A change is evident in one so belligerent.
Date: Thursday, Sept. 7th
Time: 5pm-ish
Place: The Leaky Cauldron
Characters Involved: Lavender Brown, Marcus Flint
Rating: Ok so R, for implied actions and obvious language.
“Marcus do this, go fucking do that. Kiss my arse, Marcus, so everyone sees.” Marcus grumbled under his breath as he weaved through thinning crowds that were shopping in Diagon Alley.
With a large brown bag strapped diagonal over his chest, over plain black robes, he shifted along the street in a hurry from having to be there in the first place. His feet were sore from the new shoes his Father purchased for him a few days ago, having only been worn this day. The first day he started work. He had been highly angry at his Father’s purchase the minute he started working as his Father’s personal assistant under the Department of International Magical Cooperation, under the Trading Standards Body division, because his shoes were not fit for his job. They would do nicely worn as one sat at a desk and did papers, but that was his Father’s job. His title as assistant meant only one thing, he was the errand boy, the delivery boy, the one handling all sorts of grunt work from filing papers to traveling all over on special orders. He was nothing more than a servant. And of course he hated every grueling minute of it.
But Marcus couldn’t find anything else to cover the second rule of a Flint man. A Flint man must work to provide for himself and secure a fortune that was lost. Marcus hated his family’s history, ever since his Father drilled it into his mind when he was very young.
‘Marcus, the Flint lineage goes back a long time, but lost are the records and the fortune of our breed. If we are to recover and become, once again, a name with a meaning, we will have to do whatever it takes to rebuild. You are my heir, and it will be your responsibility until the very last breath you take. Work hard, save every penny, and do what it takes to repay the debt bestowed upon us.’
It was too bad the last of the lineage was resting on one so lazy and uncaring as Marcus. He actually wanted to see his family name crumble, just to cripple his own Father. But he had no mind to actually do it. Marcus did lust after fortune, as any man does, and wouldn’t see the spoils of his Father’s hard work until it was bequeathed to him by written will, or an assigned arrangement. His Father was a greedy man, but if Marcus worked, his money was his own, except for ten percent; the charge to live without expenses under his Father’s roof.
Now his shift was over, a most horrendous day that Marcus struggled to accomplish. Some out of mental frustrations to be his Father’s slave, and another because he was sore all over, and the labor of his job was taking its toll. He couldn’t find one area of his body that didn’t ache. But he wasn’t so out of shape from laziness that made it hard to handle. The sore limbs and trembling muscle were caused by not only a fistfight with an old school rival, but also because of the punishment he received for the fight. His Father had allowed minor healing potions and pastes, but only after a full day- so the pain could reap memories that lasted forever.
He didn’t know when he would feel like his old self again, or if he ever would. The walls of restriction were caving on him again, to be a mindful son and keep his behavior in check. But it was something he already knew how to do, from years of hardship. Rome, however, had made him forget his boundaries. He remembered them well now, and his Father had made sure of that.
Now, off the time clock, he worked through last minute errands that would have to be finished before he could go home, because his Father had demanded it. And all he wanted to do was sit down and relax. Something he hadn’t done since a very short lunch break earlier.
A stool and an ale would be a sweet release before he would travel home, after hurrying through his chores. With errands done, and his spirit officially zapped, Marcus pulled up a seat inside the Leaky Cauldron at a table, with a large pint, and collapsed without so much as a thought. The ale was almost halfway gone within three breaths, following his descent into an uncomfortable chair.
He leaned back with his drink in one hand, his bag on the floor below him, and his feet on another chair, and dreamed of no tomorrow.
Time: 5pm-ish
Place: The Leaky Cauldron
Characters Involved: Lavender Brown, Marcus Flint
Rating: Ok so R, for implied actions and obvious language.
“Marcus do this, go fucking do that. Kiss my arse, Marcus, so everyone sees.” Marcus grumbled under his breath as he weaved through thinning crowds that were shopping in Diagon Alley.
With a large brown bag strapped diagonal over his chest, over plain black robes, he shifted along the street in a hurry from having to be there in the first place. His feet were sore from the new shoes his Father purchased for him a few days ago, having only been worn this day. The first day he started work. He had been highly angry at his Father’s purchase the minute he started working as his Father’s personal assistant under the Department of International Magical Cooperation, under the Trading Standards Body division, because his shoes were not fit for his job. They would do nicely worn as one sat at a desk and did papers, but that was his Father’s job. His title as assistant meant only one thing, he was the errand boy, the delivery boy, the one handling all sorts of grunt work from filing papers to traveling all over on special orders. He was nothing more than a servant. And of course he hated every grueling minute of it.
But Marcus couldn’t find anything else to cover the second rule of a Flint man. A Flint man must work to provide for himself and secure a fortune that was lost. Marcus hated his family’s history, ever since his Father drilled it into his mind when he was very young.
‘Marcus, the Flint lineage goes back a long time, but lost are the records and the fortune of our breed. If we are to recover and become, once again, a name with a meaning, we will have to do whatever it takes to rebuild. You are my heir, and it will be your responsibility until the very last breath you take. Work hard, save every penny, and do what it takes to repay the debt bestowed upon us.’
It was too bad the last of the lineage was resting on one so lazy and uncaring as Marcus. He actually wanted to see his family name crumble, just to cripple his own Father. But he had no mind to actually do it. Marcus did lust after fortune, as any man does, and wouldn’t see the spoils of his Father’s hard work until it was bequeathed to him by written will, or an assigned arrangement. His Father was a greedy man, but if Marcus worked, his money was his own, except for ten percent; the charge to live without expenses under his Father’s roof.
Now his shift was over, a most horrendous day that Marcus struggled to accomplish. Some out of mental frustrations to be his Father’s slave, and another because he was sore all over, and the labor of his job was taking its toll. He couldn’t find one area of his body that didn’t ache. But he wasn’t so out of shape from laziness that made it hard to handle. The sore limbs and trembling muscle were caused by not only a fistfight with an old school rival, but also because of the punishment he received for the fight. His Father had allowed minor healing potions and pastes, but only after a full day- so the pain could reap memories that lasted forever.
He didn’t know when he would feel like his old self again, or if he ever would. The walls of restriction were caving on him again, to be a mindful son and keep his behavior in check. But it was something he already knew how to do, from years of hardship. Rome, however, had made him forget his boundaries. He remembered them well now, and his Father had made sure of that.
Now, off the time clock, he worked through last minute errands that would have to be finished before he could go home, because his Father had demanded it. And all he wanted to do was sit down and relax. Something he hadn’t done since a very short lunch break earlier.
A stool and an ale would be a sweet release before he would travel home, after hurrying through his chores. With errands done, and his spirit officially zapped, Marcus pulled up a seat inside the Leaky Cauldron at a table, with a large pint, and collapsed without so much as a thought. The ale was almost halfway gone within three breaths, following his descent into an uncomfortable chair.
He leaned back with his drink in one hand, his bag on the floor below him, and his feet on another chair, and dreamed of no tomorrow.