RP: Short notice

[pb_rabastan]

Characters: Rabastan Lestrange & Pansy Parkinson
Location: The apartment/respective --> Pansy's apartment
Date: 26th April 2000
Status/Warning: Private/swearing
Summary: News gets around fast
Completion: Incomplete

Comments

[pb_pansy]

"Then let's go to the table." Pansy stood. "I do understand that you and Rodolphus are war criminals. I do! It's only difficult to believe either of you would harm me." She wasn't completely sure of Rodolphus but thought he would have killed her already had he meant to do it. "I didn't run from either of you. I ran from werewolves. I also had to get back to my business. It was nearly ruined when I returned from having been away so long while shops were placing orders for summer." Pansy pouted. "I'd spent most of the money I earned as a Muggle model on this flat and setting up my business. I know I have what you allowed me to keep of Tony's funds but that won't last indefinitely. I had to get back to work," she whinged with a little touch of panic in her voice.

Pansy nodded curtly. "In that case, my response to your question of whether or not your nephew was included in my statement should have been to pretend you had asked rhetorically. I had already given my opinion on boys. I'm not going to start lying to you. I shall remain silent on the subject." Of course he'd stand up for Draco even though her former friend had insinuated to other people she'd been posing for pornography despite her doing no such thing. If Draco wanted to drag her down to make himself feel better she couldn't stop him. As always she was expected to keep her hurt feelings to herself. "Let's not quarrel. I hate when we're at odds. Come eat."

[pb_rabastan]

The phrase 'stark raving mad' was on the tip of Rabastan's tongue, held back only by 'pot, kettle and black'. Although he reassured himself with the knowledge that he, his brother and Bellatrix had not been jailed for trespassing on private property -- fourteen years earned you the right to that frame of mind. What was her excuse? Standing, he shrugged. "You're safe from us until we decide you're not," he said quite matter-of-factly. For some people Lestrange loyalty just happened over time, for the rest, it had to be bought. And the moment their services were no longer of use, connections could be severed. Rabastan had never liked loose ends. "The sympathy vote," he shook his head, eyebrow arched, "It doesn't work on me."

"We're always at odds," he pointed out, "Aside from our House and blood status, there is nothing about us that is ever even." Nothing that he could think of anyway. "And--" He waved one cigarette-laden hand around in a bemused arc. "--why do women always insist on using the term 'boy' for men they don't like? You're the same age as him." Nevertheless, he was following the last suggestion.

[pb_pansy]

"Sympathy vote?" Pansy stared at him blankly. "I'm not sure why you think I want sympathy. I did what I needed to do. Surely you, of all people, can understand that." She didn't understand him sometimes. Pansy didn't want him to feel sorry for her. She only wanted him to know why she left them. If she'd known they'd be gone so long she wouldn't have agreed to go with them. She would have been responsible and told him no. On the other hand, he was so very handsome, she had difficulty denying him anything.

"Stop teasing. You know we get along fabulously. You might be right about things not being even. Still, it isn't my fault I can walk around in public. I can be useful to you that way, you know." He needed someone like her that he could depend on. He asked about boys and she started to answer before stopping herself. "That's another one of those tongue-in-cheek questions you don't really want me to answer." Pansy was proud of herself for spotting it this time.

She began pushing dishes his way. "Try the tenderloin. It's divine."

[pb_rabastan]

Shrugging again, he tucked the cigarette into the corner of his mouth. "Fine. Then just don't pout at me," he answered. Any tactic employed by daughters to get around their fathers left him quite unmoved. Unless said father was a prat and the result was hilarious. Some of the girls of Slytherin house had been known to guilt their fathers into almost anything. Yet another reason for never marrying. No evil mastermind spawn.

"It's not my fault either," he muttered, glancing down at where his Mark would have been visible had he not had it thoroughly inked over. You couldn't expect a business to be successful if the management was a half-blooded, lying bastard. But the lady had a point, as much as he hated to admit it. He couldn't continue to be quite so cocky regarding security. Lips curving slightly in amusement at the remark about his question, Rabastan nodded. "It was. But having been subjected to it at least once in my youth, it would be interesting to know the answer." If she declared that boys became men the moment they developed manners, he'd laugh.

"Thank you." Hesitating, Rabastan quickly drew his wand and Vanished his entire cigarette. It was rude to smoke at the table.

[pb_pansy]

"Pouting? I wouldn't pout at you, Rabastan." Pansy fluttered her eyelashes.

"No, it's not your fault." He couldn't help being a fugitive. Not unless he wanted to turn himself in, that was. Pansy certainly didn't want him to do that. She'd never be allowed to visit him in prison. Rabastan said he was interested in an answer to his question. Pansy looked at him not sure it wasn't some sort of trick. Deciding it wasn't, she replied. "It's the level of maturity. I don't believe that men talk publicly about women or girls in ways that can damage their reputations, at least gentlemen don't. I suspect that some level of Quidditch changing room humor goes on at a ladies expense even among men but they're mature enough to understand that their claims and speculations would be hurtful or cause problems for the woman if spread about. Boys don't care who they hurt as long as they have their fun."

"Would you prefer brandy instead of the wine?" She wanted him to have whatever he wanted.

[pb_rabastan]

At that declaration, Rabastan just snorted his amusement. At least she was entertaining. It would irk him later that she had successfully made him forget his irritation over her escape.

He should have appreciated it really, but for some reason the fact Pansy agreed that the fault was not his just fed Rabastan's disbelief that she had no problem socialising with him. If one could call this socialising. Who was he kidding? Of course it was his fault. He wasn't a fugitive for wearing a dodgy tattoo, he was a fugitive for murdering and torturing countless people then getting broken out of Azkaban by 'colleagues'. True to form, he just shifted the blame wherever it suited him the most at any given time.

Her answer actually made him think for a moment. Memories of things he considered to be a trivial nature that occurred before Azkaban were hazy, and if he were honest, Rabastan would have to admit he could remember whether he'd ever said anything potentially damaging about any young lady while he was still considered a 'gentleman'. Not directly, anyway. "So boys cannot grow into men until they learn to tailor their conversation appropriately?"

"If it's not too inconvenient." He tried not to choke at his own response. Rod would be in fits if he'd heard that.

[pb_pansy]

Pansy didn't like feeling as if she always missing something. She used to be the leader of her gang of girls. Now she was almost always floundering. "Conversation isn't all, I suppose. It's important, I think. Oh, I don't know. I thought so many things that are turning out not to be true at all." She thought she and Draco would get back together. She thought Draco was a gentleman. She thought Blaise was a gentleman. She thought wrong.

"Not at all. You're my guest. I want you to be happy. Gully, bring Mr Lestrange the brandy bottle," she directed. "Please help yourself."

[pb_rabastan]

"No, but how a man - or boy - conducts himself in public or even among his closest friends can say a lot about them." Rabastan paused to think that over, trying not to smirk. What in Merlin's name did it say about him? It said nothing about Rodolphus. His brother's social filter had long since died. The only difference was the degree of violence that came with his words. "Without meaning to sound patronising--" A lie. "--you're still young. You have years of that kind of disappointment ahead of you."

"I don't do 'happy'," he confessed. He never really had. There had been moments when he definitely thought life was good, but the dictionary definition of happy was something apparently beyond his reach. Not that he cared much. It was just a word and he had better things to be doing. "Thank you." As per usual, the first glass was drained in a matter of seconds.

[pb_pansy]

Pansy sighed. She knew he didn't mean to sound patronizing but he did. "I'm beginning to grasp that. I don't think it's very nice of you to point it out. Women like to think there is a Mr Right waiting around the corner."

"You should though. You really should." She reached for his arm to pat him. "Rabastan, I do so want for you to be happy." She wanted to be the one to make him happy. Pansy withdrew her hand. She didn't want to annoy him and she noticed he often became annoyed with her when she clung to him. She picked up her fork to nibble on her dinner to prevent herself from fondling him.

"Can you at least tell if you'll be staying around for awhile or will you be leaving again soon?" She missed him when he was away.

[pb_rabastan]

"M'not talking about Mr Right," Rabastan said with an arched eyebrow, "I meant in general, but far be it from me to stop you from depressing yourself."

"Why? It's just another few degrees for my mood to fall." It was inconvenient. "'Sides, apparently a wise man said you find happiness when you're not looking for it," he snorted. "But I think that only works if your hobbies are fairly... passive." And, really, he supposed he was actually fairly content. Now wasn't that an interesting revelation. His tattoos shifted almost uneasily as she reached for his arm, the snake from his back emerging from his rolled up sleeves to 'see' what was going on. The ivy retreated to seek sunlight elsewhere. Rabastan looked on in mild amusement.

"No." He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Because I don't know. It depends on Rodolphus." This was his brother's crusade, not his. He was only there to try and keep Rod alive. Those were sentiments he very nearly voiced, but thought better of it. He didn't want people thinking his brother was any sort of liability, even if Pansy had witnessed his behaviour first hand.

[pb_pansy]

Pansy looked at him blankly. "Are you saying that, in general, men and boys will always be disappointing?" She didn't want to be depressed. She didn't want to be disappointed. This was all Draco Malfoy's fault. If he'd only got back with her like he was supposed to, they would be planning their wedding right now. If Blaise would have seen he had a proper chance with her if he'd only act like a gentleman instead of a cad, they could be happy together. If Rabastan could only realize how attracted she was to him and see her as more than a little girl, she was sure they could have a torrid love affair. It its own way, a more enticing idea than marriage because it would leave her free to continue with her fashion design and do as she pleased when they weren't making hot, passionate love.

"That's rubbish. You have to make yourself happy unless you're lucky enough to find someone who will help you," like she wanted to help him. That would make her happy too.

Rodolphus. She knew better than to say depending on Rodolphus seemed a dangerous thing to do. The brothers Lestrange had a bond she wasn't going to meddle with. Not that either would let her. "You should eat." Pansy slid another dish closer to him. "Am I right to think that I should stay indoors on the night of full moons from now on?"

[pb_rabastan]

"What? No." Another brandy was called for. If only because he'd realised he actually used the phrase 'Mr Right' in a serious conversation. "Life is. It has very little to do with boys and men." He swilled the brandy around the glass for a moment before knocking it back. "And boys disappoint you regardless, so what do you care?" It wasn't that he wanted to burst any romantic bubble Pansy may be living in, he just couldn't deal with having to be on the other end of that kind of discussion. Life is fucked, move on. Nothing to see here.

Rabastan tilted his head to one side, an almost mournful smile ghosting across his lips before immediately fading again. "We tried that little crusade. I ended up in prison." He regarded Pansy with a degree of interest for a moment. Why she bothered speaking to him at all was beyond him. "Have you ever met a Dementor? Really met one?" He wasn't trying to drag up old wounds, and he certainly wasn't looking for sympathy. But it was hard to 'make yourself happy' after fourteen years of playing with the bastards.

Biting his tongue before he voiced her likeness to Till regarding persistence, Rabastan did at he was told. He had cleared half a meal while considering the answer to Pansy's question. It ought to be a simple answer. But. "You are. But if the mood takes them, the walls will be nothing more than a hindrance." His tone remained perfectly casual; after all, he was telling her nothing that she couldn't work out for herself eventually. "Perhaps you should look into making the wards on your premises a little more aggressive." Or lethal.

[pb_pansy]

"I care because I want to be happy. I deserve to be happy." Even Mudbloods and blood traitors were happy these days. She certainly deserved it more than they did.

"Not personally. I've been around a Dementor though. They were on the train to Hogwarts and around the grounds the year that Sirius Black person escaped Azkaban." They made her feel as if she'd never be happy again. It was awful.

"I set all the wards you taught me and told me to before. Do I need more? I don't know any more. Will you help me? I am dreadfully afraid of werewolves." She'd probably not have run off despite needing to see to her business if she hadn't been positively frantic once she knew they would be gathering werewolves.

[pb_rabastan]

"Not that I'm disagreeing with you, but how did you figure that one out?" Rabastan shrugged with one hand and shook his head. He was far too jaded to have this conversation with someone who clearly still held a lot of hope. "People don't get what they deserve, they get what comes along at that specific moment in time."

"Yeah, well he's dead now," he stated with a smirk. Killed by an archway. Now that was how to go out. "I like Dementors as long as they're annoying someone else. Removing someone's soul -- that's hard to top." But he'd love to try.

"Those were intended for Fenrir," he pointed out. And there was only one of him. They were bringing in packs. "And I hate them in general, but what can you do?" There was little he could do past what he had already done. The wards he'd initially given her were stronger than they needed to be for one wolf and anything stronger risked drawing the Ministry's attention. Instead, he shrugged in a manner that was almost apologetic but mostly half-arsed.