fic post
Title: Nebulous
Author: corvidae9
Rating: PG13 (language)
Word Count: 2475
Summary: Eloise talks to her neighbor again. In a manner of speaking.
Author's Notes: ChapterPart three of the Gloaming, aka Eloise Midgen and the Neighbor of Doom soap opera Series. Reading Part One and Part Two is definitely recommended, as they've become more hopelessly part of a whole than I'd originally intended. I may also have to give up on the atmospheric titles if they go on much longer. :D erm, also freely admit the egregious MarySueism of our Ms. Midgen, but insist that she's still entirely canon until somebody proves me wrong.
Sunday Night
Face down on her sofa again, wine bottle gripped firmly in hand, Eloise realized that she had a serious problem. Her schoolday archnemesis was now her downstairs neighbor and he had no idea that he was her archnemesis. This necessss... necces... this called for another sip of wine.
Raising the bottle sloppily, she came to the rather rude conclusion that it was empty and she was nowhere near passing out. Horrified by the prospect of another long night listening to the red-headed wonder boy and his conquest of week, Eloise stood, determined to find another bottle.
Or rather, she attempted to stand, but fell wobbling back onto the sofa with a mad giggle. Three tries later and finally upright, she smoothed her hair with large, clumsy motions and headed into her small kitchen.
An increasingly frantic search though her refigerator, cupboards and cabinets, and even drawers resulted only in an increase in frequency and vehemence of the swearwords she was now more than muttering under her breath. Not a drop to be had. Ron Weasley would shortly be shagging some ridiculous slag loudly and resoundingly and there might even be some of those nifty orange sparks, and there was no alcohol to be had in her flat.
Slamming shut the silverware drawer with a loud, metallic crack, she growled through her crooked haze and decided to take matters into her own hands. It was time for Eloise Midgen to stop being a victim. Dammit, she was a Grif...Gryff... Gryfflinclaw, and for good reason. Gryffindor. Absolutely. That's what.
Eloise wound her scarf around her neck with much difficulty; finally giving in and standing in front of the much-hated mirror to get it right. She stopped and stared at her reflection for a moment, having trouble remembering which parts were still crooked, and was sure that the alcohol was tricking her into seeing a symmetrical reflection and smooth skin. Finally pulling away even more angry than she had been, she threw open the door to her flat and marched down the stairs, humming the Gryffindor fight song.
###
Had Ronald Weasley been paying attention, he in fact have heard the commotion upstairs, but being preoccupied with other matters, he missed it entirely.
That is, until the banging began.
Purely on instinct, he shot from his seat wand in hand and approached the door from an offset angle, whispering a spell to cause the wall to become transparent one-way. As the plaster and wood faded, he could make out a woman at his door, wound in layers of red and gold scarf, but no overcoat; pounding furiously, even as she shivered in the cold.
Exhaling heavily, he relaxed a bit, knowing from experience that the worst consequence of this encounter might in fact be a slap to the face; possibly (hopefully) an ill-aimed kick, and a few verbal attacks on his manhood and parentage. Grinning wickedly, he opened the door as graciously as possible, still holding his wand in his pocket on the off-chance of larger trouble.
The woman looked familiar, but with the scarf wound around her mouth and nose, and her brow furrowed so deeply, it was hard to tell. Ron liked to think that if she'd been a good... friend... he would have remembered her regardless. But still-- there was something...
As the woman raised her fist to knock despite the absence of the door, Ron made the connection.
"Eloise...?"
There was some muffled swearing (or rather, he thought it could be swearing) from the woman, whose hands were now planted on her hips. Or rather were for a moment, as they left their perch almost immediately and began gesticulating wildly.
"I can't... I can't understand? Sorry." Sighing, Ron reached over and pulled the scarf away from her face as quickly as possible, and was rewarded by a blast of wine-soaked epithets.
"...mn you, Ronald Weasley. If you can't keep it in your pants, the least you could do is learn stronger silencing spells and keep from letting off those damn annoying sparks and what the bloody hell are those about anyway? And now I've become a drunken sot and it's your bloody fault that I am and now I've nothing to drink because you've gone and made me drink it all. Bloody bastard. Worse than when you were my nemss... nemem... my enemy at school-- you actually had to COME AND MOVE INTO MY BUILDING. Have you nothing to say for yourself, git?"
Stunned speechless, Ron opened and closed his mouth once or twice before settling on, "Ermmm...."
Eloise took a half-step forward and poked Ron hard on the shoulder, repeating the motion as a kind of tangible punctuation mark. "See?! That's what I'm talking about! 'Erm'. 'Erm' - Oh yes, what a very compelling argument! Shall I swoon now or later? Directly onto the bed or will you catch me dramatically on my way down? Oh wait, you won't catch me, because I'm hideous and not nearly good-looking enough for one bloody fucking fit-as-hell Ronald B... B--- Whatever Weasley. WHICHEVER ONE YOU ARE!"
Gasping for breath, Eloise glared at Ron, or rather hoped she was, as he was a bit fuzzy, and a little wet around the edges now.
Ron's jaw had dropped at some point in time during her tirade, his mouth now hanging open unashamedly. He'd found out later that she'd been hurt by what he'd said about her fourth year; but really, that had been so long ago... Harry'd had to remind him when Ron Flooed him about his oddly familiar neighbor. How could she still be harboring a grudge?
"Eloise, I..."
"Don't talk to me. Ever again. And you owe me a bottle of wine at least, as now I've not enough and you're to blame." Belatedly, it occurred to her that Ron might have company, and Eloise smirked a bit as she craned her neck around the open door, hoping to catch sight of a horrified girl in a compromising position. Finding none, she turned back and found herself peering at Ron from far too close for comfort. She took a hasty step back, stumbling slightly, catching herself on the door frame, eyes wide as the enormity of what she'd done began to seep in. "I'm... s... I'm leaving now."
Finally connecting the shock on his face and the words that had tumbled from her mouth, Eloise turned and ran yet again, fumbling only slightly with the lock at the foot of her stairs.
Ron followed, pulling at her left elbow as she wrestled with the door. "Eloise, wait... Bloody hell, would you stop?"
Eloise struggled to pull her arm from his grip, tears running freely now down her cheeks, mumbling something akin to "leave me alone" in answer to his repeated entreaties to stop, but Ron was relentless in his fake sympathy. Dropping the keys in her right hand, she turned and slapped him hard. As hard as she'd ever hit anyone, truth be told, and he released her immediately. In a new and threatening voice, she growled into the silence, "Leave it," retrieving her keys and letting herself in with no further incident. Eloise ran up the stairs and collapsed onto her bed, still too angry and drunk to be truly horrifed by her actions. That would come later.
Ron stood staring at her door holding a hand to his stinging cheek for quite some time after Eloise disappeared. He finally realized that the cold was beginning to seep into his house slippers, and trudged back indoors, confused.
###
The alarm was sounding more loudly than usual, it seemed, and Eloise knew that if she didn't get up within the next two minutes, the volume and annoyance factor would only increase until she did.
The vein at her temple currently throbbing to the tempo of the alarm reminded her to sit slowly, while chastising her for such behavior on a work night. Good thing the alarm clock was spelled to be audible within the room, as otherwise, her neighbor would surely be tired of hearing it... her Behavior. Last night. her Neighbor.
Oh. Sweet Circe. Dropping her head forward onto her hands, Eloise exhaled hard as flashes of her run-in with the neighbor played over and over in her mind's eye. She'd gone completely around the twist. Gotten pissed on her last bottle of wine, possibly more, and had actually marched down to have it out with Ron Weasley. And good gods. Eloise had actually hit him. Him.
Groaning at her own stupidity and impending arrest for assault, she flicked her wand at the alarm to shut it off, succeeded instead in causing it to explode in an impressive display of shredded wood and brass.
To that, all she could do was mutter something unintelligible and stumble into the shower.
###
Eloise had come up with all manner of plans for an apology by the time she was dressed and ready for work. She'd pushed and prodded and combed and made herself up into her daily persona, but still found herself standing with her hand on the doorknob for a long moment unwilling to face the world.
Drawing on an unknown reserve of courage, she opened the door to find a bottle of wine on her welcome mat, and shook visibly as she reached for the note attached.
Eloise,
Here's that bottle of wine, though I fear I owe you
much more than this.
I'm truly sorry. For everything.
Ronald Weasley
Staring at the note a moment longer before straightening and bringing the bottle inside, Eloise shucked off her business robes and murmured "Finite Incantatem" at her elaborate updo before Flooing in sick. Her boss told her to rest and get well with genuine concern. Allowing herself a small smile, Eloise was sure that he was secretly afraid she might be dying. It was the only sick day she'd taken in just over a year.
###
Ron had just dropped his coat onto the rack and was in the process of removing the trappings of adult life when a timid knock on the door caught his attention. Opening the door, he couldn't help but smile.
"Good evening. Won't you come in?"
Willing herself to neither stutter nor shake, Eloise kept her eyes riveted on the bottle of wine held tightly in her hands. "Hullo. Sorry. No. I. I'm just really sorry. Please, take this back. I just wanted to let you know that I'll be moving out shortly. I spent the day researching and I think I've found a flat that will be available next week, and..." She broke off, embarassed, but retaining her composure as she held the bottle out further. "I just wanted to say that I was out of line and I hope I didn't hurt you and I'm sorry. Please, just take it back."
Ron grinned, biting his tongue as Hermione had advised. "Hurt me? Not at all. I think I may have deserved that. Granted, a bit late, but better late than never, yeah? Good arm, though."
Shaking her head, fighting a rising tide of nausea at his seemingly unshakable good nature, she said, "Please. Just take the bloody bottle back so I can get to packing. I can't. I just can't."
Gritting his teeth against the need to tell her to piss off, Ron smiled again. "Not really moving are you?"
"For Godssakes take the bloody goddamned bottle before I chuck it at you!"
Harry's tale of woe and Hermione's lecturing were officially thrown out of the proverbial window, as Ron's temper flared. "Alright, that's it. You're an adult, act like it. At least when I'm pissed, I don't bring my troubles to random bloke that offended me ages ago. Hell, if I did that, I'd beating Malfoy upside his pointy face every time I caught sight of the ferret. The point here is that if I warped your formative years that bloody badly, I truly apologize, and have therefore extended the offer to come in, have a drink and let bygones be bygones, but if you insist on being a right stroppy cow and giving up your life because that same random bloke happens to live downstairs, then good riddance and how the bleeding hell were you a Gryffindor?"
Gesturing with the bottle, Eloise flushed a deep crimson as she spoke. "You?! You haven't changed one bloody bit! You're still the same shallow bastard you always were, except now I have to watch you parade one tramp after another in and out of this place and damned if I care what the hell it is that you do with your time and energy, but the least you could do is keep it to your damnable self! But no! NO! I've got to deal with the moaning and giggling and BLOODY ORANGE SPARKS! What the hell is that about anyway? Master some more bloody advanced wards, would you?"
Face gone a true Weasley red to match that of the rabid girl on his doorstep, Ron shouted right back. "You couldn't have just walked down here and said something? And give me that bloody wine before you crack my head open with it. And they're not tramps!"
Laying hold of the flailing bottle of wine, Ron tried to yank it out of Eloise's hands, but was surprised when it slipped right out of his grip.
Eloise held the bottle to her chest. "No bloody way. You know, you're right. It's mine. I'll need it to forget this encounter too. Two weeks, Weasley, and you'll be free of me. I'd hate to inflict my crazed, deformed self on you any longer than necessary."
Ron ran a hand through his hair, staring at her as if she had grown a second head. "Brilliant. I'll do my best to avoid your pleasant company." Reaching to slam the door, he added acidly, "You know, you're mental. Raging mental disease, is your problem. Shame, now that your face is all straightened out, too. Goodnight, Eloise."
Scandalized, Eloise slammed her open hand on the door. "Mental? I'm MENTAL?" Sputtering, grasping for what exact bit of sanity she could point to at the moment, she settled for an old standard. "Sod off!"
The door slammed and Eloise flinched only slightly before trudging up the stairs again. Drained from the encounter that only went about five million times as badly as she had hoped, she sat and contemplated actually drinking the evil wine. Finally deciding against it, she crawled under her blanket, book in hand and hoping not to have to interact with any human ever again. Or at least for the remainder of the evening.
Half past one AM, she finally drifted off, partially through her second book of the evening; wine bottle unopened, stomach growling it's frustration over a neglected dinner into a cold and spark-free room.
Author: corvidae9
Rating: PG13 (language)
Word Count: 2475
Summary: Eloise talks to her neighbor again. In a manner of speaking.
Author's Notes: ChapterPart three of the Gloaming, aka Eloise Midgen and the Neighbor of Doom soap opera Series. Reading Part One and Part Two is definitely recommended, as they've become more hopelessly part of a whole than I'd originally intended. I may also have to give up on the atmospheric titles if they go on much longer. :D erm, also freely admit the egregious MarySueism of our Ms. Midgen, but insist that she's still entirely canon until somebody proves me wrong.
Sunday Night
Face down on her sofa again, wine bottle gripped firmly in hand, Eloise realized that she had a serious problem. Her schoolday archnemesis was now her downstairs neighbor and he had no idea that he was her archnemesis. This necessss... necces... this called for another sip of wine.
Raising the bottle sloppily, she came to the rather rude conclusion that it was empty and she was nowhere near passing out. Horrified by the prospect of another long night listening to the red-headed wonder boy and his conquest of week, Eloise stood, determined to find another bottle.
Or rather, she attempted to stand, but fell wobbling back onto the sofa with a mad giggle. Three tries later and finally upright, she smoothed her hair with large, clumsy motions and headed into her small kitchen.
An increasingly frantic search though her refigerator, cupboards and cabinets, and even drawers resulted only in an increase in frequency and vehemence of the swearwords she was now more than muttering under her breath. Not a drop to be had. Ron Weasley would shortly be shagging some ridiculous slag loudly and resoundingly and there might even be some of those nifty orange sparks, and there was no alcohol to be had in her flat.
Slamming shut the silverware drawer with a loud, metallic crack, she growled through her crooked haze and decided to take matters into her own hands. It was time for Eloise Midgen to stop being a victim. Dammit, she was a Grif...Gryff... Gryfflinclaw, and for good reason. Gryffindor. Absolutely. That's what.
Eloise wound her scarf around her neck with much difficulty; finally giving in and standing in front of the much-hated mirror to get it right. She stopped and stared at her reflection for a moment, having trouble remembering which parts were still crooked, and was sure that the alcohol was tricking her into seeing a symmetrical reflection and smooth skin. Finally pulling away even more angry than she had been, she threw open the door to her flat and marched down the stairs, humming the Gryffindor fight song.
###
Had Ronald Weasley been paying attention, he in fact have heard the commotion upstairs, but being preoccupied with other matters, he missed it entirely.
That is, until the banging began.
Purely on instinct, he shot from his seat wand in hand and approached the door from an offset angle, whispering a spell to cause the wall to become transparent one-way. As the plaster and wood faded, he could make out a woman at his door, wound in layers of red and gold scarf, but no overcoat; pounding furiously, even as she shivered in the cold.
Exhaling heavily, he relaxed a bit, knowing from experience that the worst consequence of this encounter might in fact be a slap to the face; possibly (hopefully) an ill-aimed kick, and a few verbal attacks on his manhood and parentage. Grinning wickedly, he opened the door as graciously as possible, still holding his wand in his pocket on the off-chance of larger trouble.
The woman looked familiar, but with the scarf wound around her mouth and nose, and her brow furrowed so deeply, it was hard to tell. Ron liked to think that if she'd been a good... friend... he would have remembered her regardless. But still-- there was something...
As the woman raised her fist to knock despite the absence of the door, Ron made the connection.
"Eloise...?"
There was some muffled swearing (or rather, he thought it could be swearing) from the woman, whose hands were now planted on her hips. Or rather were for a moment, as they left their perch almost immediately and began gesticulating wildly.
"I can't... I can't understand? Sorry." Sighing, Ron reached over and pulled the scarf away from her face as quickly as possible, and was rewarded by a blast of wine-soaked epithets.
"...mn you, Ronald Weasley. If you can't keep it in your pants, the least you could do is learn stronger silencing spells and keep from letting off those damn annoying sparks and what the bloody hell are those about anyway? And now I've become a drunken sot and it's your bloody fault that I am and now I've nothing to drink because you've gone and made me drink it all. Bloody bastard. Worse than when you were my nemss... nemem... my enemy at school-- you actually had to COME AND MOVE INTO MY BUILDING. Have you nothing to say for yourself, git?"
Stunned speechless, Ron opened and closed his mouth once or twice before settling on, "Ermmm...."
Eloise took a half-step forward and poked Ron hard on the shoulder, repeating the motion as a kind of tangible punctuation mark. "See?! That's what I'm talking about! 'Erm'. 'Erm' - Oh yes, what a very compelling argument! Shall I swoon now or later? Directly onto the bed or will you catch me dramatically on my way down? Oh wait, you won't catch me, because I'm hideous and not nearly good-looking enough for one bloody fucking fit-as-hell Ronald B... B--- Whatever Weasley. WHICHEVER ONE YOU ARE!"
Gasping for breath, Eloise glared at Ron, or rather hoped she was, as he was a bit fuzzy, and a little wet around the edges now.
Ron's jaw had dropped at some point in time during her tirade, his mouth now hanging open unashamedly. He'd found out later that she'd been hurt by what he'd said about her fourth year; but really, that had been so long ago... Harry'd had to remind him when Ron Flooed him about his oddly familiar neighbor. How could she still be harboring a grudge?
"Eloise, I..."
"Don't talk to me. Ever again. And you owe me a bottle of wine at least, as now I've not enough and you're to blame." Belatedly, it occurred to her that Ron might have company, and Eloise smirked a bit as she craned her neck around the open door, hoping to catch sight of a horrified girl in a compromising position. Finding none, she turned back and found herself peering at Ron from far too close for comfort. She took a hasty step back, stumbling slightly, catching herself on the door frame, eyes wide as the enormity of what she'd done began to seep in. "I'm... s... I'm leaving now."
Finally connecting the shock on his face and the words that had tumbled from her mouth, Eloise turned and ran yet again, fumbling only slightly with the lock at the foot of her stairs.
Ron followed, pulling at her left elbow as she wrestled with the door. "Eloise, wait... Bloody hell, would you stop?"
Eloise struggled to pull her arm from his grip, tears running freely now down her cheeks, mumbling something akin to "leave me alone" in answer to his repeated entreaties to stop, but Ron was relentless in his fake sympathy. Dropping the keys in her right hand, she turned and slapped him hard. As hard as she'd ever hit anyone, truth be told, and he released her immediately. In a new and threatening voice, she growled into the silence, "Leave it," retrieving her keys and letting herself in with no further incident. Eloise ran up the stairs and collapsed onto her bed, still too angry and drunk to be truly horrifed by her actions. That would come later.
Ron stood staring at her door holding a hand to his stinging cheek for quite some time after Eloise disappeared. He finally realized that the cold was beginning to seep into his house slippers, and trudged back indoors, confused.
###
The alarm was sounding more loudly than usual, it seemed, and Eloise knew that if she didn't get up within the next two minutes, the volume and annoyance factor would only increase until she did.
The vein at her temple currently throbbing to the tempo of the alarm reminded her to sit slowly, while chastising her for such behavior on a work night. Good thing the alarm clock was spelled to be audible within the room, as otherwise, her neighbor would surely be tired of hearing it... her Behavior. Last night. her Neighbor.
Oh. Sweet Circe. Dropping her head forward onto her hands, Eloise exhaled hard as flashes of her run-in with the neighbor played over and over in her mind's eye. She'd gone completely around the twist. Gotten pissed on her last bottle of wine, possibly more, and had actually marched down to have it out with Ron Weasley. And good gods. Eloise had actually hit him. Him.
Groaning at her own stupidity and impending arrest for assault, she flicked her wand at the alarm to shut it off, succeeded instead in causing it to explode in an impressive display of shredded wood and brass.
To that, all she could do was mutter something unintelligible and stumble into the shower.
###
Eloise had come up with all manner of plans for an apology by the time she was dressed and ready for work. She'd pushed and prodded and combed and made herself up into her daily persona, but still found herself standing with her hand on the doorknob for a long moment unwilling to face the world.
Drawing on an unknown reserve of courage, she opened the door to find a bottle of wine on her welcome mat, and shook visibly as she reached for the note attached.
Eloise,
Here's that bottle of wine, though I fear I owe you
much more than this.
I'm truly sorry. For everything.
Ronald Weasley
Staring at the note a moment longer before straightening and bringing the bottle inside, Eloise shucked off her business robes and murmured "Finite Incantatem" at her elaborate updo before Flooing in sick. Her boss told her to rest and get well with genuine concern. Allowing herself a small smile, Eloise was sure that he was secretly afraid she might be dying. It was the only sick day she'd taken in just over a year.
###
Ron had just dropped his coat onto the rack and was in the process of removing the trappings of adult life when a timid knock on the door caught his attention. Opening the door, he couldn't help but smile.
"Good evening. Won't you come in?"
Willing herself to neither stutter nor shake, Eloise kept her eyes riveted on the bottle of wine held tightly in her hands. "Hullo. Sorry. No. I. I'm just really sorry. Please, take this back. I just wanted to let you know that I'll be moving out shortly. I spent the day researching and I think I've found a flat that will be available next week, and..." She broke off, embarassed, but retaining her composure as she held the bottle out further. "I just wanted to say that I was out of line and I hope I didn't hurt you and I'm sorry. Please, just take it back."
Ron grinned, biting his tongue as Hermione had advised. "Hurt me? Not at all. I think I may have deserved that. Granted, a bit late, but better late than never, yeah? Good arm, though."
Shaking her head, fighting a rising tide of nausea at his seemingly unshakable good nature, she said, "Please. Just take the bloody bottle back so I can get to packing. I can't. I just can't."
Gritting his teeth against the need to tell her to piss off, Ron smiled again. "Not really moving are you?"
"For Godssakes take the bloody goddamned bottle before I chuck it at you!"
Harry's tale of woe and Hermione's lecturing were officially thrown out of the proverbial window, as Ron's temper flared. "Alright, that's it. You're an adult, act like it. At least when I'm pissed, I don't bring my troubles to random bloke that offended me ages ago. Hell, if I did that, I'd beating Malfoy upside his pointy face every time I caught sight of the ferret. The point here is that if I warped your formative years that bloody badly, I truly apologize, and have therefore extended the offer to come in, have a drink and let bygones be bygones, but if you insist on being a right stroppy cow and giving up your life because that same random bloke happens to live downstairs, then good riddance and how the bleeding hell were you a Gryffindor?"
Gesturing with the bottle, Eloise flushed a deep crimson as she spoke. "You?! You haven't changed one bloody bit! You're still the same shallow bastard you always were, except now I have to watch you parade one tramp after another in and out of this place and damned if I care what the hell it is that you do with your time and energy, but the least you could do is keep it to your damnable self! But no! NO! I've got to deal with the moaning and giggling and BLOODY ORANGE SPARKS! What the hell is that about anyway? Master some more bloody advanced wards, would you?"
Face gone a true Weasley red to match that of the rabid girl on his doorstep, Ron shouted right back. "You couldn't have just walked down here and said something? And give me that bloody wine before you crack my head open with it. And they're not tramps!"
Laying hold of the flailing bottle of wine, Ron tried to yank it out of Eloise's hands, but was surprised when it slipped right out of his grip.
Eloise held the bottle to her chest. "No bloody way. You know, you're right. It's mine. I'll need it to forget this encounter too. Two weeks, Weasley, and you'll be free of me. I'd hate to inflict my crazed, deformed self on you any longer than necessary."
Ron ran a hand through his hair, staring at her as if she had grown a second head. "Brilliant. I'll do my best to avoid your pleasant company." Reaching to slam the door, he added acidly, "You know, you're mental. Raging mental disease, is your problem. Shame, now that your face is all straightened out, too. Goodnight, Eloise."
Scandalized, Eloise slammed her open hand on the door. "Mental? I'm MENTAL?" Sputtering, grasping for what exact bit of sanity she could point to at the moment, she settled for an old standard. "Sod off!"
The door slammed and Eloise flinched only slightly before trudging up the stairs again. Drained from the encounter that only went about five million times as badly as she had hoped, she sat and contemplated actually drinking the evil wine. Finally deciding against it, she crawled under her blanket, book in hand and hoping not to have to interact with any human ever again. Or at least for the remainder of the evening.
Half past one AM, she finally drifted off, partially through her second book of the evening; wine bottle unopened, stomach growling it's frustration over a neglected dinner into a cold and spark-free room.