April 17th, 1888 — St. Mungo's Reception Area

The month of April had arguably been one of the worst since her debut — if not for the events that had actually taken place, the gossip would suffice to put her in a sour mood. Work was her happy place, so she always did her best to keep a bright smile on her face while there; however, even if her smile was bright, her manner of speaking and fidgeting provided enough for onlookers to realize she wasn't really happy. On top of the slanderous accusations by Witch Weekly (which, fortunately, only a small percentage of the population read, and even a smaller percentage that took it to heart), there had been rumors circulating about her being at certain places and with certain people.

On a brighter note, her internship was nearing its end, but that also meant her days at the hospital had gotten longer in preparation for the full job. The skies were already dark when she'd clocked out and grabbed her things, and she'd made her way down to the reception area with her arms wrapped protectively around her torso. There weren't but a few people sitting in the waiting room, but there was a familiar face standing off to the side of the room: Mr. Gladstone.

She definitely felt something deeper than friendship for him, but those feelings had been thrown off guard by her escapade to Ireland with Mr. Crouch. She felt embarrassed to approach him — it was like he'd know what she'd done or what her deepest secrets were the moment he looked at her, and she actually cared about his opinion. It also didn't help that a few days earlier her direct superior had come to the incorrect conclusion that she had feelings for him, so she could only imagine what correct impression (if any) she'd given the other healer-in-charge.

She couldn't avoid him forever, though, or she might give him the impression that he'd done something.

"Hello, Mr. Gladstone," she greeted warmly as she approached, brushing one of many stray hairs out of her face. "I'm beginning to think you never leave the hospital. It feels like you're always here when I arrive and when I leave," she teased, though her usually chirpy tone had been replaced by a more tired, almost somber one.

Richard Gladstone

  

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— MJ is MAGICAL —

Richard was just finishing off his day by leaving assurances with a family that had one of their young sons in the spell damage department for the night. He would be fine but the mother didn't want to leave her sons side. He was just turning to leave when he saw Miss Scrimgeour. He was not ignorant to the rumors about her - his sisters had warned him that she was best to stay away from because apparently she was a whore. Richard had never had cause to believe she was one so he was content enough to make up his own mind about her.

"Hello, Miss Scrimgeour," Richard greeted in return with a warm smile. "I was just about to leave actually. You sound rather tired - long day?" He asked as he finished buttoning up his coat. Perhaps he'd offer to escort her home though he had no idea where that was.

  

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Her somberness was apparently (much to her dismay) noticeable, but it seemed he'd interpreted it as exhaustion, which was likely a better thing. Anyone leaving work had a reason to be exhausted, especially a little intern like herself. And on top of that, he didn't seem to respond with any air of disdain or attempts to avoid conversing with her, which was definitely a positive sign. Perhaps the "entirety" of society that seemed to be against her was a smaller batch of people than she'd thought (or maybe Mr. Gladstone was simply her friend, which seemed more likely than the former).

"I suppose they're all long days — or they're getting longer," she replied softly with an equally soft smile. "I hope yours hasn't been too troublesome? I haven't visited Magical Bugs in a while." No, she'd been practically confined to her own department since the mooncalf incident last month.

  

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— MJ is MAGICAL —

"They won't all be," Richard said reassuringly. Some days could actually be pretty slow and boring, really. "Especially once you're no longer an intern - things will be much more routine." He didn't know how the other department was run but shifted tended to be allocated fairly and evenly in his own, with more being given if it was requested by the healer in question.

"My day was pretty average, not many things of interest to talk about," he said.

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Apart from being disgraced, disowned, or even murdered by her father, one of Bella's main concerns was finishing her internship. Mr. Jameshill likely wouldn't allow her to remain employed at the hospital if even more scandal stuck to her name, hence why she was so consumed with worries about her "poor choices" finding their way into the pages of the media. She could likely survive as a member of the working class if she still had her job, but the Lord only knew what would happen it she was homeless and jobless. It wasn't like she could rely on Reuben Crouch for anything (except maybe to keep quiet about their adventures), even if he had seemed charming and sweet.

Her memories of Ireland solely consisted of Reuben Crouch touching her in ways an unmarried man ought not to touch an equally unmarried woman, but it wasn't awful. In that moment, she even found herself wondering what it would be like if Mr. Gladstone were to kiss her like that. That thought finally brought her self-awareness back to the surface, accompanied by a pink tint to her cheeks. Had she been staring at him? What had he said?

She hummed softly in response, suggesting neither a yes or a no to whatever he'd said.

"I suppose I may need a wideye potion while I adjust... and maybe a wit-sharpening one as well," she teased, though she wasn't quite capable of mustering the same flirtatious teasing that she usually was.

  

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— MJ is MAGICAL —

Miss Scrimgeour seemed to be a little more off than usual but Richard chalked that up to end of the day exhaustion. He chuckled at the womans words as he stepped out onto the London street. "Perhaps but then you might never sleep and then what will we do when you get sick?" He asked equally teasing and concerned.

  

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Bella automatically followed Mr. Gladstone, concentrating very hard on remaining upright. The last thing she needed was to fall down while walking down the streets of London; Mr. Gladstone already sounded concerned, and she needed to give him no reason to pry further. Her best bet was to follow along and hold as decent of a conversation as possible.

"I suppose you'll be stuck taking care of me, then," she chortled in return. "I once read a book on healing theory that lack of sleep makes one especially susceptible to magical bugs."

  

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— MJ is MAGICAL —

"I would not mind your company in my ward but yes, I much prefer it when you're healthy and teasing me," Richard said, a little more casual with her since they were no longer on the clock, per se. "That is one theory that I both believe and very much don't want proven by personal experience." Miss Scrimgeour was a lovely women and usually lively but that did not seem to be entirely the case at the current moment.

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As they walked down the streets, Bella suddenly had the epiphany that she was just mindlessly following him without any idea where he — well, they, apparently — were off to. Was he going somewhere specific? Did Mr. Gladstone live in London? It struck her that she didn't even know that simple fact despite working with him for an entire year, despite knowing that Mr. Crouch lived in a room in Excalibur. Merlin, she obviously had her priorities way out of whack.

At least he seemed to be playful (even if she wasn't on top of her game).

"If you don't think I'm capable of teasing you while ill, you obviously know nothing of me," she declared, managing a light giggle. "Buuut, I suppose you're right: being sick, no matter the circumstances, is never a good thing." It was ironic, as she swayed just slightly (and unintentionally) with every word she spoke.

It was then that she became slightly bolder, if only because her exhaustion had lowered her inhibitions.

"You don't live around here, do you, Mr. Gladstone?" she questioned, glancing both ways down the streets of London. "It seems silly that even after a year of being well-acquainted, I know very little about you at all."

  

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— MJ is MAGICAL —

Richard hadn’t even thought about the fact that they had no idea where the other lived. He’d just wanted the excuse to walk with her. His cheeks turned red and he cleared his throat as he realized that they were walking without having even said a destination. Or maybe she assumed he would know that?
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“I don’t, Miss Scrimgeour. I live in Ireland,” he said. “And I wouldn’t mind getting more acquainted. If you would permit it.” He wasn’t entirely sure how these things were done but he definitely wanted to deepen their acquaintanceship.

  

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The dimming skylight made it difficult to discern the flush of pink on Mr. Gladstone's cheek, but it wasn't too difficult to make out the expression that accompanied it. He'd offered to "get more acquainted", which could have been interpreted as a more formal question — if he wasn't the well-respected, wealthy Mr. Gladstone and she the nearly-disgraced Miss Scrimgeour. Besides, they were friends; the fuzzy feelings he gave her were irrelevant.

Besides, there were more alarming things that caught her attention.

He was from Ireland, which did nothing to shove the memories of that night with Mr. Crouch — and as such, the guilt that came from the kisses they'd shared — out of her mind. It wasn't fair to pay Mr. Gladstone her attention while secretly cavorting with a "rake" behind his back. (Not that it was really "behind his back"; she and Mr. Gladstone weren't an item, but even then it didn't stop the guilt that she equate with the guilt of infidelity.)

"I wouldn't be opposed to that at all," she responded quietly, almost shyly. She wanted to add "though you might have to bear the misfortune of being seen with me outside of work for that to happen", but decided on the less self-deprecating: "You'd think friends—" She used that word lightly. "—would know the simple things. Favorite colors, birthdays, hobbies..." She didn't add family, because that would open up a whole new can of worms.

  

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— MJ is MAGICAL —

Richard smiled in response to Miss Scrimgeour's quiet response. She did have a point with her next words and he hummed thoughtfully. "Well, my birthday is September 10th and with that birthday, I was among the oldest of my yearmates," Richard said with a chuckle. It had been pretty all right for him though. His entire school life had been pretty great really.

"I think I've always been more partial to golds or greens," Richard stated. "Though that's probably stereotypical of me since I am a Hufflepuff and Irish." He chuckled after his own words.

  

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Bella began taking mental notes of his answers. September 10th, golds and greens, Hufflepuff, Irish—none of them seemed important at the moment, but she was sure they would come up at some point.

"I was born October 30th," she responded with a smile. She was a Scorpio, and he was a.... Virgo? (She'd have to check her astrology charts when she returned home to look at their compatibility, obviously.) "I've always preferred blues, though I doubt I'm the first woman to say that," she teased. She smiled up at him, tugging a lip between her teeth before adding:  "Though I do think green has been growing on me."

  

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— MJ is MAGICAL —

Richard made mental note of her words and even managed a blush. He had green eyes. But he tried not to read too much into her words. "Blues and greens often look quite nice when paired together," he offered instead. He knew a little more about fashion than he might like due to his sisters but it sometimes helped a little. Richard wasn't quite sure where they were going but he was happy to continue chattering with Miss Scrimgeour, despite the fact that he supposed most of it was what one might consider small talk.

  

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