RP: Is it Friday yet?
Date: 21 September 2001
Characters: Ron, Rita, Ginny
Status: Public
Summary: Ron's had a bad week and it's not over yet.
Completion: Complete
( I don't have a drinking problem. I drink. I get drunk. I fall down, no problem. )
Characters: Ron, Rita, Ginny
Status: Public
Summary: Ron's had a bad week and it's not over yet.
Completion: Complete
( I don't have a drinking problem. I drink. I get drunk. I fall down, no problem. )
"And a bottle of Firewhiskey, Tom."
Rita Skeeter's ears pricked, and she looked up from the notedpad she was scribbling ideas in.
She recognised him instantly. If it hadn't been the red hair and the vague familiarity, it would have been the Chudley Canons uniform. After all, she knew damn well there was only one red-headed player on that team.
She smirked, screwed the cap back onto the muggle fountain pen she'd been writing with, and ordered another margarita.
"Drowning your sorrows, Mr Weasley?" she asked, twirling the pen in her fingers.
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His fingers held the glass dangerously tight as he poured the whiskey down his throat.
"Bitch," he spat as he turned around to see Rita smirking at him. "Don't fucking talk to me."
Obviously sensing trouble, Tom walked over and pretended to be busy cleaning the top of the bar.
"S'kay, Tom. She's not worth it," Ron said, sneering at her, before turning back around for another shot of the Firewhiskey.
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She watched him down another shot, lifted her margarita to her lips and sipped, then laughed.
"No use blaming me for you not being able to keep your cock in your pants."
Rita remembered this one from the Triwizard championship. The most unspectacular of the three, in her opinion. No brains like the Granger girl, no ability like Potter, just a chip on his shoulder about something.
It looked like Longbottom had left him. Well, good.
"I don't suppose you'd like me to print some sort of impassioned plea for your lovers return, would you?" And she laughed again.
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"What did you say, you fat cow?"
He reached her table and glared down at her. "Leave Neville out of this! If you print one word about him, I'll make you wish you'd never been born!" Ron leaned down, making sure not to lose eye contact. "I learned a lot of skills in the war. And -"
"Oi, Weasley," Tom shouted. "Your fish pie."
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"And what?" she hissed, staring up at him with that patent smirk still twisting her lips upward, one brow quirking toward her hairline. "What will you do?"
She had no intention at all of printing a word about Alice's boy, but Weasley didn't need to know that. Neville deserved better than this drunken mule, and she was quite pleased at what her article had managed.
She made a show of ignoring him, then, flipping to a new page in her notebook and uncapping the pen again.
"Best go eat your pie before you finish that bottle of whiskey," she remarked; "You don't look to me like you can afford to kill any more brain cells."
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"Yeah, 'cos it takes a lot of brains to spew lies and rubbish," he retorted, feeling foolish immediately after saying it. He'd known Rita long enough to know you had to fight her with dramatics.
Ron walked back to his seat, sat down, and waved at Tom that everything was okay. Casually, he slipped his wand out of his pocket, lifted his arm enough to slip it through and keep it hidden, and pointed it at Rita.
Wordlessly, he cast a spell that he had perfected during the war. It would only last fifteen seconds. The spell wasn't about damage. It was a defensive spell, rendering your opponent blind just long enough to escape. In this case, it was just to scare the living shite out of the bitch.
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Rita just chuckled at his comment, shaking her head and turning her attention back to what she'd been writing. Idiot.
A moment later, the room went dark. Rita sighed, thinking Tom must have installed electric lights when he'd refurbished the place despite knowing how tempremental they were, and looked up.
Nothing. No shadows, no candles being lit. She was...
Oh jesus fucking merlin she was blind.
Rita shot up from her chair, nearly stumbling backwards over it, shaking and feeling her heart pouding hard in her chest. She turned toward a sound from the bar, stumbled a step toward it and caught her hip hard on the edge of a table.
A moment later the room was there again, and she was staring straight into Weasley's face.
For a moment, she was completely lost for words.
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Rita stared at him; surprisingly she seemed to have nothing to say. But Ron had plenty.
"The baby wasn't even mine, but that didn't matter did it? You didn't bother to find out the truth." Ron looked her up and down. Shaking his head, he turned back to his dinner. "Even if you did know, probably wouldn't have mattered anyway."
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Flicking her wand down from her sleeve so it became a reassuring weight in her palm, her other hand dropped to her hip to rub at the spot where she'd hit the table with it.
"You stupid child," she hissed, wanting her words to be barbed, to hurt him. "Do you think it was my article that made him leave or the act itself? I doubt it matters to him whose baby it really is. Grow up and take some responsibility."
Her lip curled in disgust and she took a step back toward her table, not underestimating him enough to turn her back this time. Alice had deserved better than that bloody hotheaded idiot Frank Longbottom, and her son deserved better than... this.
She grabbed her bag and her notebook from the table with her wand still pointed at him, and disapparated.
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