bait_backup | I found a little plot of land in the garden of Eden, it was dirt and dirt is all the same

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I found a little plot of land in the garden of Eden, it was dirt and dirt is all the same

*It's fashioned rather like a circus tent - rounded and bulbous, all curves and no angles with intricate iron-work spiralling between panes of glass. Inside, the greenhouse is a veritable jungle. Several trees reach the top of the enclosure easily like contorted pillars while vines, visibly and contentedly writhing, cover everything as neatly as a fresh layer of linen over a bed.

Earthy, messy and gnome-ridden, the Higgs manor greenhouse seems too untamed, too dirty, for a woman of Victoria's leanings. And yet, morning finds her in a thick, tarp-like dress, its material far more hardy and far less extravagant than her normal attire. The hems are dusted in soil and the position of her knees are highlighted with vague, grassy stains. Her tools of choice, a pair of prim gardening gloves and a bone china water jug, hopelessly dwarfed by the shrubbery.

Despite her meagre supplies, the mandrakes are already cooing in wriggly expectation, their malformed bodies plump and fully grown yet still distinctly infantile. The nearest mushes its gnarled face into the back of her legs happily, like a kitten wanting attention.*

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*Regulus' mouth tightens, momentarily stretched thin in an awkward wish to not know. Unfortunately, he has come here today seeking much more frightening information than the habits of a little vine, and he's already regretting his decision.*

Do you plant many carnivorous things?

Is this is an attempt to humour me with false interest? I must say it is fairly transparent. Such ruses need to be catered to slowly, Regulus. You must build upon them for a lifetime if I'm to come to believe it.

*On any other occasion Victoria's less than delicate way of cutting to the chase would be embarrassingly true. Luckily, interest doesn't necessarily translate to enjoyment, so Regulus is able to remain in the right with only a little bit of guilty verbal stumbling.*

No I - I've found myself curious. I'd like to know.

*The mandrake lets out a blubbery, delighted wail and Victoria admonishes it with a poke of her shoe. Any louder and longer and they both would have dropped dead.*

You're upsetting the mandrakes.

I'm upsetting them?

*Eyes momentarily closed to fend of the lightheadedness he had avoided since Herbology lessons in school when he'd been forced to repot smaller versions of the same dreadful creatures, Regulus sticks a finger briefly in his ear to tempt sound back into it and get rid of the ringing the Mandrake has left behind.*

They get overexcited around strangers. My great Aunt Rolanda had to spend an entire month in St. Mungo's after she came in to admire the Mimbulus Mimbletonia.

*What looks like remorse for this relative he has never met is actually far more selfish than it appears. With obstacles ahead of him put in place not just by the Dark Lord, but with Helga Hufflepuff in mind, Regulus knows to expect something wretched and growing, but he isn't looking forward to spending 30 days at the hospital for it, or worse.*

Victoria... Are plants - well, worse, now more than they used to be years ago? Surely they've changed somewhat.

*She laughs. It's a strange sound, a musical twittering that erupts from her mouth as if she'd just spat out a hummingbird. No reply comes with it, only suddenly restrained amusement.*

*Grimmauld Place was never filled with laughter, and Regulus is a very clear reflection of that. He remembers the raucous hilarity his schoolmates had occasionally taken part of, the ungenuine lilt of party-laughter that sprinkles itself across Christmas and garden parties, but most of his memory of laughter comes only from Barty. Until now, he had thought that was the most uncanny expressions of mirth he would ever hear, but the mystery that is Victoria has proved him wrong. He glances uncomfortably away from her, looking for non-existent escape or backup.*

...So they haven't?

Plants are always changing, Regulus. However, I should hardly think you can tell whether it's for better or worse.

Oh.

Well, all the same-

*This is necessary, he reminds himself, but being laughed at has kicked though his already fragile control. His hands spring together in front of him, he sees himself fidget this time, checking the buttons at his wrists, but he lets it turn it's course in order to keep up the bravery to continue his line of questioning.*

If not for the plants, what about for people. What about very old growing things. Forests, vines - maybe even flowers, I can't be certain. Would you say they would have been rather similar to the ones now or have we changed them to be easier to control...

*Her brow lifts with all the speed and force of a Ministry elevator, a sudden suspicion rising with it.*

Your prying is grounded in some planned, ill-informed act of illegality, is it not?

*He meets her eye again just for a moment, knowing perfectly well what she means and her opinions on the Death Eaters, but surprised by how close and yet how very far she is from the truth.*

No. ...I plan everything.

But I'm not, planning anything.

Well then, if you aren't planning anything there's no need to trouble me with such vague and thoroughly obtuse questions.

I thought you liked plants.

Naturally. However, I have significantly less love for those who interrupt me without proper invitation only to bring forward juvenile concerns. If you wish for me to help you, Regulus, you'll have to ask what you really mean.

What help could I possibly need with plants, Victoria, I - we're hardly in Herbology anymore.

I - came... to see you. Just - to see you.

That seems rather irregular, considering the circumstances.

*Regulus, who has managed to be so unobtrusive that not even the Dark Lord has noticed his deceit, is little more than a quivering sea creature in the face of a woman. Though Victoria clearly does not support Voldemort herself, there is a vast difference between that and defying him, and therefore so very much he could never dream to tell her. Still, there is something so damandingly puritanical in Victoria's expressions that part of him wishes it was possibly to absolve himself and tell her about Hufflepuff and the Cup and where he believes it is hidden. All he can do, however, is brush non-existent dirt from various areas of sleeve and cloak.*

I'm... I shouldn't like you to think of me as irregular.

It would take a great deal of effort to avoid that, you are, I believe, irregular in more ways than you must imagine.

Now, Victoria.

*His words have become very sticky and strange, clearly not entirely honest but as he stumbles along it begins to seem as though he's merely uncomfortable with being firm, or being close with another human being, rather than worrying about matters of ancient traps and horcruxes.*

We're to be - um. I believe we should make an effort to find more pleasure in one another's activities. You... like plants. I'm not adverse to history so... combining the two doesn't seem very irregular to me when one considers the logic.

Perhaps. But at ten in the morning with no word or formality at all? I've never known you to have spontaneity. In fact, you were recommended to me on your total lack of it.

I certainly don't, well...

*All eloquence, so precarious a skill in the presence of the opposite sex, is gone. Regulus is left embarrassed and no longer sure of the meaning of anything being said, and definitely no closer to his goal.

Woman may preach as many hobbies and passions to others as they so chose, but when the time comes Regulus has only seen one true interest come up with women and it just so happens to be the one he finds most perplexing and inappropriate. It is the ever looming topic of the Relationship, and it will haunt him til the day he escapes this life.*

I'm not certain I understand? If I've caused any offence I certainly didn't intend to be unbecomingly spontaneous.

Regulus Arcturus Black, the only person here who is in any position not to understand is me.

Very well.

Lately, this has become something rather... interesting to me. And I simply would find your thoughts compelling.

You have so very much to say, usually, I thought you might enjoy a little conversation. Like - friends, sort of.

*It's an irritating habit, mysterious, unnerving and shared with his father. That uncomfortable ability to deliver words in a flat, unrevealing monotone that still, somehow, contains a great deal of thought behind it. What those thoughts actually are, of course, is never addressed.*

Sort of.

And are you of the belief a marriage should constitute friendship, Regulus?

Mhm. I strongly suspect that the frequency of your curious double standards are more numerous in the early hours.

Do you not think we should be familiar?

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I found a little plot of land in the garden of Eden, it was dirt and dirt is all the same

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