bait_backup | Russian roulette is not the same without a gun

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Russian roulette is not the same without a gun

*Electricity is a funny thing. It can do so much, and yet it's so very easy to disrupt. Such are the woes of the proprietors of Maurice's, an upscale café that tries to look more edgy than fancy, and fails. It can't quite shake the air of snobbery infecting the area, the taint of We-Have-Too-Much-Money. Maybe it's the silk ascots; maybe it's the disproportionate number of Italian shoes. At any rate, no one thinks to notice the young man slipping out of the alley next to the building, in his new wingtips and old waistcoat, his button-down a bit rumpled and his trousers mended here and there. By the time anyone notices the breaker box on the back wall sparking and smoking, he's vanished into the crowds.

He takes the long way 'round back through some side-streets, timing it so that he walks up to Maurice's - again - about five minutes after he's agreed to meet Amrita there. Perfectly late, perfectly nonchalant, as he strolls up to the café, pretending to be unaware of the frustrated owners and the 'closed for maintenance' sign now hanging on the door.*

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*When he finally looks up from picking at the brie, Remus can't, indeed, mistake the look in Rosier's eyes. He's toying with him - baiting the werewolf, literally, and in that moment Remus hates him deeply. And how could he be doing anything else, it was stupid of him not to realize; if Amrita's given into those instincts, then Rosier must know about them, and it's no very grand leap to figure out they aren't exclusive to her. Wanting to hit Rosier, wanting to just get up and go home, Remus picks up his own menu and looks at it a bit woodenly.

It takes a moment, and some scouring through names he doesn't recognize and words he can't pronounce, and wanting viciously to make Rosier go to Yorkshire and try and navigate local cuisine there, on Remus's turf. Or better yet, have Nana toss a lot of Scottish food at him and just see how well he manages that. But then, mercifully, he finds something that doesn't make him feel ill just thinking about it. It's not as good as the chips and curry takeaway he'd rather be getting with Sirius right now, but it'll work, and Remus doesn't bother altogether hiding the hard edge of vindication in his eyes as he closes the menu and lays it back down.*

Quiche sounds lovely.

*Whatever polite and quiche-related power struggle that's going on at the table goes unnoticed by Amrita, who is frowning prettily at her menu.*

Oh, I'm a bit torn. Do I want the entrecôte or the carré d'agneau?

Oh, the lamb, certainly.

*He doesn't wait for her to give assent, but glances toward the service station, and the waiter appears almost instantly. He orders for the table, getting the entrecôte thoroughly rare for himself. When the waiter disappears, though, all his attention snaps immediately back to Lupin.*

So, I hear you've gotten married? Congratulations! Married life seems to suit the both of us. I'd love to meet your little woman sometime.

*Lamb. There's no way that isn't intentional, and Remus again pictures how very satisfying it would be to break Rosier's nose purely for beint a right little twat about all of this. He'll get him back, he promises himself, the next time there's a fight and Rosier thinks he's safe behind that mask of his. He doesn't know how he'll know it's him, but he'll figure out a way. Remus is not, by nature, particularly vengeful, but he's hating Rosier more and more every moment that passes.

As to his "wife," well. Obviously out of the question, given that said 'little woman' is actually a rather scruffy, charmingly unkempt and not-all-that-diminutive man, and even if he weren't, even if they weren't cousins anyway, Remus wouldn't let Evan Rosier within a mile of his own, anyway.

But that's hardly an acceptable response. Giving a smile that's polite enough but sharp at the edges, he tilts his head slightly.*

Really? Amrita did mention she's a Muggle, I trust?

*And let the bastard think he's sharing a table with someone bedding a mudblood; Remus watches for discomfort, determined not to take all this lying down. If people overhear and are put off, all the better.*

She must be quite a captivating one to catch your eye. But we cannot be blamed for where the heart leads us.

*His smile goes a bit soft, and almost tender, in the direction of his wife, before he returns to the matter at hand.*

No, muggles are a wonderful sort, and so clever with their electricity and cars and whatnot. Heavens, my father even has ridden on their airplanes. I'd love to meet the one who thought up that and managed to convince people to get on it without a broomstick to save them if it fell out of the sky.

*It's automatic: she returns Evan's smile and impulsively reaches out to cover his hand with her own. Not that she isn't following the conversation.*

And apparently sometimes they do! Right out of the sky, everyone onboard dead. It's madness.

Pity more wizards don't give it a go.

*It's said totally innocently as he takes a sip of his wine, but he's done playing nice. He'll be polite enough to stay in with Amrita, but he can't stomach a whole dinner of Rosier alternating between barbs at him and soppy saccharine looks at his wife. The steak tartare's already got him feeling ill enough as it is.*

Mm, indeed.

*It's a pleasant, noncommittal sort of noise, and then Amrita excuses herself and rises from the table, depositing her napkin elegantly before she goes.*

*With his wife gone, his smile only gets a bit wider for Lupin.*

I know you're thinking awful things about me. It's doing terrible things for the lines in your forehead. Spit them out.

*Remus's expression, on the other hand, sharpens into a subtle but clearly unimpressed frown.*

Lamb and steak tartare? Really?

*He holds up a hand.*

I only ordered what she likes. She was raised as a vegetarian, you know. Forgive me if I assumed you might share her appetites.

But why deny yourself? There's no reward in it.

*He is not having this conversation with Evan Rosier. He won't even have this conversation with his friends. Mouth twisting in disgust, Remus takes a sip of wine just for something to do and glances away.*

I had no idea you were so concerned with my diet. How considerate.

It's not your diet I'm concerned about. It's what your diet tells me. You're desperate to be seen as anything but a monster, even though the Ministry will never see things that way.

Why must we be enemies, Remus? We want the same things. I don't think you were sad to see Umbridge and her vile cronies go, were you? Think of all the good that could be done with someone better managing the department. Someone like you, perhaps.

*It's in poor taste and probably a little dangerous, but before Remus can stop himself, he's laughing. It's a grim, sickened thing - Rosier just all but admitted killing Umbridge, just like he did to Frank, over fois gras and expensive wine - and the whole thing is so ridiculous that he can't help it.*

Really? Here? You want to discuss this here?

*Evan is laughing too, if only to maintain the facade. They are in public, after all.*

If you intend to take my offer seriously, then we could meet somewhere more private at a later date. But I don't think you'll take me up on that until you trust me at least a little, and I don't think you'll trust me until I do something for you. My wife no longer goes to the Ministry, I bet that particular inconvenience could be dispensed with for you as well--

*It's actually tempting. That's the worst part. The idea of not having to strip down and be probed and prodded and interrogated on things that are deeply personal - Remus is a fiercely private man, and the whole routine at the Registry wears away at him a little more each month. It'd break him eventually, he knows, if it weren't for Sirius. And that's the thing - it doesn't just take a toll on him. Every month it's Padfoot who has to patch him back together, Padfoot who has to wait outside helplessly and try and help after, when Remus has withdrawn so far inside himself that he's beyond aid for hours. The humiliation of it on top of the transformations themselves, the knowledge that it'll never stop being part of their life, every single month....

But he won't take a devil's bargain to get out of it. His pride may be battered but some days it's nearly all he has, and the stubborn set of his jaw says as much.*

- I'm not in the habit of taking favors from people in your particular line of work, Rosier, however I feel about Umbridge being gone. Thank you, no.

Do let me know if you reconsider. Your talents are wasted on--what is it you do again?

*Evan leans in, lowering his voice.*

You do understand that it wasn't me, don't you? I assisted, certainly, I made it possible, but the work itself--ah, here she comes now.

*Amrita is approaching and Evan stands to pull out her chair.*

*Remus stands as well, though he's still looking at Evan with something dark and sharp in his expression for that dig about his unemployment.*

*A few heads turn as Amrita, smiling and perfectly powdered, crosses the restaurant to their table and slips gracefully into her seat. She points the smile at each of them in turn, but there's a little polite crease in her brow at Remus' expression.*

Edited 2012-01-05 00:02 (UTC)

*But his frown's gone darker, now, as Evan's comment loops in his head. Here she comes now. As though they'd been talking about Amrita.

When the pieces click into place, even the vegetarian dishes on the table are enough to turn his stomach, and his smile is decidedly faint as he turns to smooth over Amirta's unvoiced concern.*

You two are lucky to have found one another. Evan speaks so highly of you, Amrita, I'm almost embarrassed.

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Russian roulette is not the same without a gun

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