portrait of a lady

date: october 14th

time: night

status: closed @yxxley

      “Thank you so much.” She told them as they handed her the glass of champagne, a soft blush spreading over her cheeks and nose that not even her makeup could cover. Every conversation about Yaxley she had had, had ended up in the same conclusion. People told her that she shouldn’t be naive, that someone like them with their blood status and such a wife-to-be was never going to be really interested in her unless they needed something. And still here she was, dressed up like a porcelain doll, pink glossy lips and diamond earrings. If she had been anywhere else, maybe in a different country, she could have fooled anyone. The perfect picture of a pureblood lady. However, everyone that night knew who she was, including their fiancée; which made the fact that she was there trying to be charming and failing even more ridiculous. 

“I’m only fucking with the poster. Don’t think that it counts as part of the whole property, no matter how much Rodolphus probably paid to put it in that exact spot. Hey– what if they were going to vote for what’s-her-name instead? I’d be a hero.” He knows she doesn’t mean it with a negative connotation, joking more than anything so he smirks.”Okay, okay we’re going.” They continue to walk, getting away from the poster only to hit another, causing an undeniable eye roll. “Wait why do I have to watch you enjoy ice cream?”

“Nah, this ain’t your payment,” he chuckles lowly before taking a sip of his ale. The amount of amusement he was beginning to get out of his was probably a bit too much considering the task, but the girl had to have some idea what she was getting herself into when having him of all people for a trainer. “45 galleons in coin will do just fine for that- and that’s before every trainin’ session, no exceptions.” 

Setting his mug down he picks back up the crumpled book page and holds it in front of her once more. “Now, what this is right here is part of your first bit of trainin’, I hate usin’ the stuff myself and it’s fuckin’ expensive to get brewed, but if you want trained then we’re gonna do it right.” There were obviously much more simpler and far easier ways to start the two’s training, but he in no way planned to make this easy or simple for her. If she wanted to learn how to fight, well then she was going to learn how to really fight. 

“It’ll take a couple weeks for that shit to kick in, so make sure you get it cooked up soon. Then once that’s done I say we’re set for havin’ our first session the night of the next full moon,” he pauses for a moment to make sure she realizes just what he’s insinuating. “That is unless you’ve changed your mind.” 

      Her lips parted in the shape of a faint O at the realisation, but she made no sound. So he didn’t technically need her to brew the thing as part of his payment; then that was something else? Honestly this was already way more confusing than she had expected it to be, but she didn’t regret her choice, and he was the trainer anyway. If there was one thing she had learned after years of quidditch was that some coaches had unorthodox methods. “45 galleons, before every session. Perfect.” She had no idea if that was too much. He could have asked for a hundred, and she would have probably given them to him. 

“Dare I say it, I believe I might be too vain to fake my own death,” Thorfinn mused with an amused laughter. His ego could give a girl with the surname ‘Vanity’ a run for her money. It had begun when he was younger, being adored by most of the pureblood women who would tell him how gorgeous his hair and big brown eyes were. It entirely intensified when he had turned eighteen, then the women had begun flirting with him. His whole life was a beauty pageant and thus had left the only Rowle entirely self-absorbed. In fact,  his drop in self-worth was one of the very few beneficial things that came out of Azkaban, at least for the people around Thor. His brief imprisonment had grounded the young man when he felt like he was completely untouchable. At least now he had a sense of reality. “Well you know, being a keeper I do get headgear but I suppose I wouldn’t mind something to shield my face. Especially when I’m playing against you, your aim is lethal,” there it was, presumably the first genuine compliment towards Emma that had ever come from his lips, it wasn’t even meant to antagonize her and in the moment Thor had barely noticed he’d stated it. “You make a valid point. I believe you agree, with your father being your coach, you can never run away from their criticism. Mine would hate me doing that, what makes it harder is he used to the Keeper for the Kenmare Kestrals. The number of rants I get per quidditch season about my performance, you wouldn’t believe it. I’m surprised my ears haven’t fallen off yet.” Thor took another sip of his drink, watching Emma observantly as she spoke. The corner of his mouth rolled into a subtle smile at her words, eyes lighting up with complete recognition, “you won’t like me saying this, but you and I are in extremely similar circumstances. I’d sell my whole fortune and name off in a heartbeat if I could just be referred to as a successful Keeper for once rather than a bloody heir.”

Thor’s brow raised in the astonishment of her words, he was certainly making direct progress in his mind. After all, this time last week Emma would have never of referred to Thorfinn as being ‘decent company’, but then again if she had then he would have undoubtedly taunted her about it. It was a learning curve for him, he’d essentially bullied Emma from childhood and now he was here trying to lure her into liking him. “Maybe I’m bored of pompous pureblood women,” he mused with a big grin, making sure to keep eye contact with Emma as he did so. Of course, that wasn’t true. Thorfinn couldn’t afford to be exhausted of such a stereotype, to do so would mean he may as well leave the comfort and protection of his society, not even he could afford that with all that was going on. “No, I’m not stupid, I know you’re not Rosier. You and Evan couldn’t be anywhere further apart from each other. I can’t even picture Evan flying on a broom and playing a match, she’d probably break a nail and sue me for it, something like that,” he chuckled. As the conversation developed to his mother’s wishes of a marriage, Thor couldn’t fight the appearance of total disgust that washed over his face. “I will miss it, yes. But thankfully no families of the sacred twenty-eight are interested in wedding their daughters to an ex-convict, guilty or not. My mother’s expectations for my future bride are still sky high, it should buy me some time before she has to start looking at international heiresses. Meanwhile, my stepfather wants me to marry for love,” he shuddered, “If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll avoid it entirely. I can’t say I’ve ever been lured in by the concept of a union.” He tilted his head curiously, the Magpie’s captain had still been unsure when to restart their practice, “consider yourself lucky, I’m going out of my mind with boredom. Maybe you could be so kind to practice with me sometime? With Quaffles though, not bludgers. You don’t score goals with bats.” 

      “Quite the contrary. I believe you need a great deal of arrogance to actually do that. People are actually way more adored when they die than when they’re alive. You’d be pretty much a rockstar.” There was no denying Thorfinn had a bunch of people who admired him, and followed him everywhere he went. That was the life of a pureblood heir, she supposed. It was the life her parents had wished for her as a little child, showering her with both compliments and money, giving her every single thing she wanted. It was what she had wanted too, as she walked down Hogwarts’ hallways with Narcissa and Evan, believing she was the queen of the school when she was merely another subject. She had realised that eventually, perhaps a little too late. She tilted her head, with an amused smile. “Is it, really? Wow- you’re complimenting now? Are you feeling all right?” Emma chuckled. “Thanks. I try. I promise I’ve got nothing personal against your face. It’s just the easiest way to distract you; but it’s actually quite decent.” There, a compliment of her own, it was only fair after all. She nodded. “That must be hell. All the expectations. My dad is my manager, but he doesn’t understand a thing about the game so he can’t really criticize me. He’s constantly telling me I should improve my public image, though, you know, being savage on the pitch and a true lady out of it. I guess I can still work on that.” And probably flipping the bird at the referee every time they made an unfair decision wasn’t the right step towards that particular change. What he said next had her smiling fondly. She wasn’t sure whether to actually believe that or not. He seemed way too comfortable with his lifestyle. However, he did look sincere. “I don’t believe that. You like being popular way too much.”

“Of course,” he assured her with a nod. It was apparent to him that he was really going to have to push his modest side, his natural arrogance and cocky flirtations weren’t going to get him anywhere with Emma Vanity, that was very much evident. He couldn’t blame her, she was surrounded by other Quidditch players like himself, Emma had probably worked up a tolerance for the stereotypical sportsmen formality. Then, clearly, there was the bonus add-on that Thorfinn had never been the kindest towards Emma, not only were they rivals but he had connections with a handful of people that wanted to completely despised her. It was really no wonder the woman wasn’t keen to go for a drink with him. “I don’t know, I think I’m just easy to write about and it turns out a lot of witches are intrigued by my antics,” Thor explained, although the comment sounding boastful his tone certainly wasn’t. “I did see that actually, myself and my stepfather were discussing it over lunch the other day. It’s very peculiar to me that even the Quidditch magazines are now resulting to gossip to attract an audience. Unfortunately, with people like us a lot of the time our fortune ends up being more interesting than our careers. Being basically the heir of two bloodlines, I would know. My mother adores it though, it’s basically free advertising for future elopements,” he’d laugh at the last part, scrunching up his nose. It was evident that Thor had no interest in engagements. “Don’t worry, it happens.”

Thorfinn nodded at her drink request, he’d never actually bought a woman a pint before so this arrangement was growing to be more and more alluring. Hell, at this rate he wasn’t going to be shocked if the smaller woman could equally out drink him and leave him passed out under a table, a scene that had certainly happened before in this pub. Ordering a pint, he paid the barmaid and thanked them with a charming grin. Turning back to Emma, Thor handed her the beer and took a sip of his own drink. “So,” he began, “I’m not doing bad thus far right, or are you still considering sprinting out the door?” Thor smirked, setting the crystal cut glass back down on the countertop. “We always come here after a match, me and a few guys from the team. All the married players run back to their spouses whilst we drown our sorrows or celebrate our victories with far too much firewhiskey,” he explained to Emma, he thought it’d be best giving an explanation to why he’d brought her there. It was his favorite pub, even if it was literally hundreds of miles away from his apartment in London, it still managed to remain his local. “You were going to bed early, I noticed. Have you got big plans tomorrow that I’m going to spoil with a hangover from hell?”

      Emma rolled her eyes. Of course witches were interested in his antics. He had that bad boy, mysterious musician in leather jacket vibe to him, and everywhere he went he looked much more like a rockstar than a quidditch player. It was obviously attractive, and it would even have been to her at some point if he hadn’t been so set on antagonising all the time. Or perhaps it had been her? She couldn’t really recall when or why her rivalry with Thorfinn had started. However, when she spoke again, her tone wasn’t annoyed but playful. “Maybe you should fake your death or something. That works for some people.” She chuckled. “I’m only kidding. I don’t think your coach would appreciate that. Unless you play with a mask on.” She tilted her head. “Now that I think about it, that wouldn’t be half a bad idea. That way you could protect that face you like so much.” She was surprised to find herself actually listening to him, interested in what he had to say. It wasn’t something she was going to admit out loud any time soon, but maybe there was more to him than what she had initially thought. “I think that’s what appeals the majority of the audience beyond quidditch enthusiasts, and that’s why they’re trying so hard to push it like that. It fucking blows, but it’s the price we have to pay, I guess?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wish I could step away from all this bullshit and just play quidditch.”

The grin stayed firmly on his face, solely because Emma’s response to his flirtations was far more entertaining than he could of hope for. Forcing a neutral expression, Thorfinn raised his brow with an approving nod, “fair enough, then I retract my comment.” Perhaps this wasn’t going to be that painful after all, as his attentive gaze washed over the woman. She certainly wasn’t sore on the eyes, somehow her messy bed hair and one swipe of lipgloss over full lips complimented one another. Emma wasn’t the usual prim and proper girl he’d habitually had a taste for, she was unconventional and that made her intriguing. He might even be attracted towards her, might be, Thor wasn’t going to push the theory any further than that. “Already?” Thorfinn asked, comedically stretching the word, “bloody hell, I better hurry up then before you run back in.” He grinned, “Actually, I would hate that. I don’t appreciate gossip when it comes to my personal life. I put on a persona for the press, they love it and it gets me more fans. I do, however, like to keep some things private, despite popular belief. For example, I unmistakably wasn’t the one pouring my heart out about my father to Skeeter, someone I know must’ve talked. They pay quite a bit of money for little facts like that, the reporters. I don’t doubt your professionalism, Emma.” he shrugged.

Once she took his arm he apparated them both with ease and with a loud snap they were no longer outside the Vanity Manor but stood in an alleyway in Edinburgh. Instantly the northern climate had hit and the bitter cold was evident in comparison to the southern weather. Thor hadn’t pulled his arm away, he’d wanted to test how fast she would be to take her hand back, his stepfather had continuously spoken about the importance of body language when he’d first been engaged to Alecto. Tapping rhythmically on the nearby wall, the damp bricks would gradually evaporate to unveil a perfectly painted red door and above a classic pub sign hung. Only locals knew about the hidden bar, Scots always did prefer to keep the English tourists out. As usual, trying to play the gentleman act, Thorfinn opened the door for Emma and motioned for her to step inside, “lady’s first, if you stand out here all night you’ll probably freeze to death.” He smiled once again, this time more friendly. The Scottish accents were evident in the air, just how Thor liked it, it was always favorable not having the voice that would stand out in a room. Leading her over to the bar, he’d order himself a glass of whiskey before turning to Emma, “You don’t strike me as a gin and tonic lass, what would you like?”

      “You do?” His reply took her by surprise. Why was he being somewhat nice all of a sudden? The whole thing was getting more and more suspicious by the second, and that only fuelled her conviction that she needed to discover what this was all about. She needed to remember that Thorfinn was friends with both Cassius and Alecto, and any of them could be behind this. Cassius had even threatened to destroy her reputation for no reason other than his own fun, so send his mate to pull a prank on her didn’t seem like something that was past him. Still, if she wanted to have any chance of finding out what the guy next to her was planning, she needed to control herself and try and be polite. “Thank you.”. She said, as she listened to what else he had to say. “For someone who doesn’t like gossip you seem to be on Witch Weekly a lot.” Emma sighed. “But I understand. Sometimes reporters can be difficult. I don’t know if you saw the article about me last week. It was supposed to be about quidditch and they ended up saying a bunch of stuff about my fortune and what my dad does? My manager is preparing a press release about it, but I mean, my father is my manager so I don’t think people will take that too seriously.” She tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, looking down at her feet, then at him again. “I’m sorry about your dad, by the way. And that someone revealed that information without your permission. It blows.”

location: diagon alley date: october 10th time: 5pm availability: open

He’s interrupting every conversation around him as he chuckles. Simply walking by was the plan, grabbing a quick drink, but he couldn’t resist flicking his fingers and plopping a pair of pointed horns and a black tooth on the nearby campaign poster. He’d been living with photos of Rodolphus slapping him in the face ever since he was born, more so now that he was moved out and his mother had put out more photos. “Someone beside him flashes disapproving eyes, obviously disagreeing with his brand of humor. “I’m convinced it looks better now –you’re insane.” 

“How is that not funny?” 

      “You know, some people might disapprove of the fact that you’re both vandalizing private property and you’re also making fun of the person they’re going to vote for. Especially because you’re his brother. People are expecting you to be supportive.” Emma says with a smile. Rabastan’s relationship with Rodolphus is something way too complex for her to try and understand, so she has simply gotten used to it in the time they have been friends. “Are you done with your art now? As much as I appreciate horns and black teeth on political posters, we need to talk about the upcoming trials. And I would much prefer it if we did that over ice cream.” 

Location: Emma’s house Time: 10:37pm Status: closed to @ofvanities

It was quite the spectacle and certainly not the typical thing Thorfinn would come up with in an attempt to get a woman’s attention. He wasn’t used to putting so much work into his flings, it was a new concept to adapt himself to. However, after Emma Vanity had turned down his verbal request for a drink on three separate occasions and also ignored his owl, it was certainly time to up his game if he ever wanted to fulfill his debt to Alecto. That and protect his ego from the rejection. Although admittedly It didn’t take much of planning, in fact within half an hour of the idea popping into his head, there he was. On his broom, tapping on Emma’s window with the theory that she couldn’t say no to him after he’d go to such extreme efforts. And sure enough Thorfinn was right, it was probably the shock that finally made Emma agree to it but clearly, he was going to blame it on his good looks and a stellar personality. 

With his feet back on the ground, Thorfinn rested the broomstick against the wall as he waited near the front door for her to get changed out of her pajamas. As the door creaked open, he offered the woman one of his signature brilliant smiles, the kind you would see in the editorial pictures that accompanied Witch Weekly articles. “You know I’m almost sad to see you out of that Quidditch jersey, you looked adorable,” he mused, biting his bottom lip in anticipation for Emma’s reply to his blatant flirting. “So I was thinking, let’s avoid the usual dull London pubs like The Leaky Cauldron and go up the country to a more familiar territory, for me at least,” the last part was particularly important, he was clueless to how well Emma knew Edinburgh. “Scotland has better whiskey anyway, it’s a fact,” his tone was unusually pleasant and inviting, it was the kind of voice he’d use when he wanted to charm someone into getting his way, so it suited the situation perfectly. Thor held his arm out to Emma so they could apparate together “Shall we go then? Before you change your mind.”

      “The fact that I don’t have a bludger here with me doesn’t mean I can’t fucking punch you Thorfinn. I told you not to push it.” Emma was desperately trying not to wake up her parents as she stood at the Manor’s door next to Thorfinn. This was a situation she never in her wildest dreams had imagined she was going to be in. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out what his game was. The first time he had asked her out, she had thought it was just a prank. But then it had happened again, and again, and then a letter had come. What was he trying to do? And worst of all, why was she humoring him? Mostly it had been the shock of seeing him outside her window at night, while she was wearing only an old oversized quidditch jersey and her underwear, getting ready to go to sleep. She had practice in the morning, and yet here she was. 

“Oh–” is her flat response, before a quick, “You know it was hard for me to pay attention to that game.” …Unless someone fell down or broke something, that is. She shoots Emma an unamused glance as the other girl felt the need to clarify her position. “I’m not daft – I was forced to enough Slytherin games to know you’re a beater, Emma.” Her eyes roll playfully at her friend, shaking her head as she dismisses the topic. Though, not only would such a bludger be valuable, it would be a most lethal keepsake, one Evan would probably hold for herself in the end. 

As a girl who put great stock in her privacy, going to Rosa Lee’s was always a bittersweet outing. While the tea was divine, the likelihood of a photo-op was guaranteed to follow. Tabloids needing to know what she and Emma were doing, what they were wearing, where they were going, always seemed to appear. Not to mention, many of society’s elite frequented the establishment, wearing their best furs and sipping from delicate cups with gloved hands. But she’s ready, having been groomed for years to handle such things. That’s why she smiles for Witch Weekly, hair tossed over her shoulder with a deliberate flick of her hand. The photographer gives them a thumbs up when he’s snapped enough, and Evan even draws closer to request, “You’ll see to sending me a copy of that, won’t you?” She waits for no answer, saying a pleasant, ‘Merci, over her shoulder. 

“I suppose,” she says, neutrally, as her way of getting Emma to combat her, to say more, to somehow get to the point of why she’d brought up Yaxley to begin with. Her eyes narrow as the rest of her friend’s words trickle out. It’s then that Evan concludes, “You like them…” A pause. “I’m telling Cissa.” The words are childish, followed by a giggle, but she sobers up, quick to remind her, “You were just spurned by their nephew and left to be disgraced. I wouldn’t trust any interest shown, Emma. No matter how genuine you think it is.” Don’t be naive, she almost says, but refrains.

      She smiles. “Maybe you had forgotten about it. It’s not like you or Narcissa come to many of my games anymore.” Despite her words, there’s no malice or complaint in her voice. She has long known and learned to understand that quidditch is definitely neither Evan nor Narcissa’s natural place. It shouldn’t be hers either, and yet it’s where she feels the most free. She shrugs. “I think kids like the snitch better though. That’s the little one, with wings. Everyone likes it better because it looks like an ornament more than like a ball, which makes no sense to me but whatever. And also because whoever catches it finishes the game.”

Evan was way better at handling the press than she was, which was ironic since she was surrounded by journalists 24/7. Sports reporters are different than gossip ones though, less annoying and less likely to come up with stuff or take your words out of context. Still, they make it to the tea shop relatively quietly and are given one of the best located tables. Those were the perks of hanging out with the top of the pureblood elite, preferential treatment by default. 

By the time the witch returns Fenrir has settled himself into the corner booth, far enough away from the rest of the pub goers that they’d be relatively out of earshot. The secrecy was probably unnecessary, they weren’t doing anything illegal by any means. If what he understood of her request was true, it sounded like she just wanted to familiarize herself more with dueling and protection spells. Nothing too out of the ordinary really. 

He takes a few swigs of the ale in front of him as she begins her questions, and merlin, did she have them. By the time she finally stops he’d nearly downed half the pint. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll keep this between us,” he grimaces, he was beginning to wonder if this all was really worth the amount of coin she was going to give him. 

“Payment doesn’t have to be anythin’ fancy. I don’t have a bank account or nothin’ so just pay me at the beginnin’ of each session with cash.” He pauses for a minute before he answers her next question. Taking his hands off his pint, he begins rummaging through his jacket pockets. As he digs through their contents he drops a variety of items on the table as he searches for what he’s looking for. The items themselves range from crumpled store receipts, a hot pink muggle lighter, 5 knuts, an empty condom wrapper, and a crushed fortune cookie. “Here we are”, he mutters when he pulls out what looks to be a torn book page. Without explanation, he flattens out the crumpled paper on the table’s edge before sliding it over to her. The painted purple hue of the wolfsbane plant stands out brightly against the yellowed paper as he does it. “You get this cooked up first then we’ll go from there.” 

      For a second she wonders if she has to take notes or something. It would be a lie to say that she hasn’t brought her notebook with her, anticipating some kind of theoretical lesson he’s clearly not going to deliver. She decides to stay quiet, listening carefully to his conditions. If her mother saw her now, making deals with the likes of Fenrir Greyback, trying to learn how to fight, she would probably have a heart attack. This is probably the most rebellious thing she has done in her entire life ever since she was a little girl and she threatened her ballet professor, which got her kicked her out of the class. 

Emma nods quickly, taking in everything he’s saying. No bank account, no surprise there, obviously she doesn’t comment on it. All the time she sips her beer slowly, almost like she was afraid of it, even though she was relatively used to alcohol. Then he stops talking and begins pulling a plethora of weird objects out of his jacket pockets. Her expression goes from completely confused, to weirded out, to mildly horrified when she sees the condom wrapper. The book page he seemed to be looking for peaks her interest once again though. She knows what it is, she might not have paid too much attention during Hogwarts, but that’s a lesson no one really forgets about. 

“Listen,” she laughed, snatching the apple back.  If her friend didn’t want it she’d eat it later.  “For you to sign, of course.  How could I go another day without an Emma Vanity original?  Your signature could catch me a handful of Galleons from one of your more frantic fans.” And frantic they were – she hadn’t attended too many matches in their short friendship, but she remembered the flush of pride she felt at the near reverent way they spoke Emma’s name.

“What do you need?” She asked seriously, falling in step with Emma.  “Tell me over some food, because I could go for a plate of pasta about right now – the more carbs the better.”

      Emma let out a small giggle. “I don’t think an apple would be the most durable memento if you want an Emma Vanity original. Honestly if you’re looking for something to sell I could give you one of my old quidditch jerseys. Some of them don’t even fit anymore.” Her shoulders were broader now, and her arms stronger, so there were a lot of clothes from when she had started that she couldn’t really wear any longer.