multiversallogs | please sir, may I have some more?

Entry tags:

please sir, may I have some more?

Who:Narcissa, other Narcissa, Lucius, older Lucius?, Rodolphus, Bellatrix?, and anyone who meets Narcissa on the way
What: Sucking up her pride and learning to cook
Where: The Malfoy townhouse, and the streets between her home in Syriac Well and theirs in Sobek Croix
When: Some. Time. >>
Notes: None?
Warnings: None of those, either.

Despite having repairs to her kitchen completed to the point that it is functional once more, Narcissa is unwilling to tempt fate further with her efforts to feed herself something other than sandwiches. Gathering her slightly tattered pride around her like a mantle, she covers it with her cloak; the weather is cooling, and twilight is not a time of day to be out and about without an extra layer, especially when one is not entirely sure of the distance one is to travel.

Apparating would have been a sensible choice, but two things were preventing her, other than her own nausea brought on by that mode of transportation - she's never been to the townhouse, although the address is branded in her mind, and she's not clear on how well Apparation will work, here. Splinching is uncomfortable, and worse when no one is trained to put you back together again. As one who avoids discomfort where possible (unless, as is the case with these cooking lessons, her pride gets in the way), Narcissa is content enough to walk.

It's not as though anything will happen to her on these streets, she's in a very good neighbourhood.

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"That would be incredibly useful."

She looks cagey for a moment.

"I managed to hoard a large number of those crowpearls, and exchanged them. But I'm not sure how much longer it's going to last."

"Clever," he said, approving. "Narcissa and I will help you in any way we can, of course."

"I thought so."

It's impossible not to blossom under praise, especially when it's been duly earned.

"Thank you, but I don't want to put you out. You've more than enough to deal with as it is, if the members of your household are any indication."

The wards, additionally, give Narcissa upstairs due notice of their arrival - she's no rush to go down, since it's two people and that means either the Lestranges are doing something typical of them or Lucius has caught up with her younger self, and either way they won't expire if she doesn't immediately drop everything and scurry down there. Her conversation doesn't take much longer to wrap up, regardless, just a few more brief queries about availability before she signs off with a warm thanks.

The Guild Hall won't do for a venue, after all, for more reasons than just the relative isolation of Sobek Croix geographically. Once she's noted the conversation down, she slides the papers back into place and locks her desk, precisely, going down to see which particular storm she ought to be bracing for.

"Well, that's always true, but even so. You're family, and that doesn't go away because it's just inconvenient," he said, firmly. "If nothing else, if you can think of something you'd like to do, I can use some connections and see if I can help find you a place."

"That's incredibly comforting, thank you."

She's referring to both the assertion of family membership and the offer of assistance.

"The home I've moved into had a piano... I daresay I could give lessons if I truly had to."

Nothing too tempestuous, merely her husband and her younger self, the latter of whom is hiding her apprehension behind a polite smile that's a little too tight. Meeting herself is always a little unnerving, despite having done so a couple of times in the past, but this version of herself seems so much like the woman she hopes to be that Narcissa worries she's going to pale in comparison. Just whose judgement she fears is unclear, though her own is a likely guess.

Sharp eyes might notice her fingers twisting in the fabric of her skirt, only partially hidden by the angle of her hand.

"...hello."

During one of those lulls in cooking, when one has little to do apart from wait, Rodolphus politely knocks and then enters the kitchen. As if either Narcissa would be so easily startled by his entrance as to mess something up. Then again, he's found that people generally prefer to know when he is coming and going, so it's just a matter of consideration. Being considerate of people who think you're a creepy bastard.

"Mrs Malfoy," he says flatly in greeting. "Ms Black."

He's wearing that terrible little lapel pin again, the cunningly animate tentacle that, from time to time, extends its tiny arm in the direction of whoever's speaking, and waves about a bit before curling back up. Everything else is as might be expected of such a solemn and stern personality, however, dark colors and strict lines. Rodolphus is a tall man, and he might benefit from eating more. Perhaps that's why he's there.

... nah, he's just being polite.

"That's a thought. A man I know at Hellsing has a young daughter; he might have interest, if you decide to go that way." He likes Sol, though he has to wonder how much of it is finding another wizard who is no relation.

"Hello, darling," Lucius says, easily. "I ran into Narcissa as I was coming home from the Guild Hall. I expect you'll want me out from underfoot, unless you've plans to have me fetch and carry?"

Lucius is always and unconsciously more at ease in his wife's company. That said, having both Narcissas in the same place at the same time is still very odd, and it's taking a bit of navigating.

The sound of people is the sort of thing that would drive the elder of the Lucii upstairs and away, stealing away whatever book is on hand in the building and taking his meals between more conventional times -- and yet, still remaining here until a better idea presents itself or something gives, like his own patience and pride, snapping brittle beneath the weight of all of this damned homeyness. For now it holds, and snatches of gathering and conversation drift him to repulsion.

Except for a tone that is near familiar to him, and it doesn't so much as come as a shock as it does for a reminder of what he has already been told. He might as well see it with his own eyes, too, the needful little twinge that he isn't completely alone here, Malfoy analogues notwithstanding. He will have to roll his eyes at himself later. It isn't as though that those who defected stand in good stead with their former allies.

And it's only Rodolphus Lestrange, for Merlin's sake.

He has been cast as the Second War dictates, with what seems like a decade of good sleeping kicked out of him, the dominating silvery quality of blonde hair and second-wand concealed in the cane that signifies its presence with a click against the hard ground not so far behind where the other man entered the kitchen. He is dressed neatly, with thanks to Narcissa elder, but there's only so much neatness can do for the rest of him, relatively healthy though he may be.

Wait, did he say 'Ms. Black'--?

It wasn't as if he'd never had any friends among the Death Eaters, but... well, you run with Bellatrix Lestrange, you get a reputation. And if you're in love with Bellatrix Lestrange, you get a reputation. As it is, if he feels anything at all about Lucius, he's at least not angry at him as most of the 'loyal' Death Eaters might be. Lucius had had a son. A wife who loved him. Rodolphus can't say he wouldn't have done differently.

Actually that's a complete lie, since Bellatrix would never have tolerated anything of the sort, but in an imaginary world where he had a son/daughter and Bellatrix loved him and also wasn't crazy, then he very well might have made a similar choice. All he does is incline his head at Lucius, never much one for words when such are unnecessary. And they are, between two men who have seen the end of two wars — the end of an era. (Not discounting Bellatrix's secret, but things will never be the same, in his mind.)

"I'll certainly keep it in mind."

If she has to resort to working, it might as well be something she's already skilled at.

Carefully watching her older counterpart, Narcissa has the sense to know that anyone knocking on the kitchen door has a right to be here, and doesn't turn around until the other woman has completed this particular task.

With a half smile already forming for Rodolphus, she lifts her head to greet him, but her expression freezes at the man she can see behind him. Lucius had warned her an older version of himself had arrived, but knowing and seeing are two different things.

But since he's not technically in view... "Hello, Rodolphus."

Given the way she left things at home, hearing Lucius greet his wife with easy fondness goes a long way towards lifting a little of the guilt she feels, and her smile relaxes into something much more natural.

"I've come with nothing specific in mind," she offers quietly, "so I leave that decision up to you."

It's not easy to address her with her own name, so she forgoes it for now. They can work that out soon enough.

Narcissa touches Lucius's wrist with her fingertips, familiar but not terribly demonstrative with an audience; she uses the gesture to give him a little push toward the stairs just a moment later. "Shoo, Lucius," she says, pleasantly casual, "we'll manage. I need to talk to you about the lobbying, later."

Her incipient political career can wait, though, she's put the afternoon aside for these cooking lessons.

Reassuringly quiet is something Lucius can appreciate from a Lestrange, for all that maybe when not encroaching on crowded kitchen, there are words he could stand to trade or at least say at someone of relative familiarity while he pilfers whatever spirits this place has available--

But he is getting ahead of himself, his own nod back pausing when he catches sight of the young woman passed the other former Death Eater. As off-putting as the other had been-- never mind the fact he worked this out only after being viciously attacked by her-- this is a completely different story. But whatever is happening beneath cool and aloof mask is only seen in that marked flash of selfconscious alarm before it's gone again.

Meanwhile, they're all nodding, bowing, saying hello to mirror reflections and future omens and historical remnants of one another. Almost as maddening as the situation itself. Cynicism writes across his haggard features.

(He doesn't actually have any alternative to offer anyone, mind you.)

"Please, don't let me interrupt the meet and greet," he demures frostily, headed further into the kitchen. "I was only passing through." Sort of. But now that he's here, he may as well collect more in the way of sustenance that allows him to hermit even harder than he has been.

"If you touch anything in this kitchen before we're finished," Narcissa says, placidly, without looking up from where she's carefully wielding a very sharp knife, "I will use this to slice off your fingers, Lucius, there'll be something to eat shortly. Hello, Rodolphus."

Edited 2011-09-21 12:46 (UTC)

His gaze slides slowly from the younger Narcissa to Lucius, so carefully without comment that it pretty much has to be a comment in and of itself. If this were a more... 'normal' situation, he might just drift over to knife-wielding Narcissa's side of the kitchen and stay there. Because knife-wielding Narcissa is less alarming than whatever's going on with Narcissa and Lucius.

However, he's not even acquainted with this Lucius. At least he's talked to the other Narcissa before ~~or would have if his typist hadn't flaked out on that~~. A more socially adroit person might strike up a conversation, suggest some form of diversion like chess, or anything, really, apart from stare curiously at Lucius. Which is actually what is going on.

"Let me know what you decide." As they come up to the house, he says, "For what it's worth, I think you'd be a good teacher."

"Noted. I'll be in my study, if you think of anything you need." He gives the younger Narcissa an encouraging smile before departing and leaving them to it.

"I hope my patience proves your faith in me well justified."

A glance up at the pretty townhouse has her squaring her shoulders.

A twitch of her lips is well-hidden at her older self's deft handling of what is undoubtedly the most bizarre situation she's ever found herself in. Careful arrangement of vegetables yet to be chopped creates the illusion that she knows what she's doing, and she's pleased that when she speaks, her voice is quietly confident.

"Hello, Lucius. I believe there's tea things over on the other counter, perhaps you'd like a cup while you wait."

There really is two of them.

That seems hardly fair.

Lucius stops short, a glance from one Narcissa to the other, as if maybe assessing exactly how much trouble either of them are worth, before commenting, primly; "Is there an echo in here?" But he does go for the tea, if only for something to do rather than aboutface out of the kitchen in a fit of social awkwardness. Rodolphus' stare is felt rather than met, hunkered against as opposed to challenged as he might have done a few years ago.

These subtle differences.

There are two of him, too, he'll note.

"There isn't."

Her voice has lost some of the tentative friendliness it initially held.

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please sir, may I have some more?

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posting order, what's that, NO ONE IS GETTING NOTIFS ANYWAY /TAGS FRANTICALLY

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YAY INDISCRIMINATE TAGGING

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\ oAo/

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