort of girl Daphne sometimes liked to eat for dinner; that earnestness, that calculated glance. She didn't know that 'Ruby' came off as enthralled just yet, but it was certainly at a fuck-me-in-the-shower level, and she'd only managed a few sentences so far. "Do you?" she asked, glancing to the side as if she was intimidated by the attention (she was not; she was a fucking muse, thank you). Insecurity and monosyllabic responses were yet another thing Tonks would need to contend with; Daphne didn't doubt she could, but she wanted to see how and to build up towards the things that might rattle her prospective employee. "Mmhmm," she replied, humming through a smile that she let widen. If it was Daphne's turn to be shy, then it was her turn press forward again. Push and pull. She leant forward with her upper body, elbows on the desk. Not too keen, but eliminating some of the space between them. "I like noticing things in people. Do you know that when you smile it always starts on this side of your mouth?" As she said it she tapped at the left corner of her own mouth, dragging her bottom lip ever so slightly with her finger, and her gaze dropped to stare at Daphne's for a long, unabashed moment. "Just by a fraction. You wouldn't even see it if you weren't looking hard." "I didn't," Daphne murmured, blinking a few times as if it were a great revelation before glancing back at Tonks, her eyes once again drawn to that finger. Of course, she did, because watching yourself in the mirror was a great way to pass the time on a lazier sort of high, but this innocuous self-effacing wallflower bullshit was too fun to drop just yet, and lent itself well to her next question. She let her gaze drop a few times, dragging it back up each time as she continued in her most guileless, you've-inspired-me-to-openness tone of voice. "How- how did you die?" Her eyes didn't drop again, because she was watching for any hint of a real reaction, however minute. That she got – a hard swallow, those slightly pouted lips tightening a fraction. It wasn't massive, but it was there and where before she had moved with a kind of liquid ease she stiffened some, desperately repressing a sick feeling in her stomach. Some part of her should have expected it, maybe, but then no bit of her since this had started had settled into any kind of normal. She would have a reaction to that as herself, never mind as somebody else that she was having to invent on the spot. But where all the Tonks in her threatened to fire up and spill out, her auror training (level head, focus on the task at hand, put yourself to one side) kicked in at a couple of seconds delay. Given the question, she thought it could have been worse. Her eyes flicked down and then up to train on her again, and she stretched her arm out on the desk, wrist up. "Give me your hand," she said, her voice a half whisper. The reaction wasn't enormous, no. But someone hypersensitive to minutiae- someone there for the first time making small talk, for instance- was bound to notice that change in energy if Daphne had. She resolved to bring it up as a point that required some desensitising- later, because Tonks managed to recover and... extended her hand. Now Daphne had her own brief mental struggle to contend with; was this 'Ruby' continuing her solicitation, or an unhinged formerly dead Auror denied any job besides the world's oldest, filled with anger at being reminded and about to spring a trap that left Daphne with a broken arm, a twisted neck and pretty shoes? Choices, choices. Still, what was life without a little risk? She reached out and placed her hand, palm up, lightly on top of Tonks's. Tonks let out a gentle exhale, her gaze soft as she looked down at the other woman's palm. "Did you take divination in school?" There was something a little raw in her voice, a tad melancholy and vulnerable, in a way that drew from her more than it did 'Ruby'. As if she was about to admit something she hadn't before. She didn't leave Daphne time to answer, drawing that finger along her palm again. "This is your lifeline. It's strong," and on the last word she looked up again, the hint of a smile. "It didn't hurt, if that's what you're wondering. A magical accident." She glanced away, as if remembering. That trick was something she'd learned as a teenager, the way people's eyes move when they recall things. "All I can remember is blinking. One moment there, the next–," her eyes flicked back up, and she curled her fingers around Daphne's wrist, sliding her thumb over the delicate skin, feeling the thrum of her pulse. "Here." It was mesmerising, it really was, the whole shebang. The callback to younger, simpler times; the reassurance of her own longevity (not a personal concern, but probably one for a number of clients); the calm answer, enough to assuage curiosity but not enough to cause worry or sadness. All neatly tied together with the deliberate, intimate touch; Daphne wished she could set it to music and sell it (and provided all went well, depending on the booking she could do both). She couldn't help the broad grin that broke out across her face as she broke character entirely. "Colour me impressed. It's probably worth practicing keeping your composure at the original question, but nothing time and exposure can't fix. Top marks otherwise." Tonks' character break was far more sharp and dramatic, occurring the very moment it was apparent the exercise had finished. Hair, shooting up shorter, pinker (but a ruddier, orangey red sort), features rearranging back to her own, arms a little thinner, freckles all but evaporated except for her own few. Where her initial transformation had stretched out over a long careful moment, the snap back was more instantaneous, and she was herself by the time her back was slumping against the chair. She didn't look at her most friendly; her normal attitude appearing heightened because she had been presenting so differently moments before, and some part of her wanted to tell Daphne that was a dick move and piss off out of there. But frustratingly it was probably necessary, and she had passed, so. "Told you I'd done this before." "Mmmm. Part of it," was the cheerful reply, the abrupt change in the woman standing in front of her less disconcerting the third time around regardless of its speed. Daphne plucked her wineglass back off the table and leaned back in her chair once more, this time kicking her feet up on the table and crossing them at the ankle. She took a second to admire her heels (Jimmy Choo, strappy, tan patent leather) before venturing on. "As well as your background and your talents, the big thing that sets you apart from the other staff is that." She pointed one red tipped finger towards Tonks's left hand. "Have you fucked anyone besides your husband since you married him? Threesomes? Anything?" That got a snort, far more because of the circumstances of their first year of marriage than anything else. "Bit hard to do that when you're pregnant as shite and hiding from Death Eaters," she replied. "But no, just him. We covered this bit though, yeah? I have reason to believe he'll be... sympathetic." It was the best she could offer without delving into more detail. Daphne shrugged, taking a leisurely sip of her merlot before she spoke. "He can be as sympathetic as he wants. That doesn't mean you can bring yourself to do it." "Oh." She had misread the implications of that one. "Right. Well. I'm here, aren't I?" Tonks didn't quite know how to answer that one. She had played this terrible game while having a smoke in Diagon, of eyeing up wizards as they passed and imagining they were her client. Looks, attitude, the fact that none of them were Remus, all of that had to be put aside for a moment. Could I fuck you for money? It wasn't pleasant. Particularly because Remus didn't know about any of it yet. And naturally there was the thought – if just imagining it was making her feel uneasy, could she stomach doing it? But it was the fact of playing the game quietly, of being here after a quick peck on the cheek and explaining she was 'just popping out for a bit'. If he said no, he said no. If he said yes, that guilt slipped away. And when she ran herself through that exercise without it... just bodies, doing whatever. "I think so, from what thought I've given it. Obviously I can't say for absolute certain, having not done it. But we're trusting people. Honest with each other. If we agreed on it, I don't see any reason why not." "Because feelings don't care how trusting and rational your agreement was." Daphne sighed, because she didn't want to say this, not when Tonks was so good at the rest of it but- a little risk made life interesting. The risk of an employee having an emotional episode when faced with a client did not, it just gave Daphne a headache. "So here's the thing. I need you to go fuck someone else if you want this job. One of the other staff, I'll comp their time on the house, or a stranger, an ex, I categorically don't give a shit who, so long as it happens." "Fucking hell," Tonks breathed, unable to help the eye roll that followed. "The bloke who wanted me to defend his family home from the threat of reoccurred Voldemort had an easier interview than this." At this point she sounded thoroughly irritated, but she grit her teeth and got out a, "Fine. One of your girls," crossing her arms. "But he has to agree to that first, which means we have to negotiate terms. I want to know what I'm getting into before I say yes to fucking anybody." "One of the girls? That's awfully specific," Daphne said rather than address terms in any way whatsoever. The expression on her face didn't change any but the small part of her that occasionally cared about something roared to life, because if this was yet another one of those 'doesn't count if it's a woman' pieces of bullshit- well, she'd put up with it for the money, but she wanted to know about it ahead of time. "Do men work here too?" She asked, genuinely unsure. Generally, at the very least in the muggle films she had watched, this industry was female heavy, and Daphne had already indicated some sort of preference, whether it was exclusive or not. She hadn't bothered much to look around when entering, keen to speak to Daphne before anything else. "You can pick who out of whoever if that's an issue." A slightly louder exhale was the only evidence of an issue having existed and being let go of. "I have two. One of them does women too, the other is less... flexible. The population's small enough it makes sense to cater to everyone, especially all men." Daphne shrugged. "There's some security knowing the man who signed a secrecy clause won't tell your wife. At any rate, I don't care who you go with." Tonks tipped her head, brows up and then down. "Makes sense." A small part of her was curious if Oliver doubled up his bartending shifts with other work, but she refrained from asking because that was both obviously prurient of her and she hadn't signed anything regarding confidentiality yet. If he did it was none of her business, though she would definitely avoid picking him as her chosen shag. Friends were too messy. "Right, well. Okay. Run me through how it works then. Hours, expectations, confidentiality and safety, all of that." Draining the last of her merlot, Daphne nodded. "Hours, you can pick how many days you want to be per week, but once you're here you're here for a minimum of four hours. Mondays are open for appointments only and the bar won't be staffed Monday through Wednesday- you won't need to worry about that yet. Either Friday or Saturday night is a must. If you don't have appointments, you're mingling in the bar area. Questions on that bit?" "Do I get to pick start times?" "Other than the must nights, yes. Oh, and we'll draw lots for holidays." "Minimum of four hours for holidays too?" "Yes, but everyone will be clocking in a turn, you'll get your timeslot randomly and then when you're done, you're done." "Right. And wait, you said other than the must nights. Are they on a rota or do you decide that or what?" "First come first served for which. We do up schedules every four weeks." "Okay. And what if I want a week off or something? Not that I have any holidays planned. But, y'know," Tonks said, glumly. Money aside, where was there to go beyond a handful of shit wizarding beaches? "Four weeks' notice minimum so you don't fuck me over." "Fair. Alright, that sounds fine." She nodded expectantly, waiting for the next part. "I feel like the expectations are pretty self-evident. Be on time, do your job, don't poach regulars from the others. Don't lie to me- lie to the others as much as you want, but there's some back and forth trust involved here." "And how do bookings work? Mingle out there, somebody likes me, they pay by time?" "That's one avenue. We also have a bit of a menu- photograph, blurb, tastefully worded specialties. The muggles are starting to use websites and its the closest thing I can do to replicate that. You get a base pay system- time, half service, full service, company, whatever- and it's up to you what's included in that and what's an extra. Extras are the gravy. Anal? Extra. Threesome with a couple to put the spice back into their marriage? Extra. Pissed on in the shower? Extra. Beat their bollocks black and blue? Extra." Daphne listed it all off like they were different furniture options, then clonked her chair upright again abruptly, swinging her legs off the desk and leaning forwards towards Tonks. "You have the benefit that, if you want and if you have regulars or there's VIPs you're comfortable with, there are some very unique extras you can offer." "I don't want to be advertised as a meta, and if I decide to tell a client and offer those services, it's all entirely my choice and it has to be kept confidential. I'm happy for specifics to be settled on in advance. You have somebody coming in who you know wants a particular type? I'll fit that. You're missing something in your books that would be a real pull, sure. All for an extra cut, of course. Hell, if you want to tell clients you have a supply of polyjuice and they can request specifics at a premium, that's fine. But changing before and being asked to change during are very different things, and the latter has to be at my discretion or else I'm not in." Her voice was firm and resolute, evidence of the time she had spent mentally sorting through her own boundaries. "Fine, whatever," just dismissed with a hand wave like it was a trifling point which... it was, really. "I do like the idea of a polyjuice special. But no extra cut- for one, I take a cut of what you get. For two, what I thought we might do was make several profiles for you of fill in the gap types that the other girls don't cover. You do get extra that way- extra business rather than sitting around, waiting for people. Someone comes in and wants Ruby, say, but you're working the bar as Hypatia? They make an appointment for Ruby later that you wouldn't have had otherwise and you have more guaranteed work during a shift." Tonks had been prepared for a little more fight on that matter, and so when there wasn't her shoulders sunk back, the energy she had been readying wasted. "Oh," she frowned, thought about it, and decided that made sense. "Alright then, fine." "What about requests for specific people?" "Such as?" "I don't know, if someone wants to fuck... one of the Harpies, for instance." "No, too weird. Also you'd have to answer the question of how the fuck you got all these famous people's hair. Confidentiality on the sex aside, something like that would get out." "Easy answer, and I'd have their arse over the coals and their life in flames before it got more than a third page mention in the Quibbler. You can reconsider that later. Can you make a cock?" "Also off the table. I'm staying as a woman. All bits the same." Yes was the implied answer behind that one, and her response came just as firmly as the last. She didn't care how much money she might be losing, all those extras tossed away meant very little compared to the idea of sacrificing her comfort. "I didn't ask about staying as a woman, I asked about a cock," Daphne grumbled before she could hold it back- fucking hell, not the sort of shit you expected from the fabled radical resistance but it had been the 90s. Apparently their progressive stance was on muggles and so on only. "Whatever, your loss. Questions?" "Yeah, and I'm the woman in this room who can have one. I'll decide to do what I like with it, thanks," she bit back, pissed at that grumble. That latter part she had tacked on hadn't been for nothing; Daphne wasn't a person she wanted to get into the nitty gritty of her vague and thorny thoughts about whatever the fuck gender is and having a body, but safe to say they existed, if very privately. "The extras, they're all my choice? Standard ones as well as meta shit?" "The ones I mentioned. Manual's not an extra, oral's not an extra, vaginal's not an extra, but you can tell anyone dirty to take a shower first and anyone with questionable goods to march themselves to a healer first." Pausing, Daphne tapped her fingers on her desk and tilted her head at Tonks. "Would you like to dial back the attitude a smidge, considering this is a job interview?" "If you're considering employing a meta and making money - likely quite a bit of it, let's be honest with ourselves - off those abilities, you ought to know that making assumptions about personal experiences that you have no concept of is a pretty quick route to having an unhappy employee. And that such experiences don't become public simply because of the line of work I choose. I appreciate the choice you're giving me, and promise to respect you and your rules, but I ask for respect in return." Tonks resisted the urge to tip her own head in a mockery. Her tone, while still a little hot, was mostly measured and forthright. If Daphne was going to crack on that point, Daphne was going to lose herself a hell of a lot of cash. "What I want to make abundantly clear," Daphne began, a little smile on her face mostly at how much she hated getting into this, "is that while I'm willing to put up with all manner of personal circumstances, I won't put up with an atmosphere that makes my staff uncomfortable. Obviously I'm not going to make you meta yourself one way or another. What I won't tolerate is, if I do bring in a girl who does have a cock, you having anything to say to her or anyone else about what her bits do or do not say about her. I don't care if you're out earning every single other staff member put together, you won't be welcome back then." "And what I'm saying, as a girl who has a cock sometimes, is that I wouldn't dare do or say anything like that. And you making assumptions about me that mentally categorise me as a woman who always has a vagina and apparently carries around biases in that regard, based on my on the job preferences, is exactly the sort of shite atmosphere you're concerned about." Her nostrils flared slightly, and she crossed her arms firmly across her chest, at least half of her wanting to leave then and there. "Then maybe you should consider for half a moment before saying you're keeping 'all bits the same' in regards to being a woman when I only asked about genitalia if you don't want to come off as biased," Daphne replied, watching her with narrowed eyes. Anything else. For Merlin's fucking sake, anything else and she could have passed it over. But now it simply sounded like Tonks was trying to make excuses, and the potential pain of that income flying out the door wasn't enough to stop Daphne from charging on. "All bits the same, as in staying a woman with a vagina, not that --," and then her words were lost to an upset sigh and she was shaking her head, reaching behind her for her jacket. "Fucking hell, this was a mistake." "Maybe it was, because if you're going to be that imprecise with what you say and that snippy when you get corrected on it, during a job interview, you're not going to last in the actual job. Thanks for your time." Tonks stiffened in her chair, the denim of her jacket cold beneath her fingertips. Thanks for your fucking time. How many times had she heard that one lately? Her jaw tightened, and she exhaled through barely parted lips. There was a part of her, a large part really, that would take a lot of satisfaction slamming that door behind her. But those sensible, rational parts, that were mostly solid and strong but that sometimes got caught in big gusts of emotion, were telling her that perhaps wasn't the smartest of moves. Had the argument started because Daphne was intent on forcing her into something, or even suggesting that she ought to, it would have been a different matter entirely. But however twisted up in semantics they had gotten, neither of them were really on different pages. Tonks swallowed, looking at the desk, careful to keep her voice steady. "There are exactly three people I've spoken to about that side of being a meta. You make four. I grew up in the 80s. I don't really make a habit of having that conversation, never mind have any real idea how to. It's a personal thing, which is why I wanted to keep it off limits. Not good for me, not good for your business." "You know what answer to 'can you do a cock' would have sufficed for that, avoided this and kept all your personal things personal? 'I'm not comfortable doing that.' If this is something you need to work though, fine. I'd even have been willing to help you out so you could introduce yourself as six new hires to the rest of the staff instead of one so you didn't have to deal with questions like that. But for fuck's sake." Daphne closed her eyes and rubbed the top of the bridge of her nose with her middle finger, sorely tempted to tell Tonks no, fuck off, she had enough drama in her life without an untested, inexperienced new hire with a temper and an ego and unresolved issues. The only thing stopping her from doing it was the performance as Ruby, but fuck. "Right, well. I'm not comfortable doing that. And I can be introduced as me just fine, I've dealt with questions like that for years. That's not the issue." Resisting a strong urge to sigh, because she didn't really want to add to either of their exasperation. There was a tangent she could go off on –- the assumptions, the hypocrisy, pull some fucking sob story out of her arse if she really wanted to, though it wasn't her style. But she doubted any of those would make the situation any better. And when her nerves had been struck, she knew that the best solution was to back away gently, and find a quick and calm solution. "The issue is avoided entirely by keeping that off the table and out of our discussions. And should any client or employee touch on it... well, safe to say I have an understanding of how delicate it can be. I don't bulldoze through everything, even if I give that impression sometimes," and then she sighed, but it was small and aimed at herself. "Are you familiar with the concept of cost-benefit analysis?" Daphne asked abruptly, finger still rubbing at that spot on her face as she wished beyond belief that she'd thought to bring the bottle in with her rather than just a glass of the wine. "Yes." While Tonks half wished she'd said yes to that drink at the beginning. "Your costs are starting to really pile up compared to your benefits, all on a hypothetical that hinges on whether your husband is okay with your choice of employment and then if you can psychologically manage an aspect of work you've never engaged in. So ask the questions you need to ask to have that conversation- and then consider whether this is something you actually want to do, in this establishment." Reluctantly, Daphne pulled her finger away from her forehead and clasped her hands together on the desk in front of her. "We've clearly gotten off on the wrong foot, and that's not good for me, or you, and therefore not good for my business." Tonks gave a little nod of acknowledgement to that last part. "Yeah. Well, I apologise for my part in that," she said, not keen to dig her finger into that sore spot. "The last part was safety, confidentiality, and the types of agreements I'd be expected to sign." The Ministry had been terrible employers she reminded herself. Money was money was money. And if things turned sour then perhaps Daphne was right, perhaps it wasn't the place for her. "I do as well," Daphne replied, ready to be done with this entire interview and get back to actual work while the former Professor Lupin helped decide how much of her evening she'd just wasted. Her speech was just faster than it'd been beforehand as she ticked off her safety features. "Safety, all appointments and bookings go through me which involves some screening. I know exactly who is meant to be in which room for how long. In lieu of the recent apparition restrictions, I'm having an employees only floo connection put in for safe travel home. There will always be someone on premises keeping an eye on things. Our bartender is versed in a number of hand signals for if anyone needs help or would prefer an alcoholic drink that's bought for them to not have alcohol, and likewise keeps an eye on things. He's also a trainee healer so that's on site, in a pinch." "Is there some kind of system for alerting you or whoever's running security if something happens while we're in the room?" "There's an intercom sort of thing- do you know what that is?" "Yeah." Tonks nodded, thinking through it all for a moment. Satisfied, and also eager to finish, she continued. "Confidentiality?" "Legally and magically binding documents on both ends that forbid you from disclosing the names and personally identifying characteristics of employees besides me and any customers you may have, once you're outside of this building." "Can I have copies to read over? And would I be expected to sign anything else -- is there a formal employee contract, or is it more of an agreement to abide by your rules? Fixed term and binding or open for me to leave should I decide to?" "I'm not comfortable sending you home with them now, but depending on how things go if you do start working here I'm happy to let you read them beforehand. Staff are independent contractors abiding by the rules of the house." "Any chance I could read them at the bar after this but not take them with me? I'm happy to sign the one for for clients before I leave, if that would make you feel comfortable." Tonks thought about making some joke about aurors and confidentiality agreements but decided against it. That required more energy than she had left. "If you really want to." She nodded. "Um, that's everything I have then, yeah." "Right. Well then-" and Daphne ducked down, rummaging through the cabinet in her desk before coming out with a stack of parchment she chucked out in front of Tonks. "Here's the staff confidentiality agreement." She just barely kept herself from adding something arch, on the increasingly remote chance that this hire actually happened, and instead added, "You can get that drink while you read it, if you'd like." There was a small glimmer of relief at that thought; she would bloody well kill for something with vodka in it. She slipped back into the girl she had been when she arrived. "Thank you. And thank you for your time, I appreciate you going through everything so thoroughly." |