RP: To the victors belong the spoils

[shh_arabella]

Date: 7 July 2005
Characters: Arabella Figg, many others (will add later)
Location: Stoatshead Hill Quidditch pitch
Status: Semi-private (open to all pairs from the end of the BBBB race)
Summary: The racers and the people whose bonnet they captured have their own picnics around the Quidditch pitch (or elsewhere if they wish)
Completion: Incomplete

Comments

[shh_vincent]

Vincent stood around the finish line, holding the visor he had grabbed from the pole, watching the end of the race. The two who had got snagged by the bushes were the last to cross, and he snorted at the woman's - Bell, he thought - ire with the man, before turning away. He almost left outright, setting the visor down for someone else to grab - but he was here, and he was bored, and he was rather hungry, so there was really no point. Although he was having a hard time imagining a scenario where it would be an anjoyable afternoon.

He could always just get up and leave in the middle anyway - but he'd already befriended so many people in town, he was hesitant to do that.

Grateful to see Marietta's favour was indeed the one he had thought it was, claimed by the last female across the line, he looked around at the elderly woman's announcement to see whom he would be spending some forced time with. Perhaps if he were truly fortunate she would at least by a former Slytherin - though that meant little now a days. He had seen Lisa Turpin in the crowd, and although he would hardly own to it, wouldn't mind if she came forward. Escaping the ministry's claws for these past few months had been a nice relief, but at the same time there was a slight hesitation there in declaring that when it came to her.

He held up the visor so it was noticeable, and hoped that he hadn't managed to acquire another meal with Greg in the process as well, seeing the former 'Goyle' standing off to the side. Really, right now, the options weren't looking splendid with those he knew of with baskets. But he begrudgingly admitted he didn't know them all.

[shh_orla]

Orla saw the bloke holding her visor, and swallowed. He looked less than welcoming, and she could't help but wonder why he'd bothered racing if he didn't want to socialize. It was the only reason she'd volunteered to put one together, really: to meet new people. She had a suspicion this was the infamous Vincent Crabbe that Marietta had mentioned, and had to remind herself of the lesson she learned the hard way with Rabastan: people aren't always what tehy seemed. Besides, Marietta didn't like Harry, and Orla adored him, so maybe she'd get along with him. Assuming he was Vincent.

She finally approached him, still somewhat hesitant, but determined to make a good impression. "Hello. It seems you grabbed my visor, so I guess we'll be having lunch together." She phrased it as a bit of a question, unsure if he'd want to eat or just take the basket and go. She smiled brightly, mostly to cover her nerves. This was why she made herself do these things, to get past her reluctance to meet new people outside work.

[shh_vincent]

Vincent turned to find a shorter bespectacled woman approaching him. He had no idea who she was - which in this case, he was going to take as a positive sign. She looked hesitant, but at least not annoyed, so that was a step in the right direction. "I did," he said, handing it back to her, "I didn't have a prearranged one to aim for - having little clue the race worked this way exactly." Not that he would have had a prearranged one even if he had bothered to familiarize himself with the details.

He held out a hand to her, wishing he could not change out of the casual clothes he had changed into for the race, feeling the trickle of sweat down the back of his neck, "Vincent Crabbe. And you are? Names might help if we will be having lunch." He was reserving judgement for now, and hoped to Merlin she had something cold to drink in her basket.

[shh_orla]

Orla took the visor, then took his hand. "Orla Quirke. Nice to meet you." She looked around, trying to decide where to set out the food, then shrugged. There was as good a place as any. "Right then."

She took the folded cloth she'd draped over the top and used an enlargement charm on it, giving enough room for two people to perch on it. She set the basket down, and knelt, opening it up and pulling out the spinach pie, potato salad, pasta salad, mince pie, and bavarian creme pie, which she'd bought from the market, having no baking skills whatsoever. She pulled out two thermos of cold tea, shrunk, and enlarged to normal size. She hoped something would look appetizing for him.

"So, Mr. Crabbe, this is what you've gotten from the race." She smiled, then began fixing a plate of food, trying to keep her hands busy. She chattered while she did so. "I've not seen you around before. Have you been in Stoatshead long? I live down River, across from River place. You might have seen it, there's a sign out front that says Quirky Thoughts." She gave a self-deprecating shrug. "Cheesy, I know, but its what I do. Therapist and counselling. And yourself?" She handed him a plate and unscrewed a thermos for him to drink from.

[shh_vincent]

Vincent grabbed the thermos first, taking a long sip of the cold tea that was inside. "By all that is magical, call me Vincent," he said, equilibrium restored after the drink. He did have a strong aversion to being called by what he considered his father's title.

He had to glance around for a moment - to ensure to himself that he was really sitting outside on a picnic blanket of all things, after participating in a race that sounded like something someone practically ancient would have invented. It felt like some fictional event from a book or wireless program. An idealistic little setting where everyone got along without strife, and lived in blissful harmony. He had to stop himself from snorting as he turned back to Orla.

Though she was babbling, a trait he found not particularly endearing. "Long enough," he replied, picking up his own plate, "months even. I'm not particularly social, so that would explain things, as would the fact I've never had to have my head examined - though there are those who would suggest it is needed. And even more that I think would benefit from your expertise."

Not his idea of a career - listening to people whine about their problems all day. Because all the talking in the world couldn't exactly change someone's personality and problems. Besides, if they were fucked up, strong potions were likely of more help than discussing feelings, he thought with disdain. But he was hardly going to say that to Orla.

"I'm a potions expert, for lack of a better term, though researcher would suffice," he told her, picking up some of the pasta salad and putting it on his plate, "and part time author - though I've had little inclination that way recently." He smirked at her further rambling, responding in kind and giving his stats like an potion ingredients list, "and I used tolive at Copper Towers, which you may have seen, though my own home now, thank Merlin."

Trying to search around for an inane question - after all, it seemed the theme of the day really - he mirrored one of her own, "Have you been in town long? It does seem most predate me here - though I hardly see why everyone flocked to Stoatshead, though at least in your case it provided you with a rather...needy patient base, I'm sure."

[shh_orla]

"Ok, Vince." Orla said agreeably. She could tell the ambience, however you'd call it, was lost on him, but to each their own.

She listened to him for a moment, picking a bit at her food. She wasn't particularly hungry, though if she didn't eat what she brought, it wouldn't look good. "A lot of people in Stoatshead haven't had to visit me professionally." SHe felt the need to point out. "Though it's no shame to the ones who do. Sometimes just having someone willing to listen is the best cure-all."

She took a bite of the spinach pie, and washed it down with a sip of tea. "What area of potions do you specialize in? I mean, I know there are specializations within most fields. I tend to research memory, whenever I can." She bit her tongue at his seeming cooperation, and said brightly, if only to annoy him, "Copper Towers? So you must know Marcus! I believe that's where he lives. Though I can appreciate having your own place, especially with the work you do." Less likely to hurt anyone else in the experiments, she thought.

"I moved in last November, but had to leave on a family emergency for a while. I've been around regularly since the end of March." She looked around, seeing the variety of wizarding families and their pets. She said thoughtfully, "I imagine that after the war people wanted to go someplace that didn't remind them of all they'd lost, like Diagon Alley, or Hogwarts." She shrugged. "The people I see are no better or worse than the ones that don't take advantage of counselling. The biggest difference is they're the ones ready to deal with their problems."

[shh_vincent]

"I don't have a particular area of specialization," Vincent told her, happy to side step a few of the particulars about her work. Therapy wasn't shameful, but he didn't understand it himself, and thought any effect was entirely psychosomatic - though he supposed that hardly mattered in the end. If people thought rambling to somebody else about their problems solved things, it would, and it hardly mattered if it had basis in anything else. "Though potions development in general is what I work on."

"I've been working on a potions equivalent of the imperio," he told her, taking a bite of the salad, "since I came back to town, but that's been it. Otherwise my interest is more general."

In answer to her question, he shrugged, "I've met Marcus, though not there. We're both former Slytherins, and met at a meeting put on by Slughorn. Do you know him then? We're not that well acquainted. A house though - it's a worthwhile investment, and I would recommend it. For size if nothing else to live in, and those flats aren't exactly high end. But it's been a relief to have room for a lab again as well - my flat's kitchen was hardly adequate."

Vincent paused after a sip of his drink, "Does that rest really ring true though? Those who don't seek counselling are perhaps ready to deal with their problems, they're just ready to do it on their own. There are those who would prefer to deal with issues without incessant talking to someone else, and baring their soul and all that rot - and it works for them, and makes them stronger to work through it on their own. And those are people with legitimate issues, not imagined. They're ready to deal with their problems - just not the way you'd suggest, or prefer. "

[shh_orla]

"To what end though? I mean, it would be a fascinating bit of research, but to make an unforgivable untraceable through a potion... sounds a bit dangerous." She took a bite of the potato salad, her brow furrowed as she though on the particulars of such a potion.

She felt her face get red, and gave a quick snort. "Yes, I know Marcus. I'm a bit clumsy, and he had to save me from myself once. Nice man, one you get past the masculine posturing. But I might say that about anyone I've met, really." She realized how that sounded, and went on hastily, "I live above my office, so I understand the need for space. Not that I need a lab, but a place separate for patients is helpful."

She took another bite of pie, thinking hard on his words. "I would agree with you, except it would be like me making up my own potion to try and fix my clumsiness. Its good in theory, but I don't have the expertise to know if it really will work. And while I'm not suggesting I'm super experienced, I've seen and studied enough to be able to decipher people well enough beyond their own self-diagnosis." She looked at him. "Talking things out might not be everyone's style, but getting a second opinion on the veracity of your own assessment is never a bad idea."

She set her plate down and shifted, tucking one leg underneath her. "I have no preference on how people deal with their problems, and I know traditional therapy isn't for everyone. That's why there are support groups, and self-help books. But the bedrock idea of therapy is that a burden shared is a burden lessened. Even if I disagree about the severity of the burden, it's not my place to judge. People are complex creatures, and I've learned to take them on a case by case basis."

She grinned then. "Of course, there are some who would say people who go into therapy need it as much as their patients, so really, there's no limit to how messed up a person can get."

[shh_vincent]

"Does posterity count as an 'end'?" Vincent remarked with a snort, "But it is hardly going to change the face of the world if successful. Right now people can just pull out their wands and cast one. It will be more untraceable, of course, but the end effect is the same as the spell. But after publication of it's development, with of course no step by step instruction for making - yes, I am assuming success - it's formula will be handed over to the Ministry.

When Orla looked over at him after her one statement, he almost thought it was pointedly. "Are you intimating anything, Orla?" He raised his eyebrows in tolerant amusement, "I hardly think we've been acquainted long enough for you to doubt that my self awareness is anything but accurate, or to think that I have 'issues'."

Vincent dished himself out only a little bit of the spinach pie, thinking of the caloric content, and the fact he wasn't fond enough of it to not care. "I suppose I won't argue with all the rest then - most people, a number higher than I thought possible, find sharing neccessary for them. To each their own, but some are more than willing to do it on the drop of a hat."

"I will tip my hat to you," he remarked, "if you can stay non judgemental - and not tell them to impale themselves on their wands with some of their ridiculous neuroses. It takes either an infinite amount of patience I don't think is possible, or," he smirked, "some nice mood altering potions not to go insane yourself. But, like you've said, it takes a certain level of psychoses yourself to take them seriously. No insult intended, of course." The last part was slid in easily as he took a sip of his drink.

A smirk slid out at her previous comment, "Really Orla, I doubt we're all that annoying. Besides, for every male prone to posturing, there are three more almost indistinguishable from the, how shall we say it, fairer sex."

[shh_orla]

"I suppose so. I guess experimental magic makes me a bit nervous, because I'm likely to deal with the end result, if a person gets traumatized." She shrugged, and continued eating as she listened.

"I don't know. Is there something to insinuate?" She asked, with a bit of a smirk, before looking down. "I make no assumptions about your self-awareness, but nor do I assume you don't have issues. Everyone does. Whether they can hande them is another story." She took a drink from her thermos, quickly casting a charm on both their glasses to cool the tea, as it was getting very warm.

"You'd be surprised how many people come to a counselling session because someone else wants them to. And how many walk away with a better perspective because they let someone else inside their head for a bit. It's only as effective as you want it to be, really. Some take a bit more prodding to share, though there are some who spill it quickly, as you say."

She stretched her legs out in front of her, scratching at her knee absently. "Since I don't ascrible to the self-medicating route you seem to think necessary to do my job, I must be a saint. But it's more a personality thing, I think. It works for me because I don't have a very dramatic personal life to have to keep separate from my work. I guess you'd say my work is my life now. And my cats, but they're much lower maintenance than Miles was." She winced. The last thing she wanted to start parading in front of a stranger was her recently divorced status.

"Really, Vince, if you didn't mean that as an insult, you wouldn't have felt the need to defend yourself. You can be honest. You think I'm as much a head case as the people who see me." She grinned. "Nothing I haven't heard before. Marcus thinks my job is to fuc-fiddle with people's heads, and he's probably right. Still, you'd get a sounding board if you thought a potion was going to need extra help, wouldn't you? That's all I am."

"Oh, I don't think all men are annoying. If I did, I would have become a lesbian a long time ago." She said blithely. "I just know my luck in relationships with guys, straight or otherwise, isn't something to inspire people."

[shh_vincent]

"I would agree that it is exactly like that - as effective as you want it to be," Vincent agreed, taking a sip of the tea she had recooled, "therapy has no basis in magical theory, no basis in science, no basis in anything, but yet it helps people. To me it's like a placebo in the way it functions."

"And," he continued, "though I wouldn't phrase it as crudely as Flint, I won't disagree with his assessment. Some of the people who come to see you tend - and yes, I know not all, we don't need to get into that debate - are weaker of mind. Not all therapy is just listening, and you do fuck around with people's minds, especially those who have less self reliancy coming in. With the right person and the wrong therapist - someone can come out more fucked up than they went it."

He gave a bark of laughter at her words, before saying, "I didn't mean it as an insult, hard as it is to believe. I know only too many who would take umbridge at my words - despite them having suggested it first. In case you've never noticed, being the keen observer of the human condition that you are I doubt that is the case, people tend to take offense all too easily."

"As for myself, with my strictly unprofessional opinion, I can hardly comment as to the state of your sanity," he shifted as he spoke, trying to get more comfortable as he was hardly used to sitting on the ground for a picnic, "though first impression leads me to believe you are one of the saner people I have met - save of course for your rather oddball career choice."

He raised his thermos to her in mock salute, "Though - you've found a way to make a good living, have you not? There are few professions, few honest ones especially, where you can be paid for only services rendered without any 'goods' being involved. I can't deny I would never choose it for a million galleons, but you will never be without work. There is always one more fucked up individual after another looking for support and guidance."

"As for whether or not I'd consult on a potion - extra help or not," a smirk crossed Vincent's face, before he finished, "hardly. Because if I asked for help, I'd have to give credit in success, and that's hardly fun now is it?"

Lowering his glass, he couldn't resist adding, "I tend to find nearly all females annoying, and it has hardly inspired me to play for the other Quidditch team." Picking up his fork, he added, "Just to perhaps avoid conversation in general."

[shh_orla]

Therapy has plenty of basis in science. Much of the more quanitifiable problems are a result of a chemical imbalance in the brain, which can be treated with medication. Even if its more a psychosomatic reaction, there's a science to dealing with everything from anxiety attacks, to memory loss, to mood swings. Entire branches of hospitals and universities handle it as a science." She countered, wondering what it took to gain his good opinion. Rolling over on her back and spreading her legs, probably.

"While some might make a bit of a mess when they deal with other's mental health, I'm a more tidy guest. I leave everything as I found it. It's not up to me to rearrange someone's mental furnishings." She cleaned her plate with a scourgify, then cut into the bavarian creme pie. She rather deserved something sweet, given the sour tone of the conversation, though she was doing her part to keep it civil. Really, if he only knew how much he was revealing by his arrogance, he might be a bit more polite. You could always hide a lot under the mask of politeness, she'd found.

"Well, for the record, I take things at face value, so you need not apologize for honesty. I don't offend easily." She took a bite, savoring the creme filling, before continuing, "My sanity nonwithstanding, what is so odd about choosing a career that helps people? Whether you approve of therapy or not, you can't deny some find it useful. It has nothing to do with a steady stream of patients. To be honest, its more like my penance for not being involved in the war. I got off relatively unscathed, and since I could get the training while others were fighting and dying for my magical rights, or something along those lines, I think I at least should try and show my gratitude as best I can." She didn't feel the need to add that she wasn't as yet charging, as she didn't think he needed to know her finances that closely.

"If you hadn't already told me you don't get out much, I'd know it by that statement." She set her empty plate aside, and stretched out on the blanket. "Really, what good is living amongst people if you don't have any relationships with them? What if you were hurt, lying in the street? With you attitude, everyone would just walk past your body and not stop to help."

She turned on her side, facing him across the blanket. "I don't know, I always thought a solitary victory was somewhat empty without someone to share it with. But if you'd rather I leave and take my annoying conversation with me, I will." She wasn't mad, or upset per se. She just knew she'd likely never get anywhere with him, as he'd made up his mind on how to view the world and the people in it, so she was just wasting her breath.

[shh_vincent]

"It has been easily proven that many problems have a physiological basis, I won't argue that. But the treatment by potions, that's not therapy persay, that's medical therapy," Vincent countered, "that was my point. The use of 'science' is semantics - there is a formula for dealing with each problem, of course, that aren't able to be medicated, but there is no quantifiable explanation for the why it works, is there?"

He wasn't bloody blind, he could tell she was offended - he had to deal with that often enough. To him, it was discussion, but he toned it down, "I wasn't implying anything about you yourself as a practitioner - I can't without knowing anything about you - but you can hardly deny that there are those out there who would try and meddle, intentionally or not. But even with the best intentions, good therapist or bad, you do shape those people's psyches."

As for the discussion of her penance, he wasn't touching that comment. "Helping people - it's not odd, it's commonplace. You're hardly unique in that. And again, I don't deny it is helpful to those who actually believe it it. And I accept most aren't as mercenary as I, but at the same time would you be satisfied if you didn't have a steady stream of patients - if you couldn't 'help' people as you put it. If you sat around in your office with your cats and nobody coming in the door. You would move to where you could do all your good works, and fulfill your ultimate goal of helping others, so to speak."

Vincent put his plate near her basket, banishing his uneaten food, "That's a rather snap judgement for a therapist isn't it? I'm competitive in my work, but I don't see it as a failing. There is nothing any different between me and any reasearcher out there - trying to develop whatever before the competition. Wanting recognition on your own might not be attractive, but it's human nature. I'm just not pussyfooting around it."

"Any lack of relationships, I'd argue it's not all bad," he continued, "I don't suffer fools Orla, and I'm not going to turn into a bloody actor, or spend time with ninny's I can't stand, just because I don't want to be alone. That's not a solution to life in my mind. I will cultivate associations with those I like, even if they're few and far between, but I'm not going to give myself a continual headache just 'because."

His tone had gotten slightly defensive even if the words came out smoothly, and Vincent wished afterwards he had kept his bloody mouth shut and only shrugged. Perhaps he was no closer to discussing feelings and shite than he had been before, but it was more personal than he tended to speak about. Though his admission of not suffering fools was hardly revolutionary.

"I haven't found your conversation annoying," he told her, looking down at where she lay on the blanket, "if I did entirely, I would stand up and leave. As you've pointed out, I don't care about soliciting good opinion. But I won't deny there are others who make me want to live the life of a hermit - if it wouldn't cut me off from the fortunate amenities of city life. Perhaps you've taken my words as confrontational, others have before you, but I mean them in fashion of discussion only."

[shh_orla]

"its a medical collaboration on a psychological problem. Therapy shows the string of logic, however true or false, that determines thinking and one's unconscious patterns. Medicine gives us a gateway to cementing the fix in one's physiology. It takes a lot of effort to break habitual thinking and behavior. We don't always understand the results, but then, science is the pursuit of those answers, not the dismissal of the lack of data." She countered. She chose to ignore his assessment of her as a therapist, giving that up as a lost cause. Since he was hardly likely to come across her couch, she had nothing to gain from his good opinion, or lack thereof.

"If no one came in my door..." She paused. She'd not thought much about how she'd have worked to get clients if none came. "Well, I'd probably be where I am now, making long term plans for a group therapy for when the community center is opened. Or trying to do some research of my own, to have broader impact on the magical communities idea of psychology and therapy practices that muggles have. The end result being more important to me than the recognition, but to each their own." She shrugged, and rolled onto her back.

"Frankly, Vince, I don't think you could be any way other than what you are. However abrupt that may be." She gave him an impish grin. "Though if this is you being nice, I'd love to see you be truly mean once. Be interesting, professionally speaking."

She sat up and took a look at the remainder of the food. "Do you want leftovers? Or shall I feed Sigmund and Kinsey?" She gestured to their spread, then began packing, as it would need to go away anyway. Unfortunately, her cooling charm caused the thermost to be slippery, and she ended up dumping half the tea down her front. She squeaked, trying to pull the wet fabric away from her breasts.

"Well, glad to entertain you either way." She said ruefully, looking at the mess she'd become. Drat, she'd liked this top. "And like I said, I'm not easily perturbed by someone's opinions, even if I disagree. Wouldn't get very far as a therapist if I only helped people I liked." She continued to pluck at the wet fabric, not wanting to cast a drying charm in case it stained the fabric.

[shh_vincent]

Perhaps she thought the end result was more important to her - and maybe in a way it was - but at the same time he would place bets recognition played a big part in her life. In his mind, that was half the reason people went into those so called 'helping' professions. It wasn't universal recognition, but at the same time she wanted that reinforcement from her patients. That she made a difference. Semantics made it all sound more selfless, but it didn't change the fact it was the same thing underneath.

He almost snorted at that point - perhaps she was rubbing off on him, he was thinking in terms of ridiculous psychobabble.

"Vincent," he corrected her, though added with a smirk, "And, whatever do you mean? I'm a fluffy bunny - nice and cuddly and loveable. I've been assured of that so many times."

He glanced at the food she had indicated and quickly shook his head. He would have said more, but her thermos slipped through her hands and tea all over the front of her shirt was a result. It soaked the material through, and he spared only a brief glance for what it highlighted underneath before shaking his head as she only pulled the fabric ineffectually away from her chest.

Grabbing a fork, he transfigured it into a wet cloth and handed it to her - certainly not about to go dabbing at it himself. "If I were someone easily offended, I would have stalked off long ago. Inadvertent, and blatantly obvious, you seem to have a knack for insulting me."

"And," he continued, "someone is going to have to explain to me one day how disagreement automatically means dislike - or perhaps more accurately a lack of 'like', to phrase it inelegantly. I'm not saying I'm encouraging you to like me as it were, nor am I saying I'm ready to break out friendship bracelets, but at the same time, two people don't always have to be in accordance. Differing opinions are occasionally allowed to occur, even between those who respect one another."

[shh_orla]

"Vincent." She repeated absently, sparing a moment to wonder what was wrong with Vince, before taking the cloth he offered. She caught the rest of what he said and snorted. Loudly. "If you're a fluffy bunny, I'm a lingerie model."

She blotted at the top, getting as much liquid from it as she could. "Since you set such a high store by plain speaking, I figured I'd not pretend to interpret you any other way than how you came across on the surface." She gave him a look. "I won't apologize for it either. I also never said I dislike you. I disagree, and I don't know you, but what I do know of you is that you're a bit prickly, and you almost enjoy provoking people."

She finished packing the basket, and continued, "Its hard to find any enjoyment when people lack a common ground to start on. Since we disagree about the veracity of my profession, the people here in Stoatshead, the importance of professional recognition, and how to go about developing relationships, I'm a bit at a loss as to where the respect is supposed to fit in."