Charlotte Dearborn has an answer to everything (brokenvows) wrote in throwingstones, @ 2010-05-29 00:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! complete, [may 1979], charlotte dearborn, constantine travers |
Who: Charlotte Dearborn and Stan Travers
When: Friday evening
Where: Stan's London town house
Rating: PG-13 for a bit of swearing
Status: Completed log
There wasn't much that Charlotte regretted - why should she feel bad about something that was already done and dusted? - but she was beginning to regret letting Stan get under her skin, like he always seemed to do. Despite everything, there was a small part of her that was desperate to believe him, to trust that, whilst he might be an arse, he wasn't a murderer or a terrorist. He was just some prick that was completely full of himself and had an uncanny ability to cheer her up, even when he was insulting her. More than anything else, she didn't want him to be one of those purebloods, the ones who had thought themselves so much better than her. She didn't want to feel less than him. She wasn't less than anyone else. But there were so many nagging worries that she couldn't just put blind faith in him. And her method for putting those worries to rest? It was eating her up even more. Since when did she have a conscience? Ignoring that little voice in the back of her mind, like she'd been doing every damned day of her life, she gathered up her bag, slipped the vial of clear liquid she had procured from the Auror storerooms into her pocket, unbuttoned her shirt a little lower and left the house without saying anything to Malcolm. Knocking impatiently on the door to the city town house, she shifted her weight and fluffed her hair, already frowning at her spur of the moment idea. She needed to find out everything Stan wasn't telling her, if not for her own sake, then for her superiors'. They had to know what was going on with this broadcast, with Mr Mulciber and all the other accusations. She had to treat Stan like any other suspect; she had to interrogate him to the best of her damned abilities, and if that meant taking a few risks that weren't all that orthodox, then so be it. Because, really, when was Charlotte ever orthodox? Stan had perfected the art of lying in the course of his career. He had to pretend he wasn't better than everyone else, that the privilege he was born into was not important to him, and that everyone was equal, regardless of creed, colour, or blood. It was so easy that Stan barely noticed that he was lying, it just flowed like a reflex action, some chemical reaction that his body did naturally, like breathing. The worry, however, was not fake. Stan was very fond of his career and his reputation, and while he knew he would lose both one day, he was not ready for it to go just yet. He thought it would happen when the Dark Lord's power was secured, and that it would be more of a subtle shift into a similar position. He did not want to be hauled out of his job by an angry mob. Stan was genuinely dreading his first broadcast on Monday, and had already been told by the weekend staff that there was quite a bit of mail waiting for him at the station. Some of it oozed. Some of it exploded. Stan had the performance of his lifetime to pull off on Monday, a statement on his show that would sway the listeners back into his favour. People could be so fickle, so easily turned off. He would simply have to turn them back on to him. Listeners, he expected it from, but Charlotte? Could he blame her, really? She was a Halfblood, one that he had grown stupidly fond of. If he had any sense, he would have cut her off after he took her virginity, but he liked how feisty she was. Did he think he was better than her? Yes. But he thought he was better than just about everybody, so it was not a personal attack, in his opinion. Stan liked her. He did not want to have to kill her. By the time Charlotte arrived, Stan had already cracked out his trusty bottle of scotch. The ice clinked in the glass as he walked to the door, looking through the peep-hole to make sure there weren't any angry people out there. He opened the door slowly and let Charlotte in without talking to her, then shut it firmly and waved his wand at it, securing it. His paranoia had tripled. "The usual?" He asked, walking over to the bar. Raising her brows at his quick warding and unsettled state, she followed him through to the living room, taking her jacket off and hanging it over the back of the armchair. "I'm fine, thanks for asking," she muttered, accepting the long island iced tea and sitting down on the sofa. She had absolutely no intention of drinking tonight - she needed to keep her wits sharp if she was going to get any useful information out of him. Shifting into a comfortable position, she tugged her shirt into place, consciously aware she was showing off a little more cleavage as she did so. "You over it yet?" she asked mildly, toying with the straw and drawing it carefully into her mouth. Stan plucked Charlotte's jacket up from the armchair and hung it up before resuming his usual seat. He glanced at her, noticed her shirt being unbuttoned more than usual and rolled his eyes. "If that is some misguided attempt at cheering me up," He gestured to her chest, "You are going to have to lose a few more buttons." With that, Stan relapsed into his sulk. Smiling, she took the tiniest sip from her drink and leaned forward to place it on the floor, making sure to take her time in it. "You never change, do you?" she asked, somewhat scathingly, and didn't move to unbutton her shirt - despite flashing him a good look at her cleavage a few seconds earlier. She wasn't going to make this too easy for him, not after she'd played hard ball for so long now. She had to stick to what he expected. Leaning back into the sofa, she shook her head at his sulking. "So a few powdered old biddies won't like you any more. So what?" Since Charlotte was doing it on purpose, Stan enjoyed the view. It was a tiny rainbow on the oil scum slick of his weekend. He raised his glass to her before looking away and draining it. "So what?" He mimicked her sourly, "This is my career, Charlotte. I could lose my job. How would you feel if your name was attached to Death Eaters? If you had done nothing wrong and all of a sudden you were associated with murderers and criminals? What if you lost your job? Would you take it kindly if someone said 'So what? to you?" Slamming his empty glass down on the table, Stan slumped down more into his chair, "Don't be a bitch, Charlotte. You could try being a little sympathetic." She regarded him coolly at his suggestion, allowing the insult to slide. It wasn't the first time she'd heard it and she doubted it'd be the last, and as she knew he wasn't trying overly hard to insult her, she didn't see the point of making a fuss over being called a bitch. It wasn't exactly that far from the truth, after all. "I don't do sympathy," Charlotte reminded him with a certain amount of disdain. "And if someone told me so what? I'd tell them to fuck off and get me another drink." Standing up, she picked up the empty tumbler from the table, leaning slightly into him as she did so. "You need something stronger. Sit tight, you poor victimised baby," she told him, unable to keep herself from mocking him a little, "I'll be right back." Carrying the glass into the kitchen, she set it on the table and, with her back to the door, drew the vial out of her pocket. She had absolutely no interest in sitting around while Stan moaned and whinged like a teenage girl about his tragic little life. Honestly, she didn't give a fuck about his career or about him - not until she knew if she could genuinely trust him. And until she knew he wasn't a Death Eater, she wasn't going to cut him any slack. Pulling the cork out with her teeth, she spat it out onto the counter top and poured the odourless, flavourless veritaserum into the bottom of the ice cube filled tumbler. Desperate times and all that jazz. Stan's eyes narrowed slightly, but he covered any suspicious expression from his face with a tight-lipped smile. He watched her disappear from the room, the smile slipping from his face. She was being very gratuitous with her cleavage, not nearly cutting enough with her remarks, and Stan's already heightened paranoia was ticking into overtime. Following Charlotte into the kitchen, he drew his wand and watched as she uncorked a vial. Quickly, he sent a stinging hex at her hand to make her drop the vial, then muttered an Expelliarmus, catching her wand in his outstretched hand. In two long strides, he was at the counter, gripping her hands and pinning her against the countertop. "What the fuck was that?" He snarled, leaning his legs against her in such a way to protect himself from a kick between the legs. Abruptly dropping the vial as pain shot through her tendons, she turned around, completely bewildered by his sudden appearance. Why hadn't she heard him coming? More to the point, why was she now without her wand?! She was used to Stan exerting his dominance over her, but never in the kitchen (well. Never normally in the kitchen). The temptation to knee him sharply between the groin was obviously apparent on her face and Charlotte found herself closer to Stan than she had been in a long time, but for once there wasn't even a hint of sexual tension. "Do you fucking mind?" she shot back, pushing her knees against his. "Salazar, it was a calming drought. I thought you could use it." And rolling her eyes as casually as she could manage, she added under her breath, "And I was right." Stan leaned into Charlotte and reached behind her, grabbing the glass she had just filled. He sniffed it and could smell nothing, which only made him more suspicious. "If it is just a calming draft," He whispered menacingly, "Then you drink it." Glaring at their proximity, she locked her eyes on his, refusing to look away. "Because I'm really the one that needs to calm the fuck down." There wasn't a chance in hell she would ever drink veritaserum at the best of times, and certainly not around someone who was acting so unstable. "Get the hell off me and go splash some water on your face, christ. It's just a job," she added, as though Stan's irrational behaviour had stemmed completely from his public flaming. "I think I will keep this," He took a step back, holding the glass in his hand, "You never know when you might need to calm down." Stan ran his wand along a cupboard and locked the glass inside. He walked back over to Charlotte and stood beside her, making a show of playing with her wand. "It is not a calming draught, and you and I both know that. If it was, you could have just offered it to me, but you had to be sneaky." Chewing on his words a moment, he looked sideways at Charlotte, "It is not just a job. It is my reputation. My name was read out in a line-up made by some strangers with no proof of their accusations, and you automatically chose to believe the worst in me right away. You believed them, and you are meant to be my friend. If I cannot convince you that I did nothing wrong, then how am I supposed to convince a nation?" Stan shook his head, once again putting no effort into lying. The hurt, unfortunately, was real, "What did I ever do to you to make you hate me so much?" Frowning as he locked the drink away, she deliberately took a step to the side, moving away from him, though she kept her eyes on her wand - her wand, Stan; it was hers and she'd like it back. "Let me think," she began, folding her arms over her torso. "You hexed me. You disarmed me. And you're the one who won't trust me." She angled her body to face him, keeping her wand within her sights, watching him toy with it. "You're too bloody proud. If I'd told you I was giving you something other than booze to calm down..." She shrugged, leaning into the side of the counter. "I didn't think you'd drink it." Holding her hand out, she cocked her hip and raised her brows in warning. "Look, just give me my wand back." "I only disarmed you because you were trying to drug me!" He snapped back at her, "You came here with an agenda! I knew you were up to something when you started shoving your chest in my face." Stan shoved away from the counter and walked back into the other room, taking his seat. He glared at nothing, feeling remarkably pissed off and petulant. "I should have known you were up to something." The last time they spoke had not ended on good terms. Stan toyed with the idea of snapping Charlotte's wand, but he thought better of it. "How am I supposed to trust you now?" He said, more to himself than to Charlotte. "You betrayed me." Only just managing to hold back a snort of disdain, she shook her head at his unreasonable behaviour, following him through to the living room to stand directly in front of his chair. "So it's okay when you get me ridiculous drunk and rip my shirt open, but heaven forbid I try to cheer you up a bit?" "You know, for an innocent man with nothing to hide, you're acting remarkably shady," she accused, hands on her hips. She wasn't going to let him know how much him having her wand was worrying her, but she had no qualms with letting him know how pissed off she was. "How am I supposed to trust you? You're the one being accused of being a terrorist, not me." Rubbing her forehead and feigning a headache, she exhaled wearily. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? It's not every day you find out your..." she gesticulated to him, not entirely sure what to call him - friend? Associate? Long-time-ago ego boost? "...could be romping around the country underneath one of those masks. It's my job, I'm supposed to be suspicious of these things." Shrugging, she relaxed her hostile stance. As much as she still wanted to sock him one for taking her wand and still not handing it back, she was fully aware that getting into an argument with him and losing his trust altogether wasn't going to help her out, if she ever needed to worm a few pieces of information out of him. Just because she hadn't been able to dose him on veritaserum tonight didn't mean she would never get another chance; she had to regain his trust, keep reinforcing their friendship, and then she'd try again. And the next time, she'd succeed. Sitting back down onto the sofa, she pressed her palms together and rested them against her legs. "Truce?" she offered, giving him a resigned, subdued smile. "Come on, you're the only tease I've got." Stan pointed at Charlotte with her own wand, "You got yourself ridiculously drunk, and you wanted me to rip your shirt open. Stop acting like I raped you, for goodness sake." Just as earlier when Charlotte was flashing quite a bit of cleavage, Stan did not trust her apology. However, much the same as Charlotte wanting to keep Stan in good favour in case she needed information, Stan equally thought that having one Auror on his side might come in handy. He had half a mind to kill her with her own wand, snap it in two and send her corpse back to her husband. Despite himself, killing her was not something he wanted to do right away. If he was pushed, he might have to in the future. If he could help it, he wouldn't bother. Perhaps he could just injure her somehow? No. It really would be easier to have her alive and on his side than dead and a repeated message to the Ministry. Dead Aurors were so last year. "Tease?" He scoffed, twiddling her wand between his fingers, "Last time I checked, you were the tease. You left me high and dry while you passed out, drooling on my pillow. Class act, you are." Still, he smiled. Even if it was just a little one. She raised her brows and gave Stan A Look - she did not drool. "And so what if I am?" she answered, crossing her legs and straightening her pencil skirt. "Never heard you complaining yet." With veritaserum out of the question - which was a serious set back, because now she still didn't know whether to trust him or not, and Charlotte wasn't used to not getting exactly what she wanted - there wasn't a whole lot she could achieve tonight. He was still guarded and acting as paranoid as anything. The most she could hope to do was regain his trust a little bit, and to keep working on rebuilding it, until she was in a place to exploit him again. It wasn't as though she had come away completely empty handed from this. "So do you still need sympathy?" she asked dubiously, clearly not impressed by this idea. "Because you should really grow a set." "I complain frequently," Stan corrected her, pointing her wand at her. He smirked and went back to twiddling, quietly enjoying the idea that maybe, under her cold, composed exterior, Charlotte was scared. It was an interesting development, if not a welcome one. Giving her a look that mirrored her own disgust, he said, "I have a pair. You should know. They have not gone anywhere since you last checked." Waving Charlotte's wand a few times and emitting streams of sparks, he concentrated on those instead of looking at her smug face, "Pardon me for caring what the public think of me. I do not have a spouse or a child to say 'Their opinion is all that matters,' so the public opinion is the only one that seems to." "It certainly shaped your opinion of me fairly quickly." Her eyes on her wand, she frowned as though she had just realised he still had it. "I like believing the worst in people. Shouldn't surprise you," she explained offhandedly, bouncing her foot idly. In truth, it was hard to know what to believe right now - was he showing off with his wand because he wanted to remind her he had it and he wasn't hesitant to use it? Because if so, that wasn't exactly doing anything to improve her opinion of him. Or was he genuinely innocent, and just disgruntled from the sudden turn against him? Deciding to play it like she was leaning towards the latter explanation (even though she still felt like stunning him - granted, slightly problematic right now - and forcing veritaserum down his throat), she held her hand out in a relaxed manner. "That's mine," she reminded him mildly. "Yes, it is." He agreed, studying it curiously, "I like it. Bit small, but so obedient. Unlike you. I suppose I won it fair and square when I disarmed you, so it will work for me willingly." Stan flashed a smile at Charlotte, savouring her confusion. "You see, I am not sure if I trust you now. That tends to happen when people try to spike my drink." Stan made a face, a 'Isn't that the damndest thing?' expression, coupled with a shrug. "How do I know if I give this back that you won't just use it against me?" Irritated now, she returned his smile with a prominent scowl. "You telling me you can't defend yourself?" she suggested, a mocking tone creeping into her voice. "Here's the thing, we're not made for idle chitchat and I've exhausted my quota of concern for the month. As soon as you give that back to me, I'm going home to put my little boy to bed." Nevermind that she couldn't remember the last time she'd put Geoffrey to bed and that Malcolm had more than likely done it by now, but there was a glass of wine with her name on it waiting in her kitchen. "So you can give it back and we can stop pretending like we're good at this small talk crap, or you can hold onto it and I'll press charges in the morning." She shrugged and smiled deviously, a part of her slightly relieved to be playing games with him once again; it was what she knew, and she was happy to cling to familiarity. "Your choice, gorgeous." With a groan and a fucksake muttered under his breath, Stan heaved himself up from his chair. He walked over to the door, ran his wand along it and opened it wide enough to let it bang loudly against the wall. He gestured to her to leave and threw her wand onto the path outside his house. "Thank you for stopping by, you really did make me feel so much better." He spat, "Do me a favour and forget where I live, Greene, because you are not welcome here any more." Unfazed by his abrupt display of anger - it wasn't the first time she'd annoyed him, and she doubted it'd be the last - she walked past him to stand in the doorway, still on the threshold of his house. "Let me know when you've gotten over yourself," she told him cheerily, his bad mood buoying her up. "You're no fun when you're stressed." Walking outside and closing the door behind her, she picked up her wand, wiped it on the hem of her skirt and Disapparated, feeling strangely successful despite not being able to interrogate Travers. She'd forgotten how much fun it was to truly piss him off. |