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l o u i s ([info]superbad) wrote in [info]valesco,
@ 2014-03-18 00:55:00


Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry
Entry tags:louis bonaccord, penelope fawcett

Penelope!
It was hard to not down his first of the most delectable of green beers on the most Irish of days. The celebration of St. Patrick's seemed to have been going on since sunrise at the local pub, but with Ireland's win in the world cup, the spirits of the crowd were through the roof (literally, some spellwork of excitement had left holes in the ceiling). Louis had to use much self-control to contain himself to just one beer as one guest in particular had not arrived yet. Adian had been a very good sport all evening and had managed to wrangle up a few tables and pitchers of refillable drinks, and had roped them off as their own. It was perhaps lucky that they had so much practice wiggling their way out of rent, it created skills for almost every scenario.

Every time the door opened and a new patron arrived, the bar burst into cheers and song. It helped him keep an eye on those entering, and when a particularly loud cheer erupted, he was glad he was in viewing distance of the door.

"'Scuse me!" he said, dropping his beer into the hands of Flynn Wright, who Louis had insisted Adian invite (much to his friend's confusion, as Louis had never really taken to the Hufflepuff). Louis pushed his way through the crowd, stretching himself on his toes to squeeze through the cracks. Finally, after managing to get past two rather vigorous snoggers, he landed flat footed in front of Penelope.

"You made it!" he exclaimed, then realizing how he might sound, cleared his throat and gestured over his shoulder, "It wasn't this packed earlier, but--we've got a table. You need a shamrock." Louis gestured to his cheek, where he was sure the carefully painted shamrock on his cheek was now wiped and smudged away.



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[info]perfectblack
2014-04-02 11:03 pm UTC (link)
This was, in a word, absolute madness.

Penelope hands immediately clenched into fists as soon as she entered the dim, little pub (or, at least, it had appeared dim and little from the outside). She was marvelling at how so many people crammed into one space so nonchalantly, wondering how she was ever going to find the people she came here to meet.

Never having been to a St Patrick's Day celebration, logically Penelope did not have a strong grasp on what such a day would entail.

(Which was, if the smell was any indication, mostly drinking.)

While trying to guess exactly how many bodies had fitted themselves into the space, Penelope wondered if she shouldn't just turn right back around and make up some excuse. She had not yet budged from her three footsteps into the pub, and she could feel a flurry of people coming and going, jostling her as she got in their way, when all of a sudden Louis appeared so out of thin air before her that she was not positive magic had not been employed. Making a grand greeting of each guest, perhaps? He was the birthday boy, after all. (Were all these people here for him? she wondered with sudden alarm, looking in slight dismay at the small bag clutched in one white hand.)

And, despite the overwhelming anxiety and discomfort that came from dimly lit spaces overflowing with loud and rambunctious people, Louis struck her as a bit of a manic sprite at that moment with his birthday and Irish paraphernalia, glittering green and gold streaks on his cheek (presumably the shamrock he had just mentioned), that she actually found herself smiling a tiny bit in spite of the jarring circumstances.

That, Penelope surmised, would never not be just the slightest bit strange.

"If you insist," she agreed. "It is your birthday, after all."

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[info]superbad
2014-04-03 02:41 am UTC (link)
"It is!" he said happily, almost as if she had reminded him that it was indeed his day of birth. When he was younger there had been no problem with separating his birthday and St. Patrick's Day celebrations, but he found that once he was old enough to venture out on his own (or, really, venture into a pub), the holiday took a greater precedent over the annual recognition of his birth. His sister was always keen to make sure he didn't feel forgotten, but her humiliating and embarrassing tactics went greatly unwanted by Louis. He would have to find a terrible picture of her to plaster down Diagon Alley for her next birthday present.

Another song and chant began along the bar as another patron made their way in, and Louis didn't hesitate in taking Penelope's hand to lead her to their table. Putting a stiff arm out, he cleared as much of a path as he could before reaching the relatively secluded table. Secluded in the sense that there was a booth to sit in, and the table was safe to leave your belongings if you needed to venture out to the loo or wherever else the night may take you.

"Adian and Flynn Wright were here," Louis said as he slid into the booth after Penelope. He looked around for his friend, but from his position below the sea level of heads bobbing about, it was fruitless. "They will be back, I think."

Louis leaned his elbow on the table so he could face her. It hadn't occurred to him until she walked through the door how nervous he had been about her not coming, and also how relieved he was when she did. "I'm glad you came, the day keeps getting better and better."

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[info]perfectblack
2014-04-27 10:51 pm UTC (link)
Her cheeks coloured pink at his words, thinking at first he meant he had been waiting for her, or some similar sentiment, and then darkened with embarrassment, as her eyes darted downward, for thinking such conceited thoughts. There were other ways to take his words, and it likely was unflattering for her to choose the most vain meaning.

"I think it would have been a crime not to come," she said, looking around at the crowd that seemed to bob to-and-fro like a wave on the sea. "St Patrick's Day alone is an Irish institution."

She wished very much Adian, and even Flynn, had not disappeared, as Penelope suddenly felt wholly uninteresting and therefore unable or unworthy to monopolize the birthday boy's attention. Glancing at the small parcel in her lap, she then picked it up and held it out for Louis. "It's very small," she said, unnecessarily but meaning it more as an apology. "I am very bad with gifts." Not to mention trying to think of something a seasoned world-traveler would want or need was difficult to say the least, particularly with her constrained finances. Instead, Penelope had chosen something that would hopefully make him laugh, as one could never have too much of that, no matter how far they traveled. She thought of the emerald green plume and the gaudy jewel fastened just above the quill's nib, hoping it was as charmingly tacky as she had first found it.

"Today is possibly the only day you can use it."

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[info]superbad
2014-04-28 02:18 am UTC (link)
He had not been expecting a present at all! He would never have--Louis let her know that it was unnecessary, gawking at the bag for quite some bit as he exclaimed that she didn't have to! But it would be quite rude if he did not open the gift, yes? He could not be rude, especially after she'd made it to the celebration. Being polite was a big factor in opening the present, of course, but he would be a liar if there was not a great sense of intrigue coursing through him. Louis was more than curious to see what Penelope may have got him, what she had thought he would like, something that she'd bothered to think about.

"This is the most ridiculous quill I have ever seen," Louis let out with a great laugh, eyes scrunching in admiration of the rather peculiar design and color. Her words were just as confusing as the gift and Louis' expression showed his lack of understanding. Today was the only day? It was green enough, that was for sure. "Are you certain? I am rather fond of green. It'll be good for Irish autographs in New York, I'm sure---"

He reached for a napkin to see if the quill spouted ink as green as its plume. Louis scrawled out his name quickly, glad to see that the ink was indeed a bright emerald, but then watched in amazement as it continued to flow after the tip of the quill was pulled away.

"Louis can't conjure a hex," he read, eyebrows going high. He dared to look at Penelope, to see if she would offer up an explanation, "but at least he is good at---it's a LIMERICK!" Louis exclaimed with loud laughter, crumpling up the napkin before it could finish the line. The ink melted into a limerick! A rather dirty one by the rate it was going, and the thought that Penelope Fawcett had picked this gift out amused him so greatly that tears struck his eyes from laughing so hard.

"This is fantastic, I am absolutely taking this to New York," he said, holding up the quill to examine its tacky beauty. "How does it work? It's brilliant, you're--" Louis cut himself short as a roguish smile appeared on his face and he leaned forward to kiss Penny soundly. He'd been wanting to do that for ages; it was a proper enough thank you, yes?

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[info]perfectblack
2014-04-29 02:30 am UTC (link)
All she managed to think was It was only a quill before her mind seemed to go blank, yet her hands went up to his face of their own accord. She leaned in and kissed him back quite soundly herself for a moment before slowing the movement of her lips against his and beginning to pull away.

She was plagued with the undeniable desire to flee. She had done so once before, hadn't she? From a cloakroom in her own house.

The notion was ridiculous, but Penelope felt immediately guilty for the kiss, though she hadn't seen or spoken to Charlie in weeks. It was a reflex, as two months was hardly enough time to break habits forged over two years, and she certainly hadn't made a habit of kissing anybody but him.

The comparisons, too, were a reflex, and bombarded her in that moment. She had kissed a wizard like him before, a wizard who liked to talk much more than her, who regarded the world with bright-eyed fevor and perhaps felt determined to prove himself to it, and it had crushed her heart into a million tiny pieces.

But as… reserved as Penelope might be, as often as she chose solitude over company, she intuitively knew there had been something brewing between the two of them, unbelievable as it might have been to her. She did not understand how it was possible to go from intensely disliking someone to meeting for lunch every week or two over night, but it had happened. And since it had, a part of her knew that this was inevitable.

She didn't run.

"I'm glad you liked me—it." Promptly, Penelope turned beet red, now regretting her resolve to stay put. "I can't seem to stop shaking," she whispered, unable to take her gaze away from his.

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[info]superbad
2014-05-01 11:15 pm UTC (link)
Thank goodness she did not smack him away! It would not have been the first time he kissed before thinking, and he was glad that Penelope had reciprocated. It would not have been a a good story to tell, getting slapped on your birthday.

...well, no, it would've been when his cheek stopped stinging.

He enjoyed the feeling of her hands on his face and when she finally lowered her hands Louis let out a small laugh at her admittance. It was only partly out of amusement; Louis found his ears burning at her words. Her words held a lot of meaning. Penelope was glad he liked her. She was glad he liked her. Louis was not going to accept her attempt at covering up her words, even if it really was what she truly meant to say.

"It is the most majestic of quills," Louis said with a nod, his hands going to her arms to try to steady her nerves. They drifted down to her hands and Louis gripped them, glad to have a hold on her. "We can do more of this," he said with a grin. Then he nodded his head to the two glasses of beer that were just placed in front of him, "We can do some of that. Or maybe a bit of both. Whatever you want."

Another round of loud, Irish cheers and songs rang out and Louis truly saw this as a sign. For what, he didn't know, but it was most definitely a sign.

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Ron is bad at remembering to do closing tags!!
[info]perfectblack
2014-05-15 01:23 pm UTC (link)
The red from her cheeks had not faded away, and the desire to squirm in embarrassment was overpowered only by her inability to stop shuddering, though the movements were small and more controlled now. She hadn't known what was going to tumble out of her mouth, but she ought to have known it was going to be mortifying.

Through all that muddled emotion, Penelope couldn't help but feel a small sense of pride that a useless gift had been appreciated.

She was still shaking.

Without thinking, Penelope let go of his hand to reach for the foul-tasting drink before her, and swallowed deeply.

"It's your birthday," she said again, wondering weakly what she was getting herself into, but the same selfish voice in her head, which had gotten her to sit in this very booth with this very boy in the first place, refused to let her sense overcome her and run.

She would worry about that later, and did not doubt that she would. Instead, Penelope met his eyes with her own large ones.

"It's whatever you want."

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