modern icarus.

#BLVDGERS. a dependent henry fortescue established by rachel on the 31st of march, 2022.

so, it wasn’t his best made plan. he could hardly be blamed for that. mattie had provided the opportunity in the first place by dragging him along to the tree lighting ceremony by side apparition and then wandering off into the crowd to find their friends, leaving him alone to wander the familiar village under unfamiliar circumstances. if they’d stuck by his side - as promised, he might add - then they’d have stumbled upon gracie in a kind of ... neutral territory, and henry wouldn’t have spared even a thought to how he might strike up meaningful conversation or, perhaps, how to ask whether that was something she might be interested in at all at some point in the future. mattie’s friends were generally off limits. he respected that. but when mattie was nowhere to be seen, and gracie’s sibling - he knew they were some sort of bird, maybe a lark, or a robin - having bounded off a while before and never returned, he sort of figured that keeping grace company was an acceptable thing to do, and... well, whatever came of that was fine. right ?

sheepish expression meets two blue eyes the size of saucers - grace is not sure whether she is more impressed with henry’s ability to carry four champagne glasses ( they’d have shattered on the floor had roles been reversed, knowing her luck ) or how he seemingly gets all of the champagne names correct. they both are a bit out of place in their own ways, which perhaps will make her next confession easier to say, but she interrupts him first with a shaking head and a hand gently placed on his arm. “henry, it’s fine.” and really, it is. “i’m sure half the guests tonight would HATE to hear it, but i’m positive i won’t be able to taste the differences. i think any time i’ve had champagne outside of . . these things it’s been… the VALUE variety.”

to tell the truth, the poor server who had dealt with him up at the bar couldn’t have been getting paid enough for what henry had put him through, but he really hadn’t been trying to be an intentional annoyance. he just wanted grace to enjoy herself, and he saw it as kind of his duty to ensure - there was factor of mattie and how quickly they’d have his head if he did anything wrong on this night of all nights, but moreso than all that, henry was keenly aware of his own trophy date status. he felt like he was there to provide her easy conversation & look nice doing it, and he’d decided that providing the right drink fell within his roles and responsibilities. the server had had to repeat the names three times before he’d got them, which he was grateful for, and now he was just trying his best ( in all ways, best shown when he moves to put his hand over hers like he’s reassuring her and only for her to move it away again, just as he latches on and gives his own arm a squeeze ). freshly embarrassed but newly desperate to move on, he gives a relieved chuckle and says, “i’m not a champagne person either. in my experience, they’ll all make you feel the same by the end of the night, whatever the price.” not that he’d had to pay, but the point still felt like it stood to scrutiny. he admits, “i’d have rathered a lager, but they didn’t have any in their options. bit mad, to have spent all this money and not have anything normal, but then, that’s the ministry all over.” a pause, to consider the fact that grace does work within the ministry, and then he adds, “no offense.”

It  isn’t  often  Flint  feels  something  as  simple  as  gratitude.   They’re  a  little    (    a  lot    )    too  self - serving  to  ever  really  consider  the  concept  of  thanking  another,   but  as  subtle  throat  clear  silences  a  distant  relative  from  rambling  about  wedding  favours,   a  deep  relief  washes  over  from  within,   suddenly  making  their  interrupter  a  much - desired  saviour  even  if  that  wasn’t  their  intention.   Opportunity  is  grasped  in  an  instant  as  Marcus  swallows  down  what  would’ve  been  their  usual  expected  sarcasm,   the  longing  to  escape  far  outweighing  their  distaste  at  being  mistaken  for  someone  who  likes  to  offer  distractions.           ‘     I  do  and  I  would  be  more  than  happy  to  show  you.   It’s  much  easier  than  explaining.     ’           Apologies  are  swiftly  made  to  the  aunt  who’s  name  is  just  as  lost  to  them  as  this  stranger’s.   Such  a  good  boy,   she  insists,   helping  a  friend  in  need,   and  uncharacteristic  smile  stays  on  Marcus’  features  the  entire  time.   Steps  are  taken,  signalling  with  a  nod  for  the  lost  guest  to  follow  him.   He  waits  until  their  a  suitable  distance  before  speaking  again.           ‘     I  don’t  know  who  you  are,   mate,   but  you’ve  just  spared  me  an  hour  of  discussing  the  best  colour  schemes  for  weddings.   Consider  me  forever  in  your  debt.     ’ 

❛          i     wish     i     could     help,     but     i’m     just     as     lost.          ❜          their     answering     smile     is     𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚑,     apologetic          /          not     like     they’d     intended     to     wander     so     far     from     the     atrium,     but     it’s     SINGULARLY     easy     to     lose     themselves     in     half     -     chased     thought          &          simply     drift     away     from     the     rest     of     the     evening.     quiet     corner     had     come     as     sweet     solace     when     champagne     had     started     to     give     them     the     first     inklings     of     a     headache,     but     it     had     only     grown     when     they’d     tried     to     retrace     their     steps          &          found     themselves     𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘     bewildered.     henry     appears     much     the     same,          &          there’s     strange     respite     in     that          :          they’re     not     the     only     one     desperately     baffled     by     the     ministry’s     labyrinthine     layout          !               ❛          do     you     reckon     it’d     KILL     them     to     whack     a     couple     signs     about          ?          ❜

oliver hadn’t bothered to listen to any of the presentations - having assumed they wouldn’t be any different than those the year prior, not that he’d paid much attention. instead he’d spent his time exploring - though, he’d yet to discover anything exciting, he hadn’t yet given up hope. he was thrilled to run into a familiar face, a wide smile appearing across his face as he approached henry. “i could do that,” he started, his voice trailing off, “or we could do some exploring. i hear the third floor has pictures of various magical catastrophes.”

Kaz got too bored with the presentations and barely polite small talk. He quickly realized he’d rather stick his head in the barely edible hors d'oeuvres plates than stay around much longer. Leaving outright would’ve been too easy, but not remarkable. It’s not like anyone sharing his surname was looking around for him, anyway. Instead, he opts for wandering around the building as a method of entertainment until he finds someone so clearly lost. “You’ve made it quite far in the opposite direction of it.” He points out with a raised eyebrow, but he motions for him to follow all the same. “Come on, I’ll walk you back. It’s a bit of a maze to try to give the directions.”

“well, i’m a man of many talents,” he jokes, weakly, finding it hard to hit the right balance between good humour and easy charm when he felt so thoroughly out of his depth. it’s all fun & games until his shortcomings ( that’s all they are, really ; it’s the kindest way to put it ) rear their head, once more, and henry suspects this would have been easier with a wand of his own and a head full of directional spells. “’wish there was a map or something,” he laments, falling into step beside the other, “’seems like an oversight not to have one.”

𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽     &     𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴          :          st.     mungos     ,     a     few     hours     after     the     attack     . 𝙵𝙾𝚁          :          henry     fortescue          (          @blvdgers​          )          . 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂          :          closed     .

all     in     all     ,     she’s     been     remarkably     docile          ;          paramount     hysteria     replaced     by     a     vacuity     behind     her     eyes     ,     like     the     effort     of     screaming     herself     hoarse     had     taken     every     ounce     of     that     𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜     personality     with     it     .     cross     -     legged     on     her     assigned     hospital     bed     ,     eyes     cast     downwards     ,     not     a     muscle     twitches     .          (          almost     like     she’s     waiting          ──          the     fact     that     she’d     managed     to     swallow     her     terror     ,     give     them     his     details     ,     is     nothing     short     of     a     MIRACLE     .          )          approaching     footsteps          &          the     preternatural     sense     of     being     watched     are     the     only     things     that     prompt     mattie     to     drag     idle     ,     dark     eyes     upward     .     when     they     meet     a     blessedly     familiar     countenance     ,     they     swim     with     a     fresh     batch     of     tears     .          ❛          henry          .     .     .          ❜          it’s     all     she     can     get     out     ,     all     she     𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒔     to          ──          the     elder     fortescue     hardly     has     time     to     hear     her     single     word     before     she’s     leaping     up     ,     seeking     out     the     only     comfort     she     can     think     of     .     the     world     can     CRUMBLE     down     around     them          (          &          hasn’t     it     before          ?          )          but     all     she     wants     ,     all     she     craves     ,     is     a     bone     -     crushing     hug     .

The vampire can sense the way the wix recoils, which only makes Lorcan grin wider, a residue of red ringing their lips. It is a reminder that while their species can walk along side the human, there is still prejudice lingering in every dark ( and light ) corner. Lorcan is used to it, or so they’d like to think, having had over centuries of experience. They drop their extended hand and, in extension, the extended candy bag away from the wix, “Suit yourself,” Lorcan tuts, stowing away the candy in their interior jacket pocket. Perhaps they’ll give it to their familiar, Sophie. She might enjoy. “That is very sweet of you. She must appreciate you greatly, my dear, having such a generous and lovely brother.”

even unawares to the layers and complexities attached to what had been, to him, a simple refusal, henry feels a sharp stab of remorse. not enough to backtrack, or to wish he could - there was something so unappealing about the blood pop that he simply couldn’t surmount - but certainly enough to make him self conscious, moving forward, overly aware of having chosen what proved to be the wrong dialogue option. “i play quidditch,” he elaborates, lamely, “i don’t really eat this stuff anyways.” cockroach clusters, jelly slugs and bertie botts, oh my - he had never found the taste for them. unfortunately, henry’s also not very good at taking that brand of compliment, shifting his weight from foot to foot awkwardly and coming off both flattered and embarrassed in equal measure, “do you have siblings?... they don’t usually think that way.” 

LOCATION: sugarplums  STATUS: open @startertms

“Care for a sweet, my dear?” Lorcan asks, leaning over the person’s shoulder, a bag of assorted candy in their outstretched hand. A long finger extracts the lollipop from their mouth by the stick that pokes out from between their lips, their tongue and teeth stained red. “I came for a few blood-pops and the lovely staff gave me this,” They gesture toward the goodie bag, “Unfortunately for me, I don’t have the stomach for it. You can have it, if you like.”

he wouldn’t call himself the squeamish sort, but he couldn’t deny the unpleasant flop that his stomach did, when lorcan pulled the blood pop out of their mouth. it surely couldn’t be real blood - that’s what he was telling himself, anyway, to mild success - but it didn’t put his mind entirely at ease about the offered bag of sweets. “no, thank you,” feels weak as a refusal, so henry does the only thing he can THINK of and pats his stomach, heartily, “big breakfast. m'only here to buy something nice for my sister.” 

it’s     a     vice     he’s     never     learned     to     give     up     ,     indulgent     wix     brands     foregone     in     favour     of     benson          &     hedges          ;          whether     he     smokes     because     there’s     comfort     found     in     the     taste     of     tobacoo     ,     or     whether     it’s     just     something     to     keep     RESTLESS     hands     busy     ,     is     anyone’s     guess     .     he     won’t     knock     back     a     𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚢     offer     ,     though          !          ❛          cheers     ,     mate     .          ❜          his     own     INHALE     is     similarly     stilted     ,     not     fractured     by     coughs     the     way     henry’s     is     but     fidgety     ,     in     its     own     way     .          ❛          christ     ,          ❜          comes     a     feeble     grouse     almost     lost     to     the     fog     of     sweetened     smoke     ,          ❛          they’re     punchy     .          ❜