Desmond Riddock (cockinafrock) wrote in valesco,
@ 2011-04-08 00:28:00

Entry tags:

Skylar/April
Desmond frowned to himself. There was no reason for him to have forgotten that Squibs didn't have the ability to ward journals. The stress from his job was obviously getting to him.

People didn't seem to understand what exactly being the assistant to the Minister of Magic entailed. He imagined it was akin to the way that nurses felt helping a surgeon out during an operation if the surgeon's only real responsibility was to dress themselves. He organized the minister's paperwork, set all her meeting times, and made sure that appropriate gifts were sent to her husband on his birthday. It was a much more stressful job than people could even begin to fathom.

He'd picked up a heavy coat to throw on and then apparated to his usual spot near a muggle payphone in the middle of a small English town, dialing April's number (he'd memorized it long ago).

When she picked up the phone, he didn't miss a beat. "Sorry about the journals," he muttered, rubbing a hand through his hair (it was an expression she could probably hear in his voice by now, "I've been a bit scatterbrained lately."

Ha, lately.

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hath_no_fury
2011-04-09 04:14 am UTC (link)

She smiled again – something Desmond seemed to make her do without even trying. She found so many things about the man endearing, charming even, despite his quirks. Desmond always made her feel like…well, like a woman when she was with him. Or, at least not like some dirty mistress.

Which, she probably was, to at least 2 or 3 of the men who hired her over the phone.

“I’ve always got the time for you.” She said with a soft purr in her voice, and found herself gnawing at her lower lip as she watched her fingers wrap around the cord again. She was thinking, at that moment, about the last time she had been with Desmond. It had been good - great even, and she smiled as she remembered the way his hands had felt against her that night.

It wasn’t often, that she felt her body tingle at the aspect of seeing one of her clients.

“How about I send you an Owl in the morning? By then, I should know my schedule for the next few days, and you can let me know what works for you.” She paused, and then rolled over onto her stomach, her legs bending as she cupped her chin in her hand, smirking to herself. “Unless you’d like me to pay you a personal visit?”

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cockinafrock
2011-04-09 04:28 am UTC (link)

He chuckled uneasily. "Personal visit? Should I be worried?" He honestly had no idea what she was implying with that, and he didn't want to assume that it was what he was hoping it was.

Desmond liked to think that he was a good man in many ways. He was an active and productive member of society, when he took care of a woman to sate his own desires he made sure that she got satisfaction out of it as well, and he donated blood regularly.

"Ah--whichever you like," he glanced up at the top of the phone booth, noticing with some distress that it was rather grungy (and that now that he looked harder for it, the rest of the booth was also). "I mean -- a personal visit wouldn't be unwelcome." If that was what she wanted.

He thought about passive-aggressively asking whether she was going to be busy with that girl from the journals, but such pettiness seemed a bit below him even if he did feel jealous over their exchange.

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hath_no_fury
2011-04-09 04:40 am UTC (link)

She giggled at his question, scrunching her nose with amusement as she shook her head, even though he couldn’t see it. “I don’t think so?” She began to sway her legs, switching between bending and unbending her knees, looking down at the comforter of her bed. “You know, you’re not at work, love…you are allowed to tell me what it is that you want.” She felt bad, that Desmond was so stressed out all the time because of his job, and how he always just kept his mouth shut and did whatever was asked of him, regardless of whether he wanted to or not.

She was still trying to break him out of his shell a little – so he could have the confidence to speak up for himself, so that when he found a girl, he wouldn’t be so conscious about everything he said.

He deserved a good girl, she always thought. He was certainly caring enough, and was kind, and worked hard, and…well, she just thought he deserved better than a call girl to keep him company on those days when he felt more lonely than he did on others.

“Let’s just say this…you’ll either wake up tomorrow with an owl pecking at your window…or me, knocking on your door.”

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cockinafrock
2011-04-09 04:49 am UTC (link)

There were a few things wrong with the idea of him having some sort of girlfriend. The first and most challenging was, of course, the way he'd begun to feel about April so long ago ... and the second had to do with him still being hopelessly mindful of the things that he said. It took too much calculation to even consider asking a woman out on a date.

It wasn't that he didn't have the confidence to speak up, honestly. It was that he spent too much time thinking about the most appropriate thing to say, the thing that would cause the least amount of problems in his future.

He nearly choked the moment she said that he might wake up to April knocking on his door. "I wouldn't mind that in the least," he said quickly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "I mean. I could make ... pancakes?"

Because that couldn't possibly go horribly wrong.

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hath_no_fury
2011-04-09 05:09 am UTC (link)

Once more she smiled. “I’m a big fan of pancakes.” Her smile turned into a grin, and then she looked over to the clock. The time made her sigh, and she chewed her lip again before speaking into the receiver. “Listen, I’ve got to finish getting ready, or I’m going to be late…” She made sure she left out where it was she was going, sure that Desmond, just like most of the other men and women she saw, wouldn’t want to hear about other clients.

“I can be at your place tomorrow morning at…let’s say 8 o’clock?”

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cockinafrock
2011-04-09 05:16 am UTC (link)

Desmond definitely didn't want to hear about her other clients, if only because he would worry after her most of the evening and end up getting very little sleep for the morning, rendering him mostly-useless for April's whims in the morning.

"I can do 8," he agreed with a nod, "I'll see you then." And because he didn't want to waste any more of her time, he hung up the phone shortly afterward. He'd need at least a little time to tidy up his flat before he went to bed, after all. No need to have a messy floor for April's visit.

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