Molly, her things freshly stowed in her dorm, had wandered out and about. She'd put on her workout clothes--old sweats, a T-shirt of Theo's, and mismatched Converse--and tied her hair up with a shoelace. Her samurai sword was slung across her back, and she was searching for someplace out of the way to practice with it.
Sounds like there's a party going on in there.
She'd come across an open door--to what, she had no idea; this place was like a giant maze--and, despite the Narrator, despite her twitchiness, stuck her head in.
"Hello?" she called, taking in the crowd--it looked like another common room, possibly Ravenclaw, judging by the colors. "Maid service! You want fresh laundry?"
Eddie Brock entered the scene, his face twisted by lines of bitterness but a twinkle of innocence still remaining in his eyes that he could never frown off. He was having a rough time, and had come to the bar to unwind, but it seemed like it was not the place right now. He spotted Molly poking her head in, and smiled at her question.
"We're going to be needing some by the time the night is over, miss." He smiled warmly at her. "But I doubt you're going to want to TOUCH the dirty laundry. God knows what will be on it over the course of this party." He saw the sword, and raised and eyebrow. "But you don't look like any maid I've seen around here. They're usually shorter, and less visible."
And less whackjob, the Narrator finished. Go on, be social. It will amuse me.
Ignoring him, Molly smiled and stepped fully into the room. "I can believe it," she said, looking around at the throng. "I'm Molly," she said, extending a hand. "I just got here, and I have no idea how anything works around here. Can I even be in here? It looks like another House's common room." The Doctor had certainly been right on one point--there seemed to be all kinds here, and she thought she recognized several people from her Sorting.
"Depends...what house are you in? I must have missed your sorting." Eddie said regretfully, taking her hand in his bony, pale one, and shaking it. "This is the Ravenclaw Common area - the most fun one, for obvious reasons." Eddie nodded at the bar, indicating the origins of his opinion.
"Gryffindor," she said. "And I can see why it would be--we haven't got a bar," she reflected, as though this were a major shortcoming.
You really think you'd be good on the piss? the Narrator laughed. Come on, Molly, you're out of it enough as it is.
"Oh, shut up," she snapped. "Not you," she added to Eddie, giving him a slightly flustered smile. "I think I need a drink, how about you?" Maybe if she drowned him in enough booze, the Narrator would shut up, or at least be less obnoxious.
Eddie blinked at the quick schizophrenic break, but thought nothing of it. Compared to half the people in the room, she was the most normal one. Hell, he wasn't exactly average himself. Although he was piss-poor when it came to talk to girls.
"Well, you'll always have a bar as long as I'm here to let you in, so don't feel too bad." He shrugged, as he unbuttoned his signiture leather jacket and gestured to the bar. "I'm Eddie Brock, nice to meet you - I'm a REAL Ravenclaw, believe it or not. Would you like me to show you how good the bar here is?"
"I think I'd like that," she said, shifting the sword so it wouldn't take out anybody's kneecaps as she went by. "Do you guys have parties in here a lot?" She had no idea what was 'normal' for this place; maybe it was like some of the colleges back home (not that she'd ever been to college, but she'd heard stories).
It had been a while since she'd tried to talk to a guy. Theo didn't count--she'd known Theo for ages, through all her trips to County. Some of the conventions were a little rusty, but she was surprised to find she could still do it.
She seemed a bit nervous, and he could sort of sense it on her by the way she carried herself. He pulled out a stool for her, ushering her to sit down, taking his own seat next to her.
"Well, I'm pretty new here too...so I don't know if parties like this happen that often." He surveyed the crowd, and grinned at her sheepishly. "But hell, I wouldn't mind it! It reminds me of my old University!" The one of course, where he was a full-time wallflower, but he wouldn't mention that. "Care for a drink?" He asked, pouring himself a glass from a bottle of Firewhiskey he found sitting on the bar. "Pretty sure you can find just about anything here." He eyed some bottles on the wall.
"What're you having?" she asked, sitting down and sliding the sword beneath her feet. She'd never been much of a drinker, but she was always open to trying new things--hell, after Mavis' fruitcake, she could take just about anything.
"I haven't been in a bar since Christmas," she said, and laughed. "We've only got one bar in town back home, and it's run by this woman named Mavis Sand--every Christmas she makes 'fruitcake', which as she says is basically enough cake and fruit to hold the pharmaceuticals together. Every year it puts at least four people in detox."
See? Normal conversation. Not hard at all.
"So where did you go to University?" she asked, munching a pretzel from the tray on the bar.
"Well, here, try some Firewhiskey." He grabbed a fresh glass and poured it to be about half-full, or half-empty. The drink had a magical punch to it unlike the typical Muggle whiskey, and Eddie had grown fond of it on lonely nights. He winked at her. "If that old fruitcake didn't put you in detox..." He took a sip. "This will.
He looked down and thought. His past, combined with his fragmented memories, was a blur. It was so far away now. "I come from New York City, specifically Empire State University, known for its prestige in beerology and bad smells. You?"
See? Normal conversation. Not hard at all, Eddie told himself, not being a social guy himself.
Molly took a swig and promptly choked, coughing as she set the glass back down. "No kidding," she croaked, swallowing again. "Definitely has a certain something to it, doesn't it?"
She drummed her fingers on the polished bar counter, as the warmth of the alcohol moved through her. "Beerology, huh? Is that a technical term?" She smiled, shaking her head. "I never went to college--I landed a role in a B-movie when I was nineteen, and starred in that series for another eight years, until one of the stunts went wrong and my bra cut me." She paused, knowing as ever how bizarre it sounded, but it was true. "The producers didn't want a scarred lead, so they fired me."
Wow, Molly. That was almost...intelligible. Good job.
"Oh, shut it," she hissed under her breath, hoping Eddie wouldn't hear.
"Shut it?" He chuckled. "I wasn't going to make fun of you." He blushed a bit, trying to avoid taking a peek to see if he could see the scar. "Must've been quite the bra. Guys must've been all over you." Avoiding his urge to fantasize about her, he stuttered. "S-so...movies? I can't say beerology took me anywhere famous...but wow, MOVIES!" He wondered if he should ask for an autograph. Then again, that'd probably annoy her, and that was somewhere he didn't want to go. "That's like, cooler than my cool. And I'm pretty cool." He joked.
"Oh--not you," she said, flushing. "I was, ah...talking to someone else. As for the movies...well, they were B-movies, only released overseas, mostly. I didn't get any real attention in America until years later, when a Sea Beast made my town famous and they re-released the movies onto DVD--then I did get a few fanboys." She didn't mention that most of them were young enough to be her children, by now.
"Well, can I join the rank of fanboys? I haven't seen your movies but I'm liking what I'm watching right now." He laughed, trying not to sound overly flirtatious. Figuring the firewhiskey was already going to her brain, he pulled out a bottle of butterbeer from the shelf and handed it to her.
"Here. If you're not a beerology major like me, this butterbeer will do. It's another magical drink, particularly tasty and no alcohol. Not that I'd try to get you drunk otherwise." Smiling, Eddie lost himself in the reflections in his own glass, and noticed something.
"Say...that sword...is that meant for anyone in particular?" He'd been really paranoid lately, but he had to be sure it wasn't for him. Something within him begged it.
Whoa, too much input, especially after the alcohol. Was he hitting on her? Normally it would have annoyed the hell out of her, but there was something almost endearingly ingenuous about him. She didn't have the heart to tell him she was probably at least fifteen years older than him.
"I...well, I've got some copies somewhere," she said, recalling how even a few years ago she thought everyone was a 'fan' who wanted a piece of her soul. "They're pretty cheesy, though." She sipped the butterbeer, enjoying the warmth of the firewhiskey that lingered in her veins. "As for the sword--I just practice with it. I learned a lot of broadsword work for the movies, and afterward learned katas--it keeps me in shape, and it's a lot of fun."
"I like cheesy things." He said, an image of cheese doodles popping in his mind. "But hey, the sword thing is pretty cool. It might come in handy what with giant lizards and evil wizards roaming the school. And no, I don't count as either." He shook his head, taking a drink.
Sounds like there's a party going on in there.
She'd come across an open door--to what, she had no idea; this place was like a giant maze--and, despite the Narrator, despite her twitchiness, stuck her head in.
"Hello?" she called, taking in the crowd--it looked like another common room, possibly Ravenclaw, judging by the colors. "Maid service! You want fresh laundry?"
Nice intro, nutjob, the Narrator snorted.
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"We're going to be needing some by the time the night is over, miss." He smiled warmly at her. "But I doubt you're going to want to TOUCH the dirty laundry. God knows what will be on it over the course of this party." He saw the sword, and raised and eyebrow. "But you don't look like any maid I've seen around here. They're usually shorter, and less visible."
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Ignoring him, Molly smiled and stepped fully into the room. "I can believe it," she said, looking around at the throng. "I'm Molly," she said, extending a hand. "I just got here, and I have no idea how anything works around here. Can I even be in here? It looks like another House's common room." The Doctor had certainly been right on one point--there seemed to be all kinds here, and she thought she recognized several people from her Sorting.
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You really think you'd be good on the piss? the Narrator laughed. Come on, Molly, you're out of it enough as it is.
"Oh, shut up," she snapped. "Not you," she added to Eddie, giving him a slightly flustered smile. "I think I need a drink, how about you?" Maybe if she drowned him in enough booze, the Narrator would shut up, or at least be less obnoxious.
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"Well, you'll always have a bar as long as I'm here to let you in, so don't feel too bad." He shrugged, as he unbuttoned his signiture leather jacket and gestured to the bar. "I'm Eddie Brock, nice to meet you - I'm a REAL Ravenclaw, believe it or not. Would you like me to show you how good the bar here is?"
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It had been a while since she'd tried to talk to a guy. Theo didn't count--she'd known Theo for ages, through all her trips to County. Some of the conventions were a little rusty, but she was surprised to find she could still do it.
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"Well, I'm pretty new here too...so I don't know if parties like this happen that often." He surveyed the crowd, and grinned at her sheepishly. "But hell, I wouldn't mind it! It reminds me of my old University!" The one of course, where he was a full-time wallflower, but he wouldn't mention that. "Care for a drink?" He asked, pouring himself a glass from a bottle of Firewhiskey he found sitting on the bar. "Pretty sure you can find just about anything here." He eyed some bottles on the wall.
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"I haven't been in a bar since Christmas," she said, and laughed. "We've only got one bar in town back home, and it's run by this woman named Mavis Sand--every Christmas she makes 'fruitcake', which as she says is basically enough cake and fruit to hold the pharmaceuticals together. Every year it puts at least four people in detox."
See? Normal conversation. Not hard at all.
"So where did you go to University?" she asked, munching a pretzel from the tray on the bar.
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"Well, here, try some Firewhiskey." He grabbed a fresh glass and poured it to be about half-full, or half-empty. The drink had a magical punch to it unlike the typical Muggle whiskey, and Eddie had grown fond of it on lonely nights. He winked at her. "If that old fruitcake didn't put you in detox..." He took a sip. "This will.
He looked down and thought. His past, combined with his fragmented memories, was a blur. It was so far away now. "I come from New York City, specifically Empire State University, known for its prestige in beerology and bad smells. You?"
See? Normal conversation. Not hard at all, Eddie told himself, not being a social guy himself.
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She drummed her fingers on the polished bar counter, as the warmth of the alcohol moved through her. "Beerology, huh? Is that a technical term?" She smiled, shaking her head. "I never went to college--I landed a role in a B-movie when I was nineteen, and starred in that series for another eight years, until one of the stunts went wrong and my bra cut me." She paused, knowing as ever how bizarre it sounded, but it was true. "The producers didn't want a scarred lead, so they fired me."
Wow, Molly. That was almost...intelligible. Good job.
"Oh, shut it," she hissed under her breath, hoping Eddie wouldn't hear.
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"Here. If you're not a beerology major like me, this butterbeer will do. It's another magical drink, particularly tasty and no alcohol. Not that I'd try to get you drunk otherwise." Smiling, Eddie lost himself in the reflections in his own glass, and noticed something.
"Say...that sword...is that meant for anyone in particular?" He'd been really paranoid lately, but he had to be sure it wasn't for him. Something within him begged it.
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"I...well, I've got some copies somewhere," she said, recalling how even a few years ago she thought everyone was a 'fan' who wanted a piece of her soul. "They're pretty cheesy, though." She sipped the butterbeer, enjoying the warmth of the firewhiskey that lingered in her veins. "As for the sword--I just practice with it. I learned a lot of broadsword work for the movies, and afterward learned katas--it keeps me in shape, and it's a lot of fun."
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"So how'd you end up here? Any clue?"
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