(no subject)

[graham_montague]

Who: Graham and Pansy
What: Run-in whilst shopping
Where: Twilfit & Tattings, Diagon Alley
When: Monday, late afternoon
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete



As soon as he passed by Flourish and Blotts, the piercing yell of a pre-pubescent young wizard triggered a domino effect. "Look! It's Montague! It's Montague of the Falcons!" Graham whirled around toward the source and grimaced as he watched a dozen children stampede toward him. Bracing himself for the rush, he forced his unpleasant expression into a smile as one of the youngest reached him first, slamming into his leg and nearly knocking his aviators askew. Fuck. I knew I shouldn't have come here during the day, he thought to himself, damning his coach and manager for both scheduling a night practice so he had to run errands during the day, and for including that Fan Pleasantry Clause in his contract.

He did appreciate the admirers, but most days he just wanted to get his shopping done without being held up. Quills, parchment, and even Quaffles were waving in front of his face. "All right, all right. One at a time..." He grabbed the nearest quill and began signing everything in sight, answering questions as he heard them. "Yes I've signed a contract extension. Of course we're going to win the cup. No, I don't think the Harpies'll make it-- I predict we'll be matching up against Puddlemere." As he was told, he tried to focus on the younger children, posing for photographs with them. Brilliant for publicity, so they say. Finally, Graham waved them off with an apology, heading to the nearest shop to catch his breath.

The noise level reduced immediately when the door shut behind him, and he adjusted his collared shirt before looking around. A clothing shop. Ah, this must be Twilfit & Tattings; his mum shops here. Graham glanced through the shop window and noticed four or five kids pressing their faces up against the glass, watching him. He sighed heavily and moved deeper into the shop, perusing the clothing. Might as well wait for the crowd to thin out.

Comments

[pansy_parkinson]

He received only a modest, though eloquent, shrug, in response to his pronouncement. She followed him back to the counter, and began ringing him up, nimble fingers displaying their familiarity with the old-fashioned, elegant Muggle contraption. "Cash registers," she'd heard them called, but couldn't fathom what cash was... Doubtless some mindless Muggle parlance. The currency dropped into the till with metallic thuds, her mouth working quietly. Math had never been her strong point.

"It does, Montague, but I'm not obligated to speak of the particulars with a newfound acquaintance," she drawled, channeling a bit of Draco in her speech. There may have been an emphasis on the way she spoke his last name; emphasizing, no doubt, his familiar use of her given name, and conversely, her use of his family name. Perhaps she had a bit of a chip on her shoulder, about people who spoke so flippantly about what had long been a thorn in her side (namely, the fact that she had to seek employment). It was easy enough to play off, when one was good at one's job, and Pansy did like clothes... "How goes the Quidditch season?" she sidestepped neatly, folding his belts and wrapping them with tissue paper emblazoned with the T&T logo. She dropped them into the bag, and then handed it to him.

The clock read that the workday was nearly over. Around them, other shopgirls began the process of closing down the store. Grateful that she was a little higher in the store's hierarchy, and thus exempted from that onerous task, she leaned a hip against the counter and waited for a response.

[graham_montague]

When she replied with such an uptight bitch-esque answer, he couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head. "You'd think I just asked to father your children from that response." He gathered she didn't have many friends, if any; there was something deeper here than cold-hearted bint and he couldn't put his finger on it. "Pardon me for attempting a bit of manners. Won't happen again."

He took his bag of belts and grinned at her. "Quidditch is fine, but you don't strike me a girl who gives a dragon's arse about sports." He folded his arms on the countertop, leaning closer to her. "Fortunately for you, Parkersfield, my flat's in Falmouth, so I shouldn't be running into you again anytime soon. Wouldn't want to cross that acquaintance boundary now would we? Unless, of course, you're living in Falmouth too, in which case it would be highly likely we'd cross paths. So in order to ensure that we don't, answer one question: Where do you reside? Or is that a question reserved for close friends and family?"

[pansy_parkinson]

"I like to fly," she answered, which surprised herself. It was the strangest sensation, to feel unbidden words slipping from one's tongue. She didn't care much for the particulars of Quidditch, outside what she needed to know to entertain Draco's passion for the sometimes-bloody sport... She shook her head, faintly, as if to dispel the looseness of her tongue.

A pause; a held breath, as he leaned over the counter toward her. She didn't like people who stepped inside her personal space, especially not men with the cocky smiles only professional Quidditch players possessed. "I'd be careful, Monty-old-boy. I wouldn't talk such big talk, if I were you. These times certainly are changing, and here's the evidence: boys who only feel like men when they have a piece of wood wedged between their arse cheeks."

[graham_montague]

He couldn't help it, he threw his head back and laughed, holding his ground over the counter. "A common misconception, but I assure you I'm not one of those." Indeed, Montague felt more a God than a man. A tingling, anticipatory feeling filled his stomach when he remembered he was on his way to Nott's to pick up his order. In just a few weeks' time, he'd have his potion ready to distribute. And then shortly after that, mass-panic would spread.

His attention snapped back to Pansy, and he straightened up a bit before leaning even closer to her, lowering his deep voice to a barely audible whisper. "The other side of the galleon, Parks, is that nowadays, women only feel like women when they've got a piece of wood wedged up their--"

"MISS PARKINSON!" One of her shrilly-toned subordinates cut him off from across the store. "ALL CLEANED UP. DO YOU NEED ANYTHING ELSE?"

Graham backed off from the counter and hoisted his new purchases over his shoulder. "Ah, closing time, is it? Very well then. It's been delightful... acquainting with you." With another charming grin, he gave his head a little bow.

[pansy_parkinson]

At her underling's call, she snapped to her full height, as though she'd been caught doing something wrong. Irritated, she turned her head to the side, answering the question at a moderately-volumed tone. "That will be all for today."

Turning back to him, she pursed her lips, an approximation of a smile that wouldn't have seemed at odds with an accompanying growl. "Take care, Monty. I will certainly see you around...unless I don't, of course."