texttexttext (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} ex_indulgent824) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} shapeofthings,@ 2008-10-05 13:15:00 |
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Characters: Barty Crouch Jr, Natalie Travers, Francis Wilkes.
Setting: Evening of October 3, 1979. Cluj-Napoca, Romania.
Content: No Adult Content/Worksafe
Summary: Barty and Francisindulge in violent loo shagging attempt to feed Natalie to the vampires. Regretfully, they are unsuccessful.
Wilkes thought that over the course of knowing someone ten or so years you would become accustomed to them. That, after a period of time, you could become entirely immune to anything about them- their arrogance, the most cringe-worthy features, all the little jabs they could throw out, and even a way of speaking that could grate on the nerves of the hearing impaired. He did with Snape.
He was wrong - at least about Natalie Travers.
Wilkes didn't have the patience to be around Natalie more than an hour since year one of Hogwarts (and even that was pushing it). To his credit, Francis tried to be civil, but every day lent itself to some new discovery about her, whether it was her manipulative streak or how every. single. thing. had to be her way.
What really bothered him, though, was how she didn't know the right moment to shut her mouth. She just kept on and on until she drove him to a breaking point. And, when she did, Natalie didn't just push but shoved him over it so that Wilkes found himself shouting himself hoarse in front of her or someone with the misfortune of passing into his vicinity after he stormed out. Wilkes avoided doing this to Evan, who liked the harpy for some reason Francis never thought he'd grasp. Wilkes wasn't stupid, after all. Anyone else was fair game, though.
When they arrived in Romania, Francis thought that perhaps it would be enough to break their routine. Maybe they would be too distracted to pay much attention to each other or, when she started in on him, he simply wouldn't care. For a couple of days, things seemed to go well apart from a snide comment or two. There were no slamming doors. No raised voices. Not a single flying vase in sight.
And, then, it happened. Before he knew it, the door of the hotel was slamming against the far wall and he had grabbed Crouch by the shoulder to tug down the hall when the man came into sight. Before he could really help himself, he had said, "You don't want to go in there. Come on. I'll buy you a drink." And had launched into his usual rant full of 'Can-you-believe-her's and 'Never-in-my-life's.
Setting: Evening of October 3, 1979. Cluj-Napoca, Romania.
Content: No Adult Content/Worksafe
Summary: Barty and Francis
Wilkes thought that over the course of knowing someone ten or so years you would become accustomed to them. That, after a period of time, you could become entirely immune to anything about them- their arrogance, the most cringe-worthy features, all the little jabs they could throw out, and even a way of speaking that could grate on the nerves of the hearing impaired. He did with Snape.
He was wrong - at least about Natalie Travers.
Wilkes didn't have the patience to be around Natalie more than an hour since year one of Hogwarts (and even that was pushing it). To his credit, Francis tried to be civil, but every day lent itself to some new discovery about her, whether it was her manipulative streak or how every. single. thing. had to be her way.
What really bothered him, though, was how she didn't know the right moment to shut her mouth. She just kept on and on until she drove him to a breaking point. And, when she did, Natalie didn't just push but shoved him over it so that Wilkes found himself shouting himself hoarse in front of her or someone with the misfortune of passing into his vicinity after he stormed out. Wilkes avoided doing this to Evan, who liked the harpy for some reason Francis never thought he'd grasp. Wilkes wasn't stupid, after all. Anyone else was fair game, though.
When they arrived in Romania, Francis thought that perhaps it would be enough to break their routine. Maybe they would be too distracted to pay much attention to each other or, when she started in on him, he simply wouldn't care. For a couple of days, things seemed to go well apart from a snide comment or two. There were no slamming doors. No raised voices. Not a single flying vase in sight.
And, then, it happened. Before he knew it, the door of the hotel was slamming against the far wall and he had grabbed Crouch by the shoulder to tug down the hall when the man came into sight. Before he could really help himself, he had said, "You don't want to go in there. Come on. I'll buy you a drink." And had launched into his usual rant full of 'Can-you-believe-her's and 'Never-in-my-life's.