Date: February 28th, 2005
Characters: Willis Travers, Vincent Crabbe
Location: Streets of Stoatshead Hill
Status: Semi-Public (it being an open street, and all)
Summary: Willis is wandering, runs into a Mr. Crabbe. HRM.
Completion: Complete
(
You remind me of someone, boy. )
"I'm more than sure," Vincent snapped back. "And those who look they just crawled out of a grave, and sound like they never so much as heard of an education, shouldn't be passing judgement. If you think I'm anything like my father, I wonder if you really knew him at all."
Sneering, he contemplated the man. Not quite the image one held of those who were comrades of Voldemort. He couldn't picture any of the pureblood elite who had bought into his cause being chummy with this scum of the earth. But, he supposed one always needed henchman to do their bidding, he just didn't know how the other men had stomached someone like this being associated with their cause
Oh, he had made the right choice not joining up with them, for so many reasons.
"And, mister Travers," he emphasized the title sarcastically, "I have one sentiment for you, and one sentiment only: fuck off." He clenched a fist in his coat pocket, resisting the urge to use it. "You don't need to worry about knowing my father again - the man's deader than the dark lord, and for a few years longer."
"You don't need to worry about knowing me either of course. I do think that any connection you think might have existed between us is officially done," Vincent continued with a tight smile. "Unlike my father, I'm not sympathetic to the 'cause', horrific failure though it was - and I feel no comraderie with you."
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"Got nowhere to be off to, just now. An' if I recall correctly, your father was a right arse, and you've got that same charm about you. Different color, maybe, but there it is." Willis had no intention of walking off, not while the kid kept talking. It was entertaining to him, gave him something to do. And it almost had its use in terms of news, though he didn't give much of a damn that Crabbe had gone and died.
"Am I to take it you didn't see fit to follow your esteemed father, then?" He wasn't surprised, but then, he hadn't really considered it. "You'd have liked it, smart boy like yourself. They'd've liked you." That was, if the boy could make himself useful. Gods knew whether that was true or not, but seemed like he might have the streak for it.
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And, he counted his father among that group. If Travers thought he would argue the point on his father, he was sadly mistaken.
"For all they would have liked me, I sincerely doubt I would have liked them," Vincent replied with a smirk.
"Fortunately I've got somewhere to be off too," Vincent continued, determined to be off - even back to Copper Towers beat standing around conversing with the man. "I'd say it's been a pleasure, getting to know one of my father's old cronies, but I can assure you it hasn't."
Knowing Travers would have nothing to say it was worthwhile to hear, even if he managed to make sense, Vincent turned on his heel and left abruptly, having no desire to establish any sort of permanent acquaintance. If he got lucky, the other man would be too out of it to remember they had ever really met.
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"There goes a most accomplished young man," he remarked aloud, laughing again. That was what the boy seemed to think anyway, but Willis though different. It was the way the boy looked that mattered. Fuck. None of that really mattered.
He remained where he was for a few minutes more before shaking himself into moving on. As lovely entertaining as that'd been, it'd passed, and he was ready to have a look at something else.
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