#cyrusborgin

☑ - my muse wants to know better

     “ I’ll name the ones that I can remember the fastest. Pandora. Daisy - she seems so kind. Khadijah is such a mystery. Davina. Frank! Um, Cyrus. And Castor, because I don’t trust him. ”

“I do not feel that way about you, Sybill. Trust me. My member, as you call it, is so disinterested it may actually never get hard again. Though, if it keeps you at a distance, perhaps I am willing to suffer your delusions.”

“Is it working?  You no longer want to bed me?  How wonderful!  I am so thankful we can continue our beautiful relationship – and by that i mean friendship of course – and may proceed as normal.  It may wear on my voice, but thankfully I just learned the best balm for sore throats, so NEVER FEAR MY MOST WONDERFUL SPARKLING STAR-CHILD, WE SHALL REMAIN FRIENDS FOR THE REST OF OUR LIVES AND INTO THE GREAT BEYOND.”

“I would like you to read this for me.”

“Do you know what time it is? I could’ve killed you, Cyrus.”

Borgin & Burke’s

Early January

The tinkling of the bell above the door betrayed the sinister contents within the shop as Walburga strolled into Borgin and Burkes, her head held aloft in disdain.  What her husband saw in this shop was beyond her, every item in the shop marked for punishment for a ministry raid.  She also didn’t know what he saw in the one most recently entrusted with the shop. 

Cyrus Borgin was a clear example of the fallacy of youth.  Behind his glittering extravagance and blasé attitude was a child, acting out without his parents’ supervision.  He has playing the part well of a respectable pureblood, of course, but there had always been something off about the way his parents had left.  Suddenly, taking one daughter and not the other.  Walburga believed the Borgin family had something to hide.  And she was going to ferret it out.  Borgin was, unfortunately, connected to Cassandra Burke and if the rumors were true -- unfortunately they often were -- then Burke would soon be a member of the extended family through Evan.  Walburga refused to have the Black family tainted by yet another scandal, even one from the likes of Borgin.  

That was why Walburga found herself in Borgin and Burke’s, three envelopes in hand, stalking towards the counter as she surveyed the shop for the glinting light that would signal the presence of Borgin and his elaborate jewelry.  When he finally emerged, Walburga gave him a cold smile.  

“Good afternoon to you, Mr. Borgin.  I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”  She glanced around the empty shop, eyebrow raised.  “I’m sure you must be terribly busy during the afternoon shopping hours.  I come with a bit of a request for you.  As you know, my husband handles most of the... business arrangements, so this is more of a personal matter.  Do you have a few moments?”  

specific text – RITA MAD

               I specifically asked you to hold that jasper choker for me               so WHY borgin is zylphia montague prancing around                with my necklace glued to her scrawny chicken neck,                presumably using it to hide her adams apple and distract               from the mammery ladden shrewery constantly coming out               of her mouth !?!?! 

January 1979

     USUALLY, SHE DIDN’T question certain actions that they voted upon during meetings. It wasn’t because she was afraid of people targeting her if she did (she didn’t like the idea of masks) - it was more because it usually tended to align with what she agreed with.

                   However, the idea of a goddamn protest was a little stupid.

     The meeting had already disbanded by the time she got over the initial shock of an “organised” protest outside the Ministry; she was all for symmetrical information, and the public knowing the t r u t h, but the amount of innocents who would get caught in the crossfire wouldn’t escape her mind. Why drag people who didn’t want to fight, or didn’t know they could, into a w a r that could end their lives?

     People were disapparating out of the room, but Selina didn’t move. A frown was deep set into her features, and she couldn’t help but mutter to herself.            “A PROTEST. That’s only going to lead to more destruction. How             fucking dumb- as if the Death Eaters won’t take advantage of             this huge congregation outside the Ministry to create havoc in             our homes or sneak into the Ministry or turn people against             themselves. Really, a protest?”

January left, taking with it a haze of confusion and unknown truths.  A month was spent hiding in her flat and then healing.  The tender care of her friends and her... something more than a friend... bringing her back to herself.  And she felt alright.  The flashbacks had subsided, the confusing visions now aknowledged as hallucinations instead of truth.  She had been tortured, she had been beaten, but it was fading with every kindness, every tender love that she shared.  Every day she felt more and more like the vibrant girl in touch with the other realm that she was.

February came and Sybill began to leave her flat again, the cold air hanging in the air like the weight of the war.  But, like a blanket wrapped around you to keep away the chill, Sybill clung to the people in her life that would make her feel herself.  And that meant even the ones who didn’t want her around.

Or the one, rather, the one who’s birthday she had forgotten in her stupor.  

So it was with a large grin and a hastily wrapped package in her hand that she threw her floo powder into the fireplace, clearly calling out the name of her favorite slightly unsavory shop.  “Borgin and Burke’s”

She came tumbling out of the fireplace is a mess of soot and tangled limbs, the package still gripped in her hand.  She coughed, pushing herself up to a sitting position and brushing soot off of her slightly stained and tattered clothes -- she needed to go shopping for more but who could go shopping when there was a war going on?  Honestly she had better things to do, like look for the perfect gift to make up for the fact that she had been indisposed on her friend’s birthday -- right.  Yes.  She had to attend to making up for her unfortunate absence.  

She stood, glancing at her reflection in a glass case and wiping soot off of her cheek and smoothing down her hair.  She had thought about wearing her finest jewelry, knowing Borgin’s affinity for sparkling things, but didn’t want to take away from his fragile pride.  He did always insist on being the most adorned person in a room.  

“Cyrus?  Cyrus!”  Sybill walked through the shop, humming the tune of one of her favorite movies growing up.  She had always loved the color, the fantasy of it all, even before she had been part of the wizarding world fully, she had dreamed of wonder and excitement, a world that didn’t quite fit in the neatly pressed boundaries of the starched collars her mother insisted she wear as a child.  

Finally a glimmer in her periphery indicated she had found her target, and Sybill spun around to face him.  “Cyrus Borgin, today is your unbirthday, for some of us were woefully absent from your actual birthday!  A very merry unbirthday to you!”  Dancing towards him, she hummed the song from Alice in Wonderland, spinning in a circle as she clapped her hands together, careful not to disturb her wrapping.  She waited until she knew he was just at the point of annoyance, about to expel her from his shop, when she stopped just in front of him, suddenly thrusting the package toward him.  

“Go on.  You’re the unbirthday boy” she shook the package slightly, eyebrows raised over large, expectant eyes.  “Though I would be careful if I were you.  That took quite some effort to procure for you, and I would hate for it to break before you’ve even been amazed by it.”  She grinned up at him, rocking from the tips of her toes to her heels, energy coursing through her.