RP: Aches
Who: Rita, anyone
When: Sept 9th, evening
Where: Garden
Rating: TBA
Summary: This manual labour stuff is hard work, and Rita thinks she deserves a drink.
Status: Complete
( she wouldn't have said no to a massage, either, but somehow she doubted that was going to happen )
When: Sept 9th, evening
Where: Garden
Rating: TBA
Summary: This manual labour stuff is hard work, and Rita thinks she deserves a drink.
Status: Complete
( she wouldn't have said no to a massage, either, but somehow she doubted that was going to happen )
Rita did nothing but laugh, letting her head fall back to look at the stars. Ah, Romilda could be quite uptight when she wanted to be, couldn't she?
"Don't know what you're worried about," she murmured. "You'd have far less hangover from this than from alcohol. But suit yourself, I suppose."
It was slow. Meandering. Not like smoking, but not like brownies either. Something in the firewhiskey.
"It's been a while since I did this. What did your generation do after Voldemort was defeated? When he fell the first time, I remember snorting pixie dust and dancing in muggle clubs like the world was still going to end. It was our way of saying 'fuck you', I think, to his pureblood fanatacism."
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"I didn't find out that my gran was missing until the next morning, so I was at the celebrations...but I didn't sleep for three days afterwards. And then I..."
His voice cracked a little, and he moved one hand from beneath his head to cover his eyes. "I did a lot of things I wasn't proud of after that. I...spiralled a bit. Experimented. Did far worse things than this..."
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Rita looked down at Neville, once again surprised by his honesty and the fact that he would be so forthcoming with her still. The way he delved so deep with each question and laid it out. She liked that, the honesty - the fact that he was here again, in the garden getting high with her after last time, and answering her questions truthfully even after the Veritaserum.
He looked distressed by it, though, and she hadn't meant to be so personal. She was more interested in the actions of their generation than the individual experiences. She was curious how Neville had managed to forget about his grandmother until the day after the battle, but she didn't think it an appropriate question to ask ( ... )
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"We partied hard," he said, answering once more. "Like the peace might end at any moment...but mostly...mostly for the loss of childhood that comes with so much war. The death...it forces you to extremes. Some of us found relief in more dubious things, some of us worked so hard we went mad, some of us found religion..."
He sat back up and glanced over at Romilda. "You know as much as I do that it's not everyone who came drinking at the Cauldron after the war. Some of us did, yes...but there were people who took it much worse, and some who never recovered. If it wasn't for my parents..."
He shrugged a shoulder. "I think I need more to drink. This isn't working yet."
He stood up and bumbled back into the house, leaving the two women alone for a moment.
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Rita sipped the drink again. "Sounds familiar. Let's hope the wizarding world stays out of the muggle wars, now, and today's children get to grow up with their innocence in tact."
Instead of losing their virginities at thirteen and watching their dorm mates torture animals and then go to Azkaban for doing it to people.
Rita would have been interested to hear what the end of that sentence was. If it wasn't for his parents what? But it seemed she wouldn't get an answer for that one, since he was up and off for a drink the next moment.
She laid the glass down on beside her and lifted one arm to rub at the muscles of her shoulder.
"Merlin, I'm sore," she remarked. "I wish we had a masseuse in this place."
Her muscles felt heavy and relaxed from the weed, and her arm hard to lift - but that didn't take away the ache.
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Rita watched the tender little moment between the two Gryffindors, and wondered what on earth had come over Romilda. She'd gone strange as soon as the weed came out, and now seemed to have turned sullen and silent.
"Brave man," Rita remarked as she watched Neville pour himself a glass of champagne. "Mixing firewhiskey and weed with bubbly. Truly Gryffindor."
She topped her own glass up with the whiskey, took a sip and fell silent for a moment. Romilda was quiet - she looked a million miles away - and Neville intent on his drink. Rita took another mouthful and felt the burn and the buzz at once; rolled her shoulders again.
She was really, really uncomfortable. Maybe it was the weed, but the tightness in her the muscles behind her shoulder blades seemed to be getting worse - or she was unable to ignore it. She sighed. Oh, fuck this. He'd been inside her, for Merlin's sake - he'd pinched and nibbled and caressed far more intimate places than her back - and she knew he knew how to use his hands ( ... )
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"Fine," he breathed, his voice low. "But don't make a habit of it. I'm doing this out a twisted sense of compassion, allright?" He bit his lip and put his hands carefully on her back, his thumbs together, his palms against the warmth through the thin shirt.
"You're right...you are tense," he remarked. "Not used to doing the hard work yourself, are you. Right..." He could feel the knots simply through the tension of the muscles in her back. "You need to relax. Try stressing some other muscles; it'll relax those ones." He moved his hands down, pressed his thumbs against her on either side of her spine and, pushing hard, moved his hands back up to the nape of her neck.
"And really, this'd be much easier solved with an ice pack, but I still haven't found the fridge in Montague's kitchen.
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He sounded affronted, almost angry, and that was new. In this context, anyway. "After which what?" she asked, mirroring his tone. She didn't know if he was talking about sex or veritaseum, but if it was the former, he could drop that self-righteous tone right now.
She ignored the second part of the question because she didn't know the answer.
He touched her carefully like he had before, and she was interested in the similarities between the actions of Neville-who-had-not-been-Neville and Neville-who-was. Same person, she wanted to say, but that would have been cruel.
She also wanted to say there was more than one type of hard work, but then his fingers were right over where she needed, and she couldn't speak. She concentrated on doing what he suggested - flexed her back a little, trying to use muscles other than the 'wings', but that was easier said than done. He pressed in hard, and Rita hissed a breath, because it hurt, but in the best way possible. She rolled her shoulders and pressed back against his hand, whimpering a little ( ... )
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Godric, he needed more to drink.
He continued to knead and stroke and tease at Rita's back, then stood up. "Come on..let's get into the tub, and we'll see if there's any improvement."
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Why bother with a bathing suit? Rita's eyebrows went up in surprise, but she said nothing straight away. She wasn't sure if the question was hypothetical, or an offer.
Why indeed? She could have very well quoted back his 'after what happened' line to that, but she didn't. Instead, she let out a single, quiet laugh, pressing herself back against Neville's hands and continuing to shift her shoulders as he worked.
But then he spoke again, and it seemed it had been an offer, and she was rather astounded by that. Turned to look over her shoulder at him, trying to gauge his expression, but unable to read him.
"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" She was smiling, and the words came out a little more playful than she'd intended. She reigned her tone in, not wanting to imply that she thought he was implying anything. "All right. Thankyou ( ... )
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