Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day

[notquitefacist.livejournal.com]

*The face of Crouch Sr.'s watch informs him that: it is 7:08, his office and his home remain locked and empty, and he has three unanswered owls waiting for him after he delivers his announcement. He has been checking the watch regularly all morning, once every seven minutes as if he himself is made of clockwork. It is not a habit brought on by nerves, he as always has every thought prepared ahead of time and then some and he knows the press will not falter in their practice of portraying him and the Ministry in the proper light.

Instead, his routine timekeeping began as a way to keep track of the progress of his son as the Ministry cars delivered him in good and steady time from Brighton to London. With each passing minute Crouch Sr. had known their corresponding location, anticipating morning traffic and muggle heavy areas, each sure glance at the time reporting to him that everything is going perfectly. He checks it even now, just for prosperity's sake, despite the fact that he can hear the building, echoing tones of Barty speaking as he is lead toward the back room where the Crouches will wait to take their seats. He puts down his wrist, smiles toward Bernadette too show her Barty has been successfully contained and corralled thus far, and stands to greet his reluctant and too vibrantly dressed blond-haired, blue-eyed ticket into the hearts of wizarding Britain.*

You are eight minutes late, Bartemius. And you will not be wearing that.

Comments

[notquitefacist.livejournal.com]

Actually, what I am achieving is appropriate attire. There is a suit and robes to match on the back of the door. I suggest you change now rather than later.

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

No, but changing would be progressive. You hate that. We're all better off the way I am.

[notquitefacist.livejournal.com]

Now. Rather than later.

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

*Closing his eyes, Barty seems to descend into a state of absolute concentration. When he opens them again he assumes slightly better posture.*

There.

I've changed. I convinced myself I enjoy olives.

[notquitefacist.livejournal.com]

*This sort of game has been being played in their family since the mid sixties and Crouch Sr.'s unblinking gaze shows just how unimpressed he is by Barty's childhood efforts.*

[yessirrightaway.livejournal.com]

*Lips pinched as if trying to keep from smirking, the driver who accompanied Barty inside finally lets himself out, nodding to the Auror standing outside the doorway as he goes.*

[notquitefacist.livejournal.com]

Now, Bartemius. Before you upset your mother. Today will go as smoothly as planned.

[consumptivewife.livejournal.com]

*Standing to join Crouch, Sr. she places a small, thin hand on his arm, speaking to him levelly.*

Now none of that. I'm hardly upset, Barty.

[notquitefacist.livejournal.com]

I wouldn't rule that out if he continues.

[consumptivewife.livejournal.com]

*Bernadette smiles, used to her husband's stubborn and unceasing focus on trivial matters.*

The press photos will be black and white regardless. I don't see any harm in leaving him be.

[notquitefacist.livejournal.com]

We cannot rely on the trick of the camera to make us look prepared. In private he may were as he chooses but there are simply certain places that follow a stricter code, and my son will be no exception.

[consumptivewife.livejournal.com]

More than one wizard has stood out there in a questionable amount of colours. Our son's attire is more likely to appeal to the public than repulse them.

[notquitefacist.livejournal.com]

This is a revision of an old law, Bernadette, we do not need to entertain or give the impression we take the safety of this country from a preventable condition lightly. Bartemius is well aware, as he always is, of what is unacceptable.

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

*On the contrary, Barty doesn't seem aware at all. In fact, he's sitting on the ground, examining a particularly large spider as it scuttles over the polished floor.*

[notquitefacist.livejournal.com]

*He glances in Barty's direction for proof and, not seeing him standing, he is forced to do the smallest of double takes before finding him on the floor.*

Just what are you doing?

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

SILENCE. Do not distract the arachnid from his noble path.

[notquitefacist.livejournal.com]

Get up off the floor. It's time to get into your change of clothes, not for games.

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

His quest is not a game. It is a life or death struggle.

[notquitefacist.livejournal.com]

I'll ask you once more.

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

I never said you couldn't ask. Go ahead. As many times as you like.

[notquitefacist.livejournal.com]

Very well. The cleaning staff have overlooked this room if it's infested with spiders.

*Briskly and without a thought toward Barty, Crouch Sr. lifts his foot and squashes the spider under his toe, a small crunch ending it's journey in death after all.*

Don't kneel on a dirty floor.

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

*As Crouch, Sr.'s toe reveals the spider's smudged remains, Barty picks out the single, unbroken leg from the smear, placing it in his palm with a strange sort of reverence. He continues to kneel, silent now.*

[notquitefacist.livejournal.com]

*Crouch Sr.'s shoes disappear from Barty's line of view, returning holding a suit out to him dangling from a hanger.*

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

*Barty reaches up, not to take the suit, but to simply deposit the spider's leg inside its front pocket.*

[notquitefacist.livejournal.com]

Unless you plan on explaining why you've chosen to be so difficult, you can get changed.

[mad-actually.livejournal.com]

Maybe YOU should explain why YOU'VE chosen to be so difficult.