Devon Quigg (dev_ious) wrote in valesco,
@ 2008-11-02 01:16:00

Entry tags:

Darren
To say that this entire trip was frustrating was the biggest understatement of the year. Devon felt like she was looking for a needle in a haystack, wandering around Cuba. Luckily, she had sources of information about the country; sources of information that would actually help her, unlike Lydia fucking Proudfoot. That entire situation made her hate the woman even more than she already did, kicking herself mentally for even thinking that she would give two shits about someone other than her. She had already been searching for a couple of days before she decided to ask her, roaming around, knocking on people’s doors, trying to describe Darren to locals who didn’t understand a word she was saying. That just made her realize that she didn’t even have a picture of him, which made her even more depressed about their relationship. But she was sick of being sad. She was done sitting around, waiting for Darren to come home. The only way things were going to get better was if she made them better. If she went to Cuba, found him, and they just worked things out. That was what she was hoping would happen, anyway. She hadn’t thought that she would go to Cuba and find him in an instant, but she hoped that Lydia would make things maybe a little bit easier. But she didn’t. The next person she talked to was Evan Rosier, since she knew he traveled quite often. She didn’t tell him any details, and just said she was going on a vacation and wanted to know the wizarding areas before she left. That at least narrowed things down.

Raising her hand, she knocked on what had to be the hundredth door, dropping her hand back down as she waited for someone to answer. By now, she was losing all hope. She was beginning to think that she would never find him, and this was just fucking pointless. When the door opened, she looked up with those large brown eyes, focusing in on a Cuban boy who was looking up at her very strangely. Devon sighed and turned away, apologizing as she did so. Her hands moved to press her palms against her forehead, her fingers gripping at her hair as she took deep breaths. She just wanted to give up. She wanted to fucking stop, and she wanted to go back home, and she wanted Darren to be there waiting for her. But that wasn’t going to happen. Even if she was getting frustrated as all hell, and even if there was a huge knot forming in her stomach, she just had to keep trying. She’d knock on every God damn door in Cuba if she had to.

Moving to the next door, she closed her eyes, readying herself for yet another disappointment as her knuckles rapped against the wood. She waited for a couple of seconds, knocked again, and got no answer. Her mouth shifted to the side, biting at the inside of her cheek, looking down at her shoes. “Of course not…” She muttered to herself, scoffing as her back turned to the door.

It was only then that she heard it open behind her.

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hustlequigg
2008-11-02 10:48 am UTC (link)

Darren upturned his face and gasped for breath when he broke the surface of the water. He shook the excess from his hair and dragged a palm over his face. Green eyes fluttered as he looked toward the shore he was trudging toward, one slow step at a time through the waves that crashed and receded at a gentle pace.

There were no sandals or even a towel waiting for him on the hot sand. He exited the surf foaming at his ankles and gave his body one more shake before he continued up the beach. The waning afternoon sun beat down on his already significantly tan shoulders. He didn't even bother with sun creams or tonics anymore.

It wasn't until the last few feet of dry sand before his feet started to burn. Rather than whipping out his wand for so little a thing, Darren did a little jig until he was in the shade of the trees at the back of the house--well, what the locals called a home at least. It really was no more than a wooden shack among wooden shacks.

But this one at least had it's perks.

Pausing on the back stoop, he finally pulled his wand from where it was strapped to his thigh and begrudgingly went about siphoning all the water off his body. He kicked his feet clean on an old mat until he deemed himself fit for entry to the home--it belonged to a wizarding couple who had settled on the beach after their children had all moved on. Darren had met them by chance not long after Lydia had gone.

Contrary to its humble exterior, Darren opened the back door and stepped into a relatively spacious multi-roomed home. The air in the home was cooler than outdoors but not uncomfortably so--comfort was actually the point to the place.

The Irishman swaggered his way to the laundry to find himself a shirt. Four distinct but non-shrill tones echoed through the home--someone had knocked on the front door. The man of the house, Carlos, pulled himself away from his one-man game of wizard chess in the kitchen. The average-looking aging man pushed back the sleeves on his too-large yellow robes and ambled toward the door. Everyone seemed to move at a sloth-like pace in this country.

Darren finally found a shirt that didn't smell if body odor or fish and pulled it on. He continued to scrounge for pants as he buttoned himself. He heard Carlos's heavy foot falls retreat to the front of the house before the man quipped an informal "¿Qué tal?" at whoever was at the door.

The younger wizard frowned at the basket he had been refiling through and brought out his wand. "Accio trousers," Darren muttered.

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dev_ious
2008-11-04 10:37 am UTC (link)

Whipping around as the door opened behind her, looking at the man who had answered. She knew that it wasn’t Darren, even before she turned to face him, but maybe he had seen him. Something in the pit of her stomach was telling her that maybe this man knew where she should go to look for him. It was a strange feeling, but she couldn’t deny having it. “Siento.... Yo era ... que busca al alto hombre ... los ojos del color verde? Uh... Irlanda..? Nombre Darren?” She struggled to get out the awkward Spanish sentence, using bits and pieces of what she had learned to get some information. Her hand rose up to try and estimate just how tall he was, raising her brows hopefully. Maybe she would have heard the other voice coming from inside, had the man at the door remained quiet for a moment…but he hadn’t. He had started speaking rapidly in his native tongue, causing Devon to furrow her brows, holding up her hands, trying to gesture at him that she needed him to slow down.

“Please, I can’t…I don’t understand you!” Her Scottish brogue slipped off her tongue as the man tried to speak. She had absolutely no idea that Darren was actually inside, so she remained standing on the front step, listening and watching as the man spoke to her. For some reason, he seemed to be shrugging his shoulders a lot, shaking his head, so Devon could only assume that this meant he had no idea where Darren was. Or, as she had described him, the tall man with green eyes from Ireland. It didn’t occur to her that maybe Darren had told this man to pretend he hadn’t seen him, since Lydia did mention something about him not wanting people to find him. Or maybe this man just thought she was crazy, randomly knocking on his door looking for someone. So, dropping her hands down, she sighed heavily, forcing a polite smile. “Thanks…gracias...”

Good God, her head was starting to throb. Turning away from the door, she moved towards the next house. This was a wild fucking goose chase. There was no way she was going to find this bloody man.

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hustlequigg
2008-11-12 11:52 am UTC (link)

Darren was clothed and at the kitchen counter pouring a drink when Carlos returned. After giving Darren a broad smile, the elderly wizard deposited himself back into the chair before the game of chess. The old man gave a heavy sigh. "Were you expecting someone?" he said aloud to the room in rather clear English.

There was a moment of silence before Darren realized that Carlos was speaking to him. "Ah, no. Not expectin' a soul," the younger wizard replied as he returned the jug of margaritas to the ice box with a flick of his wand. He took a swig from his glass and leant back on the counter. "They were askin' for me though?"

"Si, si..." Carlos replied with a nod and sent his black knight after a pawn. "By name."

Darren's grip tensed around the glass. Few people new his actually name in the village. Most had dubbed him "Ireland" or "green man" and let it be. He did worry that there was a far off chance some nasty business could come knocking. He was a Muggleborn refugee, after all. He wasn't well liked in certain, very dangerous circles back home. Even if he did have two good friends among their ranks, he could never be too careful--especially after his refusal of registration and the tattoo.

"Muy, muy bonita," Carlos continued. "Talked like you..." The old man trailed off and seemed to indecisively tilt his head from side to side. "But not the same."

The younger wizard thought on this for a moment. "A girl with an accent? English?"

"Si. Terrible Spanish," he added with a chuckle. "Tried very hard. I think I confused her."

"You could have used English."

Carlos was shaking his head. "Never would have left. Your senorita was very upset. I began to hope you know her." A common Spanish phrase rolled off his tongue that Darren knew roughly translated to 'pretty girls should not wander'--this island, let alone this village was not known for being the most welcoming of English-speaking foreigners.

Darren frowned and left the counter to head to a window in the next room. "How did she look to ya?" Darren asked. He pulled back a bamboo blind to look out toward the neighbor's home, trying to catch a glimpse of his lady caller.

Brusque Carlos reiterated his early remarks about her accent and fair appearance. He guessed her age to be around the same as Darren's and large brown eyes, hair red--but dark red. Darren tuned out the rest. He stiffened at the mention of the eyes and hair.

No. It couldn't be Devon. She would never do something so rash as to look for him door-to-door in ruddy Cuba. She wasn't stupid.

"Shite," Darren swore when he saw her leave the neighbor's porch. He let the blind fall and retreated back to the kitchen where he deposited his glass in the sink before gripping at the counter edge.

He hadn't been prepared to see her and he certainly hadn't been prepared for her to be wandering aimlessly. He was abso-fucking-lutely lucky that she wasn't kidnapped or something else terrible that he preferred not to think about.

Taking several deep breaths to calm his nerves, Darren disengaged himself from the counter. He wiped a palm over his face and realized that Carlos's eyes were on him and the man had likely said something after his strange behavior, but Darren hadn't heard a word. "I've something to handle," Darren muttered and headed out the back door.

The suffocating heat hit him like a wet blanket. Darren was used to the heavy feel of the air and ambled out on the dusty ground. He didn't waste time on finding shoes and jogged across the short distance between the houses to hop over a knee-high fence of chicken wire that kept the animals from roaming free.

Darren pulled up when his bare feet hit the dirt road that snaked through the village. Seeing her really there before him knocked the air out of his lungs. He didn't call out to her. It seemed ridiculous to him to expect her to come running. He approached her from behind at a quick walk. His arms swung at his sides, fist clenching as he willed himself to stay calm. She had every right to want to slap him or hex him when she turned around and he honestly didn't care if she did.

All Darren wanted was to look in her eyes once more.

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