24th December, 1887, getting later by the minute — Padmore Park

Porphyria had intended to be home hours ago. She'd nearly even tried apparating, only it felt a lot like her feet would have to be left behind in the process, and splinched was certainly not how she wanted to spend her Christmas.

Not that this was, either.

It had long since grown dark around them, from their fixed spot beneath a tree off one of the side paths in the park. One of the floating balls of light bobbed past them from time to time, but by this late hour on Christmas Eve the place was deserted, the only other signs of movement the branches shifting above, sending clumps of snow down onto their heads.

If the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes had been out, they'd clearly missed them and gone home by now. Porphyria had tried plenty of tactics already, but apparently no one was out to see the sparks she'd shot up, and all her earlier shouting had been drowned out by the carol-singers from distant streets and cosy drawing rooms. And then she'd dropped her wand, and all the crouching and scrabbling she could manage hadn't let her reach it.

And now it was dark, and it was cold, and her feet were numb in her boots and still resolutely stuck to the patch of ground, the mistletoe looming above her and... this gentleman.

Well, bugger everything, he'd started talking again! Porphyria had been doing her best to ignore him and preoccupy herself with anything but for the past couple of hours, but she shot him a tired glare through the darkness. "Ughhh," she groaned, trying to tune him out with all she had, her patience fraying too fast to be particularly civil. "I'd prefer it if you kept your mouth closed."

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Enoch Rosier

  

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Of all the disagreeable, ungrateful wenches he had ever met...!

The evening had been going so well. He had successfully outperformed the fool he was partnered with throughout the month and it had culminated in him being the lone auror present when a particularly aggressive smuggler was caught in the act; his father was languishing in bed with the flu so he would not have to endure his company for the festive season - and there was always the slight chance he might die, which would be a bonus indeed; and to top it off Clara was back at The Painted Lady and he had an appointment with her this very night. An appointment, he was beginning to realise, he might have to reschedule and if she was not free later tonight he would have no young female company apart from his sisters until tomorrow night, which would be unbearable.

Apart from his companion of the last few hours but the only thing feminine she resembled was Medusa.

"You might find Madam," Enoch said tartly, lip turning up in disgust and glancing up at the mistletoe pointedly. "That you have quite the need of my mouth if we are ever to get out of this predicament."

  

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If Porphyria were perhaps a more rational being, she might have been inclined to weigh up the true cost of remaining here, in the company of a man with whom she was quite sure she did not want to be any better acquainted, or of committing a momentary sacrifice which would, presumably, allow her to be liberated from this situation and free to carry on her life.

Naturally, she wasn't a rational being. (Whether such a phenomenon as a rational poet existed at all was a fair question.) What she was, rather, was stubbornly principled, and her principles dictated that she would not be forced to obey the whims of the tyrannical little plant above them, nor be swayed into any act of generosity for this stuck-up bastard. Festive goodwill, bah!

The more she was reminded about the mistletoe and its horrifying significance, the more she disliked the man before her. His tone. His face. His general existence.

"Frankly, I would rather freeze to death," Porphyria returned, suddenly and falsely chipper, and offering a smile to match. She folded her arms (mostly to bely the fact that she had started shivering), and continued to lean as far back as she possibly could from her companion, as a warning that he should indeed keep his mouth away; she could, at least, occupy herself by thinking of plenty of things she would rather do than kiss him, and if that did not involve her own tragic death or disfigurement, she supposed it could potentially involve homicide. "I hope you have nowhere important to be."

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a sublime set by Lady! <3

Rolling his eyes at her pig-headedness Enoch did not press the matter too much for a moment. In the end he would probably have to take the initiative or else he might be here for days and even if he did not have any pressing engagements he certainly had no intention of doing that.

“On Christmas Eve?” He said with a groomed arch of his eyebrow. “Perish the thought.”

Surely she must have somewhere to be? Some peasant dwelling where they were all mad and obstinate and…not unattractive but certainly not enough to off-set the forthrightness of her tone. He glanced up at the mistletoe and it seemed to mock him with its present, dance ever so slightly on the cold breeze and he pulled out his roughly, noticing for the first time that he was bloody freezing! He cast a charm to keep himself warm and, grudgingly, extended it towards the young woman. Disagreeable she might be but he needed her to get out of this predicament: it would be terribly inconvenient if she froze.

  

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Indecently attractive set by MJ

There was something supremely insufferable about how slick and polished he seemed, even stuck here, and it was beginning to make her patience fray faster than she liked. "Oh, you'll have other Christmases," she snapped, because he wasn't a child, so he had obviously experienced enough years' worth of the holiday to know it was the same old every year. A time for family and whatnot, certainly, but presumably he could see his family any damn day he pleased. Not that this was her preferred place to spend it, either - it was a waste of a Christmas - but. It was not worth that.

"What was that for?" Porphyria huffed a moment later, feeling warmth start to wash over her not a second after he had cast his spell. She stared at him in disbelief, not unfolding her arms even though her goosebumps had abruptly settled. Hadn't she just explained her backup plan was freezing to death? Whoever had conceived of chivalry ought to be thrown down a well. Chivalry was a useless turd of a concept, and if Porphyria hadn't already dropped her wand out of reach, she might have undone his charm simply to be petty.

(Maybe he wouldn't have other Christmases, after all. If anything was to perish, she still wouldn't complain if it were him.)

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a sublime set by Lady! <3

He almost laughed at her dedication to being disagreeable which was perhaps the most impressive thing about her. Certainly her appearance did little to excite him – apart from her colouring which was quite to his taste though he habitually sought out blondes to dissuade himself from it – but otherwise he doubted he would remember her if not for her bad temper.

And the fact that they were stuck here, obviously, he would not likely forget that any time soon try though he might to block it out with copious amounts of brandy for the next night or two. Merlin, what he wouldn’t give for brandy right now. The dual effect of blunting the edges and warming his body was almost enough to make his mouth water.

“I work for the law madam, the last thing I need is to be found with a dead body and no explanation other than ‘she froze to death refusing to let me kiss her’.” He snapped back, eyes flashing as his lips curled into a sardonic sneer. “They wouldn’t believe it for a moment.”

  

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Maybe it was because for the first time in a while she wasn't shivering, but Porphyria's annoyance abruptly turned to amusement at his next words. Her eyebrows raised slowly - almost up into her hair - and then she barked out a long, loud laugh. They wouldn’t believe it for a moment, he said, like it was utterly inconceivable. "Are you sure they wouldn't?" She scoffed, her expression implying that she thought that plenty of people would find it perfectly reasonable. So, some girls lacked her stubbornness, that was true; but, in view of his comportment here and his sulky sneer, Porphyria was forced to imagine there were plenty of people about who would be moved to such a motion, in the circumstance.

And oh, he was an Auror, wasn't it? How she hated Aurors.

"Very well, if you say so," Porphyria continued briskly, matter-of-fact once more, digging around in her outer pockets with sudden purpose. Her hands enclosed around her day notebook, a little jet black journal that she carried around day-to-day, because she was not one to let a tidy phrase escape when it floated past. She opened to a new page, manoeuvred between her pocket quill and compact little jar of ink, and poised herself to draft her own suicide note. (He'd ruined the freezing-to-death approach, so she would have to consider alternatives. Starvation was far too slow. Perhaps she would have to slit her wrists.) "How much detail do you expect will be sufficient?" She inquired, lifting her eyes to him once more.

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a sublime set by Lady! <3

Being laughed at, and by a woman at that, ranked very, very high indeed on the list of things that Enoch found utterly intolerable and he narrowed his eyes as she did so, thinking of the many ways he could flick his wand and silence her. It wasn’t worth it, he knew that much, but Merlin it was tempting.

And now she was proving to be even more peculiar than he had initially imagined. Was she taking notes? Perhaps she was a journalist of some description although why she would feel the need to make notes upon this sorry situation he didn’t know. It was laughably easy to escape, whether she wanted to admit it or not, and eventually he would have to take charge, whether she liked it or not, because like hell was he standing here forever.

“Detail? I don’t think we need mark this occasion for posterity madam,” he said, concealing his confusion as best he could. Was she quite mad? It seemed every woman he ever met was troubled by some malady of the mind. “Once you come to your senses and allow me to free us I assure you I will not waste a single moment dwelling upon this unfortunate meeting between us.”

  

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Frankly, Porphyria agreed with his latest comments; if she never had to contemplate this terrible day again it would still be too soon.

He sounded confused, though, as much as she couldn't read his expression in the barest, furtive glance she took at him again. She offered him an acid smile (come to her senses, pshaw, she had no intention of giving in either to the rotten mistletoe or his disgruntlement) and halted to offer him an explanation, slowing down her tone. Merlin, Aurors were thick as anything. "No," Porphyria said, "but I thought I would do us a favour, and let you submit my suicide note into evidence, so that no one need disagree about what happened here."

It was not, admittedly, the dramatic and glorious way she had envisioned herself dying. Padmore Park, of all places. Christmas Eve, of all nights. Snowing lightly and far too prettily, with not even the barest thunderstorm brewing on the horizon! Under mistletoe. It was pitiful, really.

Were mistletoe berries poisonous? Perhaps she could try that.

"...had no success in freeing us -" she recited aloud with a shake of her head, as she put quill to page again.

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a sublime set by Lady! <3

Enoch rolled his eyes to the heavens and, had he been a religious man, he might have sent up prayers to his maker to see his through this troubling time with one of the most awkward individuals he had ever encountered. As it was, he was not, so he did the next best thing and the one thing he knew would always make his predicament feel better.

“For fuck’s sake woman!” He shouted to the air, knowing full well they were alone and, if anything, his bellow was just as likely to draw help rather than condemnation for his language. He didn’t much care either way. Using the brief silence that followed he took several long strides towards her and before she could resist, before she could even think of doing so, he drew her face to his and leant down to press his lips to hers.

It sent a thrill through him but he had pulled away before he quite realised and then he was looking into her eyes, much closer than he has been before.

“I think that counts as success.”

  

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Indecently attractive set by MJ

His angry curse to the air made Porphyria pause for a moment, looking up despite herself, her quill left blotting ink onto the page; it sounded as though he'd finally reached the end of his tether. Whatever smugness she felt at having been infuriating enough to destabilise his infuriating composure, it evaporated in an instant as he - entirely unexpectedly - closed the distance between them. Her eyes had begun to widen as she realised what he was doing, too late, and any protest she had planned to make floated out of grasp in her stupefaction. The kiss was an unfamiliar sensation to her, and the worst of it was that - in spite of all her dread and resistance of it - her eyes fluttered shut of their own accord, some appalling instinct ingrained in her.

Her eyes opened again when the pressure of his mouth on hers had lifted, but he was still right there in front of her, and that only incensed her further, never mind his quip about success.  "Enjoy your success," she spat, making up for her earlier lack of action by not holding back now, and rammed the quill she had clenched in her fist up into the side of his neck, nib-first. It faintly occurred to her that a quill was potentially not the most effective weapon for stabbing people with, but it seemed like a good way to get her anger out, in the moment.

To test whether or not the kiss had  freed her feet from the mistletoe at last, Porphyria pulled her leg up from where it had been stuck and, with as much force as she could muster, attempted to knee him in the groin. She didn't know if it would match the anguish he had caused her by kissing her against her will. But it might, at least, make her feel better.

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   Enoch Rosier

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a sublime set by Lady! <3

For the briefest of moments Enoch had relished having gained the upper hand and, whilst being kissed – and therefore being quiet - she did not seem half as annoying. In fact it had been as pleasant an end to an aggravating experience that Enoch could have anticipated and he was quite prepared to do the gentlemanly thing by never speaking of this again for her sake, but frankly fuck all that:

The mad bitch had stabbed him!

Hand pressed against the sharp pain in his neck Enoch pulled out the quill, relieved to see that only the very tip seemed to have blood on it and, despite the surprise it did not seem to have caused him much damage. Or at least he hoped it hadn’t. He’d seen far too many good men taken down by the most stupid spells one could imagine and one of the other trainees he’d come through with had been taken to the hospital with a cut to his neck, blood spurting as though somebody had broken a dam.

“You bloody cu-” He stopped, winded and unable to speak as she continued to attack him and hit somewhere he should have been more concerned for, given how their earlier arguing and kiss had left him rather more… open to being injured than usual. He gasped for air. Oh Merlin, he was going to die. What would they say of him? Death by mad bint armed with a fucking quill and an unfortunate knowledge of male anatomy. “I’m going to be sick,” he gasped, before he heaved. Nothing came out and after an agonising moment he looked up at her with fierce hatred in his watering eyes, spitting his words. “Was that really necessary?”

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   Porphyria Dempsey

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Now he had really abandoned every last stain of his gentlemanly veneer, and seemed to be attempting, to no avail, to turn out the contents of his stomach. Porphyria watched this for a lingering moment, enthralled. As it turned out, this was the most she had liked him all night. She had frequently felt like stabbing people with her quill in her life, but she had never before actually tried, and it was marvellous. The same went for kneeing a man between his legs - it took more physical contact than she might've liked, but, oh, if she'd known the effect it would have! "Hah," she said thoughtfully to herself. Merlin, she would have to do this more bloody often.

Porphyria was so thrilled with herself and the adrenaline rush transformed to triumph that she could almost, for granting her the opportunity for such a grand feat, forgive him the kiss.

No. That was a lie. She would never forgive him the kiss.

He had started talking again all too soon, though, so Porphyria sprang sideways and leant down to scrape up her fallen wand in order to make a hasty escape, although by the time she'd straightened up, preparing to disapparate, he was looking up at her directly again. Porphyria paused, just long enough to shoot him a look of pure incredulousness. "I could damn well say the same to you, you absolute prick," she replied, rolling her eyes to pretend she was over it all, but her words biting the air a little too loudly and too indignantly all the same. She'd leave it to him to decide whether she meant his question about necessary actions or just the idea of being sick. Both, in truth.

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Any lingering doubt he might have had about her state of mind went flying out of the window and Enoch glared at her with contempt the likes of which he wasn’t sure he had felt for another person in a good long while. Even those silly bitches at the lake last year had been mostly harmless, if annoying, but this cat would be lucky if she didn’t end up on the wrong end of a jinx.

Pulling his wand from his pocket he contemplated the many things he could do with her and quite how much she would deserve them. He had been freeing them both after it became abundantly clear she would not let him do it the easy way and what did he have to show for it? A dull, thudding pain that was unlikely to go away even with the expert administrations of the Painted Lady’s finest, a night of debauchery before he spent the day with his family ruined, and a fucking quill in the neck.

“Go now,” he spat on the floor, eyes dark and sharp as curses came into his mind. She would deserve it. Nobody would blame him. He was the heir of the Rosiers and an auror to boot, who the fuck was she? “Before I change my mind,” he snarled. “And pray you never see me again.”

wrap?

  

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There was a lot to unpack in the vicious look he gave her, and Porphyria, though she ought to be veritably relieved, was a little disappointed she couldn’t read the murderousness on his mind. Well, she had enough idea of swift hatred in her own to guess... although perhaps Legilimency was a skill worth learning - ?

There wasn’t a great deal of time before angry eyes and words turned to action, and her suspicions were confirmed by his order. Porphyria didn’t like to think of herself as someone who obeyed orders just because, and even giving this bastard the satisfaction of doing so felt like a loss - but better not give him the satisfaction of retaliating outright. “Believe me, I could think of no greater pleasure,” she returned sharply, and shot him one last glare before disapparating with a crack.

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a sublime set by Lady! <3