The Fates are Fickle and Must be Appeased
April 20, 2005 at 12:49 pm
Astoria let herself in and out of Marcus' apartment all the time now. She knew it annoyed him, so she tried to make up for it by keeping the place stocked with his favorite liquor and foods he liked. She cleaned a bit. Marcus grumbled about that, but she always put things where he could find them.
She was sitting in the middle of the floor doing a bit of tarot in her matching underwear when Marcus slammed in.
Marcus stomped into the kitchen and grabbed an apple from the bowl that had "mysteriously" appeared on his counter. Just like the food that kept appearing. He bitched about it, mainly because Greengrass seemed to expect it. But not having the bother of shopping or cleaning was just about the only good bit of this "relationship". Merlin knew he wasn't getting laid.
It was bad enough that he was considering taking Rosenberg up on her offer to create a bubble around the two of them.
"Anything interesting," he asked as he collapsed back onto the couch. She liked nattering on about her predictions.
"Draco is going to ask me for favors." Astoria tapped a card to her chin before laying it. "It has to do with Blaise, of course. Naturally. Those two are meant for one another, but it's completely twisted. Looks like hate."
"They're Slytherins," he uselessly reminded her. She knew damned well that Slytherin love was not the same as other people's version of the emotion. Outsiders would think that Malfoy and Zabini hated each other.
"Anything important? Like the Mark?"
"That hasn't been talking much. There's a puppeteer pulling the strings. I can't seen his face. It's man. He's using the fear."
Astoria laid on her back and rolled her head back to look at him.
"Anything interesting with you?"
"The usual idiots getting drunk. One fight that I didn't even get the pleasure of breaking up. So, no, nothing interesting."
Astoria rolled onto her belly and propped her chin in her hands. "You seem tense, but if I get anywhere near you, the ceiling will cave in or something. I'm being punished, I think, and not in the way I would like to be punished."
"My balls feel like they're about to explode. Or fall off." He had no desire for sex right now, though. Hadn't felt the desire for several days. Like a dog who got kicked every time it came running until it learned not to run towards its owner. His dick had stopped reacting to her near nakedness. He thought that she could dance around starkers and he wouldn't react at this point.
"More likely, it's my punishment. Was never exactly a bloody choir boy, was I."
"No, you weren't," Astoria replied, slinking towards him and putting her hands on his knees. "That's part of your charm, though. Perhaps we should try to appease the fates. Like have a date or something that normal people who aren't us would do. Maybe there are unspoken rules that need to be followed to get to the natural... happy ending we both want. I could consult the runes if the idea appeals to you."
"Better than any idea I have at the moment," he said around a mouthful of apple. "When will you do it? Consult the runes or ask the spirits or whatever."
Astoria dove for her bag and pulled her runes out. She shook the container they were in and spilled them across the floor. She studied her answer.
"Interesting. The answer is inconclusive, but I think it might work. We should try a traditional setting, and then I can invite you inside for a nightcap at the end of said date at which time one thing can lead to another. So what shall we do? Have dinner? That seems normal."
Dinner. At a restaurant. A bloody date
. That might or might not appease whatever buggering gods he had offended.
"When do you want to do it? And where?" He had a feeling his usual choice of take away dives would not meet her standards.
"Well, I doubt you'd enjoy my favorite place Allegra's, and I am not having a candlelight dinner at the Back Alley or the Wiggly Wand, so I would suggest a happy medium like the Leaky or Three Broomsticks. Or there's a Chinese place in Diagon called Paper Moon. It's not fancy but not pub food either. Not that I don't like pub food."
The Leaky would definitely not work. And neither would the 'Sticks, if Brody MacDougal still ran the place. He'd had a run in or two with the MacDougals, which were one or two too many for him.
"Chinese it is, then. Do I need to make an appointment? Pick you up at your cottage with flowers?" He'd never been on an actual date before. Not the kind that she wanted. Meeting up in a bar or at a Death Eater revel did not count.
"I suppose we have to do this right. I'm not overly fond of flowers as a gift, but it might appease the fates. I think they're rather useless, so just whatever looks pleasing and doesn't cost much. I don't suspect we need reservations. It's not that sort of place, but yes, your need to pick me up. The point is you must return me home. There will be a goodnight kiss, the invitation inside under the guise of one more drink, then copious amounts of wild sex."
"Yes. That might work."
"Saturday night, then? I have it off. I can come by at seven?" And pray like hell that the fickle fates decided that he had paid enough.
"Marcus Flint, you just asked me out on a date," Astoria replied in a playful tone. "I accept. Seven sounds lovely."
She hoped this worked. She was very tired of not having him. They got so close, but something always stopped it. Astoria crawled up and sat next to him. She wondered if she dared a kiss. Astoria leaned over and kissed the side of his mouth, planning to take it further.
Someone knocked at the door.
She growled in frustration and flung herself away, arms folding over her chest in an angry pout. Then she shook a fist at the ceiling.
"This had better work or I shall do something very drastic. You lot are making me angry."
She sprung from the couch and threw open the door, not bothering to hide the fact that she was in her bra and knickers. The poor boy standing there looked at her with wide eyes and made a squeak noise.
"He doesn't like reading the Prophet. We would not care for a subscription. Carry on then."
She slammed the door and leaned against it, banging her forehead a few times for good measure.
Marcus remained on the couch and gave a wry laugh. He gave up. He just fucking gave up. If Greengrass's date idea did not work, he was going to just kill himself and get it over with. Surely suicide was more pleasant than this slow death by frustration.