| Details for Being a Good Friend |
| Summary: | Douglas is a good friend |
| Date: | 1939-01-09 |
| Location: | Quidditch Stands |
| Related: | — |
| Characters |
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(If anyone has the first part of this scene, please put it here)
"She is," Douglas agrees simply, running a hand through his hair. "She's fit and smart. The plan is that she runs the marketing side of things, gets the customers in, sells them what they want, and I take them out on the bens and show them how to do it. More call for that kind of thing now than ever, I'd say. Being able to survive out there. Hidden, if needs be, from the world."
Variel nods slowly. "No joke, that. Probably something I ought to start to learn. Can't imagine that it'll always be a quick jaunt to get to where I'll be headed as a Breaker, yeh?" He tucks away his wand, staring at the ground a moment.
Along comes Gus, apparently wandering aimlessly with his hands in his pockets. He's bundled up, at least. He's looking at the ground in front of him as he meanders, and soon enough he's within hailing distance of the two other boys, though it appears he hasn't seen them, yet.
You have already given Variel a cookie this week.
You give Douglas a cookie.
Douglas gives you a cookie.
Douglas shrugs. "I need Medusa to market it right, though. I mean, I'd be teaching muggle skills. How to live without magic, as well as what spells are useful in a pinch. I mean, what if somebody has your wand away? Like… if you're duelling? My advice is to get in close, let them wheech your wand away, try to force them to make that their opening move, and then just nut 'em and break their wand. Or their hand."
Variel is talking to Douglas, who is currently wrapped in a nice, harmless sweater made, for all appearances, of fire. But he's not screaming- it's probably a charm. Like Flame-Writing. "It's not exclusively muggle. There's all sorts of our kind need to know things like that too. Trappers, for instance. Or just explorers."
"Or anyone who doesn't want to be traced, for whatever reason, by the ministry or whatever," Douglas agrees, running a hand through his hair. "Hey, Gus," he calls over, lifting a hand. "You get my owl, aye?"
Gus looks up at the sound of his name, blinks a couple of times, and then nods. "Yeah," he says to Douglas. "I did." Pause. "Thanks," he says. It's all very monotone and quiet. "How're you two?" he asks, as if remembering just then that he ought to ask something like that.
Variel glances over and gives Gus another one of those silent, small nods. One that communicates his sympathies without belaboring anything or bringing a thing up. "Good to see you, Rousseau. I'm doing alright- it's good of you to ask, I appreciate it. Come over here and warm up a touch, yeh?"
Douglas just nods, scratching at the back of his neck. "Look, I'm going for a quick bath, then I need to find where Cornfoot's taken my girlfriend. But if you need anything, just yell, all right?" And with that, and a brief touch to Gus's shoulder - a manly touch in place of a less manly hug - he's on his way.
Douglas leaves, heading towards Quidditch Stands [U].
Douglas has left.
Gus considers the offer of warmth, and then moves closer to the… flaming sweater. "Alright," he tells Douglas, and nods at the boy as he leaves. For several long seconds he just looks at the fire, then he flicks a glance at Variel. "Think I might go home," he says.
"Y'mean rather than stay at school." Variel clarifies, just because a bit of unclear thinking could mark home as the dormitories. "Nobody'd blame you if you did."
"Yeah," Gus confirms. "I'm sixth-year. Passed my O.W.L.S. What am I going to do with N.E.W.T.S., anyway?" He shrugs.
Variel says, "Should maybe think at it the other way. What do you want to do? Would N.E.W.T.s help?"
Gus slowly shakes his head. "I want to be an artist," he says. "But I am going to take over the family vinyards." A Weasley would probably understand family obligations.
And understand, he does. "Good on you, mate- I'm a touch surprised you won't do both. Seems like you could do most of that work out of a studio as easily as an office?" He shrugs, making it clear he's admitting he's just guessing- he doesn't know much about the winery business.
"It's a lot of work," Gus says quietly. "More than you'd think. If I could find a manager to run it with me, maybe." He shoves his hands into his pockets. "I asked Doug but he's not interested. Got his own business ideas."
"That he does, and they're attached to a girl, at that- I don't imagine he'll be keen to let go of that. Hm. I'd ask about, see if you can't find someone clever with a mind for business who's not got plans of their own. There's bound to be someone."
"Know anyone who'd fit the bill?" Augustin asks Variel. "I hear you have a bit of a side-business going on. Tailoring, or some such?" Gus' robes are of sufficient quality that he's never had the need to get them altered at school. While he's not of Black- or Malfoy-level money, it's clear his family isn't wanting for funds.
"A hobby, more, with prestigious side benefits." Variel smiles, just a touch. "I've a sense for fashion and value, but I can't say as I've business sense in particular. What you're going to need is someone to manage the people working the vineyards, I imagine? with your own familial expertise on the plants and such at the head. Me, I just sew for my friends."
"Yeah," Gus says. He nods. "That's the thing. No one I know wants to do that. But… you know. School." He kicks a few pebbles across the ground and watches them skitter away without much interest.
"… here's my suggestion. Stay. Finish out your N.E.W.T.s, if only because after school, it'll be harder to keep in touch with your friends here. And right now… I think friends are important. The way things are going, you might not get to stay friends with them all for long, and regret… is nothing you want to set yourself up for." Variel shrugs a bit. "So there's my suggestion, but… I'm not in your shoes. I can't really see from where you're standing."
Something dark, a storm cloud, passes over Gus' face at the word 'regret.' It's gone in an instant. He hunches his shoulders. "Dunno," he finally says after a few seconds. "Dunno."
Variel notes the storm and lightens his approach a touch. "Well, don't have to, just yet. But you can always leave later. Much harder to come back, you know?"
"Yeah, I guess that's true," Gus admits after a pause. He glances toward the school, and the wind slicks his hair back from his face. When he turns back a few seconds later there are tears in his eyes, which he wipes away. "Blasted cold," he mutters. "I should probably go, anyway."
"Cold as it is, you're probably right. I'm enjoying the storm a bit- I can catch you up later, Rousseau." A wordless offer to give him time to himself.
"Yeah, later," Gus says. He nods again and meanders away, apparently in a random direction.