December 11, 1892 - London Ballet Company, Magical London
Irene Crawley

Behind the stage was chilly and Gus swore there was a draft coming in from somewhere despite Sophia telling him a hundred times that it was just how it was; he’d learned quickly to wear a jacket (even in the middle of summer, but it was a common knowledge that the redhead was constantly cold) whenever he’d come to watch Sophia in the ballet. He’d spent much of his time abroad making as many shows as he could, and now that they were both back in London he tried to see every performance at least once.

Generally Sophia would invite him backstage, but tonight he’d decided to surprise her, although he’d been expecting a performance of The Nutcracker and not a rather adult ballet that his dear friend may have mentioned she was performing in once, and then never again. His face had been red the entire time, but still, he was here to see her. So, all things considered, Gus should have gone straight home, run a hot bath to get some feeling back into his toes, but it was his weekend away from Hogwarts, and he still had a few hours before the barriers went up,  so instead he made his way toward the backstage where he knew Sophia would be.

Gus was clutching a bouquet of cream and lavender colored roses as he rounded the corner past the curtain, Gus made a beeline straight toward the dressing room, although as he did he ran smack into one of the ballet dancers he didn’t recognize her; he stumbled backward as the dancer stumbled forward, although she regained her balance much more quickly than she did – must be those dance skills hard at work. She muttered a soft sorry and scurried by him, but Gus didn't notice her. His foot landed in something oddly wet, and the redhead grimaced as he glanced down.

Paint soaked his shoe and stained the bottom of his pants. (Basil was going to click his tongue when he saw the state of his outfit when he returned back to Hogwarts.) Without removing his foot, Gus glanced up to see what he might be able to wipe his foot off with; there, laying across a chair was what looked like a towel. Not wanting to stain the floor (Sophia would make him clean it, probably without magic so he’d learn his lesson to not waltz behind the stage like he owned the place), Gus decided the best course of action was to drag his foot and the container across the floor.

(He considered hopping, but seeing as he was still clutching the bouquet in his hands he probably would have fallen from the lack of balance.) It was quite the show.

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Peace.

It was what Irene associated with the theater. The quiet of outside was drowned out, and if one was alone, it could be quite peaceful. Ore quite spooky, if one believed in ghosts and ghouls and the like. In a muggle theater, it might be considered haunted. Here in the magical world, most of the time it was mostly considered annoying. The second thing she liked was after the show where the energy of the performers buzzed in the air, so palpable it was almost impossible to not feel something.

It had been nearly a month since Elias had told her about Daffodil and him - about what had transpired between them. And ever since then, no longer were her dreams invaded by visions of Mr. Hunt or Elias being hurt by an unknown entity, reaching out to her for help. Now it was only her, and she would scream until she couldn't, only to be met with absolutely nothing as the crowds of High Street passed by her without a second glance. In fact, they would end up passing through her; and when she woke up in a cold sweat, breathless and panicked, she would be met with deafening silence. This time, sketching what she dreamt about wouldn't help her, nor would a dreamless sleep potion; potions cost money and what she could afford, she had to ration through to last her the next few weeks.

Besides, she had never wanted to rely on a potion; at the end of the day, it was just her, and she knew had to face it one way or another. So instead, Irene kept as busy as she could. The holiday season was upon them, and that meant she'd received plenty of commission work to do - plus the gallery had insisted upon decorating and making sure each portrait was flawless when they opened. Late hours at the gallery, commissions, plus with having picked up extra work at the theater ensured that Irene would be thoroughly exhausted when she got home; exhausted enough that most days, she succeeded in having dreamless nights.

Plus, working more at the theater meant she was around other people she might chat with to distract her wandering thoughts. Most of the time she succeeded; after all, this wasn't the first time she'd found herself heartbroken, and it certainly wouldn't be the last (at least not if Elias and Daffodil continued into courtship). At the theater, she was able to put the nauseating turmoil aside and focus on work: repairs that had to be done, mixing more paints for the set-decorators....and generally finding ways to volunteer where she could. Payment didn't matter when what she wanted was to forget.

Tonight was one of the nights that Irene had planned to stay late, past the performance and past the time when all the performers had gone home to make sure the set backdrops were ready for the next day. Entering the theater, the energy was high as ever as she made her way backstage with her bag of supplies. On her way to her station, she threw the occasional 'hello' to the crew and performers. After setting up her paints, she went to fetch a glass of water before she began - well, two: one for her to drink and the other to wipe off her paints into. Once she returned, she saw the flash of color telling her a familiar redhead had made his way backstage. As she approached she threw up a hand to wave hello, however the sight of her friend's predicament stopped her in her tracks:

Professor Augustus Finch Lissington, Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at one of the greatest magical schools in the world was hobbling towards the nearest chair (presumably to get the towel Irene had slung over the back of it), flowers in one hand...and a paint bucket stuck on his foot. Irene was never one to pass up the opportunity to laugh, but at this moment she couldn't decide if she wanted to laugh or sigh in exasperation.

"Oh, Gus Gus not again."

It was exasperation ultimately won out in her tone, however it didn't stick out long and she felt the corners of her mouth tug up in a grin that she ended up trying to suppress for the sake of her friend's pride (if he had any left at this point).

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The following 1 user Likes Irene Crawley's post:1 user Likes Irene Crawley's post
   Gus Lissington

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as of 20 Dec 1893, Irene's hair is cut short above her shoulders

Sometimes Gus got himself into situations that were entirely avoidable, however, it was always hindsight in which he realized that. The paint by this point had ruined his pants and Basil was going to make him go shopping for a new pair, which sounded downright terrible.The man had a lot of opinions on fashion when all Gus cared about was how comfortable he felt. Well, it was better to ruin his pants than the floor because he’d rather spend the day with Basil (not that it took any convincing for him to want to do that) than having to scrub the floor with Sophia watching him. He loved her dearly, but sometimes Sophia Voss could be a mean tyrant when it came to making sure the ballet, and every prop that came with it, was spotless.

Maybe it would be better to abandon his shoes altogether. He could just apparate back near the castle and walk without shoes to his quarters, and while some of the students might find it odd, they’d chalk it up to Gus being his usual self, weird self. (Or they might think his baby niffler stole his shoes because they were so damn shiny, but that was a thought for another time.) Maybe he could tempt Basil into sliding down the hallways with him after the students went to bed...

Deciding that was the best answer for his predicament, Gus paused in his step as he began to tug his foot free from the shoe, although he didn’t manage to wiggle it free before his head snapped up as his dear friend’s voice. She looked like she’d been painting, and despite his face burning red, he couldn’t help but shoot her a wide grin. “You have a spot of paint on your cheek, so we kind of match.” Then he laughed and pushed his foot back into his shoe, deciding to have some form of manners and not run around his socks.

Gus reached into the bouquet and pulled free a lavender rose, in which he held out to his friend. “Although gorgeous as always, Irene. Sorry I ruined your paint.” Again. But she should be used to Gus acting before he thought about anything, consequences be damned.

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Despite her indignation over the can of ruined paint, his cheeky grin thrown in her direction saw her dissolve into giggles as she made her way towards him. It had always baffled her how serious (and dangerous) a subject he taught and yet he always seemed to have an air of unrelenting optimism that floated around him like a halo; perhaps it was that mass of dark red curls atop his head. More than once Irene had been reminded of Michaelangelo's cherubim when she saw the professor from afar and she'd fought the urge to paint his likeness into one of her canvases as a joke.

"Gus, this —" She pointed to her cheek (and the wrong one at that, but there were plenty more paint marks on her person to prove his point) with an incredulous look at him. "—would be considered an occupational hazard." She placed a hand on her hip as she came to a halt beside the chair and used it to lean against as she peered down at the bucket of paint. Her bucket of paint. "You could only be described as a liability, at the very least!"

Her fading displeasure at the mess he had made all but evaporated at the presentation of a rose; and her favorite color at that! She reached out a paint-streaked hand to take the stem from him and immediately raised the bloom to inhale its sweet scent. A tinge of blush flooded her cheeks at his compliment, and she smiled at him fondly from behind the petals. "Only you could mollify me enough to make me help you out of a mess that you created out of my ruined supplies!" With her free hand, she tossed him the towel on the chair, though, she thought with another glance at the mess, he would likely need a bit more assistance than that.

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as of 20 Dec 1893, Irene's hair is cut short above her shoulders

As soon as Irene giggled, Gus knew he had her; then again they’d been friends for so long that, at least for him, it was hard to stay angry at her for long, although it wasn’t as if he’d ever actually been mad at her to begin with. He loved his friends more than anything else in the world and he found no point in wasting precious moments with anyone simply because he felt the fleeting emotion. His grin widened as she pointed to the one spot on her cheek that was paint free, although he couldn’t help as his eyes lowered to stare at the paint bucket. Irene did have a point, but he wasn’t about to agree with her. Sometimes things just happened around him and it wasn’t his fault he was the center of it. “Hey, I just know how to bring the fun wherever I go!” Gus protested with a laugh instead.

Pleased then that his friend took the flower, Gus caught the towel that was thrown toward him and plopped down on his butt without much thought. “That’s because you love me almost as much as I love you.” He winked at her. Plus he had every intention of replacing her ruined supplies without her asking. (The guilt Gus felt was real over ruining her paint, and well... she deserved to be showered with things.) His fingers wrapped around the paint bucket and he gave it a tug, although he stopped as soon as he felt some of the paint welling toward the top, and if he pulled it completely off it was going to go everywhere.

“What are you painting anyway? Because you might want to put it under my leg.” Gus wiggled his foot at her as he leaned back on his elbows. “Unless you wanna pull and see if the paint will stay in?” Either way, he had a feeling that he was about to make a huge mess. Whoops.

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The following 1 user Likes Gus Lissington's post:1 user Likes Gus Lissington's post
   Irene Crawley

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Gus’ protestations were hardly ever to be taken seriously, at least in this kind of setting (reader: note this indicates the fact that Irene has encountered this scenario multiple times with her dear friend) and Irene gave a half-hearted roll of her eyes. He had a point, there were few people in her life that she wouldn’t eviscerate on the spot for using her supplies up in such a wasteful manner. At least this was an indication that Gus knew how much he meant to her.

However it was precisely because of this that she opted to let him struggle for a few moments longer while she explained her presence to him. “If I was painting an inferno scene, you might have come in handy, but your timing leaves much to be desired if you’re going to make a habit of this.” She pointed out, gesturing to the mess he’d already made. “I was putting some finishing touches on the wedding backdrop, which mind you didn’t involve half as much red as the paint you’ve spilled!” If he didn’t think she would let him off the hook that easily, he had another thing coming.

She closed the gap between her and Gus now seated on the floor, resigned to the fact that the paint would hardly be salvageable. “Might as well commit, cleaning it up will be a chore, but it shouldn’t stain if we use magic to clean it up quickly.” She pointed out as she put the rose stem between her teeth to free her hands. Grasping the bottom of the paint can, she raised her eyebrows to him indicating she would follow his lead on getting him out.

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as of 20 Dec 1893, Irene's hair is cut short above her shoulders

His eyes tracked her finger as she pointed at the canvas, and Gus at least had the decency to look halfway guilty before he turned back toward Irene and shrugged. “Come on now. Red roses are romantic, no? I could put my foot against the canvas and you could make my toes into buds or petals.” Had his foot been out of the bucket and a shoe by that point he would have wiggled his toes at her to get his point across, but instead Gus arched an eyebrow at Irene as his grin widened. “Or a sunset? But some white paint on my other foot and I’ll walk across and try to smear it. You can put the final details on it.” There was a reason he wasn’t a painter (or rather, a reason he was born without an artistic bone in his body), and this was it.

He plopped down with little fanfare as she finally approached him, and Gus let out a small laugh as she grabbed the paint can. His eyebrows furrowed together as he needed, his fingers pushing the bouquet for Soph away from him so it wouldn’t be stained with any paint droplets. She would be the one to notice and want details as to what happened. “Just don’t tell Sophia and I will be in your debt.” Gus was generally true to his word — Irene could ask almost anything of him and he’d do without question. (Although she could do that anytime and he’d show up for her because she was one of his best friends.)

Leaning back at a bit more, Gus wiggled his foot as he tried to free it, and with a very disgusting squelch noise that made him wrinkle his nose, his foot finally came free, sending red paint splattering everywhere. It was a lot more paint than he’d anticipated and he couldn’t help but grimace — he was going to owe Irene big for wasting so much of her paint. He kept his foot in the air as he awkwardly leaned forward to take his shoe off, not wanting to walk across the stage with it still on; the paint dripped from his shoe as his foot came from, and he did the only thing he could think of as he set it down next to him: he dipped his fingers into it and flicked his fingers in his friend’s direction to splatter her with the paint.

Gus smiled innocently at Irene. Might as well have fun before they had to clean it up… (He was good with magic. How hard could a spell to clean up paint be?)

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If he kept about his quips, she was in danger of inhaling a thorn. She raised a questioning brow at his condition, though refrained from retorting until after they’d gotten out of this mess. She was quite certain this story would reach Sophia at one point or another in the not-to-distant future. Of course, she wasn’t to tell Gus that until an opportune moment arose; or perhaps after. Once she felt the resistance against the paint can, Irene leaned back and tugged. Then tugged harder. “Merlin’s Beard, Gus!” How he’d managed to get his foot this stuck in a paint can, she would never know. She was too busy gritting her teeth to brace herself for when the paint can finally released.

There was a sound like a firecracker underwater; in a whirl of colors, most of them red, Irene saw the theater turn as she was thrown on her back. She only had a moment to register Gus’ ridiculous position on the floor before red paint splashed in front of her and she felt something wet on her face. The paint can had splattered absolutely everywhere. Irene was left blinking in confusion before her mouth dropped open and a laugh erupted from her before she knew what happened.

Smaller droplets flew towards her; Gus fooling around, of course, an angelic smile on his face. Another laugh and she wiped some of the red paint off her face before flicking it back towards him. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Gus Gus…” She warned in a low voice, grinning back.

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as of 20 Dec 1893, Irene's hair is cut short above her shoulders

Gus didn’t look good in red. It clashed with his hair and when matched with the yellow he liked to wear (always a Hufflepuff at heart, and he was very pleased to get to represent his former house again at Hogwarts), it made him think of ketchup and mustard. Irene, though, looked good in red, but maybe Gus just remembered seeing her wear it on her robes. Either way, seeing it splattered across her face while she blinked in shock made him laugh. At least he knew he wasn’t in too much trouble once she started laughing with him. She was on her back, and it was as if an occult hand had had reached down from above and knocked her over.

“Oh my dear Crawley, I don’t start things I can’t win.” Gus grinned as he narrowed his eyes at her, red paint splattering against his face; he chuckled and wiped it, smearing it across his cheek. A competitive sort, he suddenly had a desire to win against her if they were entering into some form of game. A friendly competition without a prize. (Outside of spending time with his friend, although that was something he always viewed as a prize, especially when it got him out of Hogwarts.) Gus popped up onto his feet as he retrieved his wand from his pocket, pointing it quickly toward the stains on the floor. With a mumbled spell, the red paint came (mostly) off the floor, forming into bubbles that bobbed in the air between them.

“Wanna see who can pop more?” With wands, without, blindfolded, by tossing things at them, Gus didn’t care; he was having fun with Irene and wanted to continue it.

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And just like that, they were back at Hogwarts and Irene was contemplating all the methods of retaliation she might exact upon the Hufflepuff. Eager to capitalize upon a simpler time in both of their lives, she watched him smear the red paint across his cheek. Of course it did nothing to help the cleanliness of the situation, but then again, neither did his taunt. She watched him leap to his feet and pick up his wand; she followed his lead, standing up and wiping at a droplet on her chin whilst eyeing him with a curious expression.

Being the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, Irene knew she wouldn’t stand a chance against him at any sort of duel; nor did she think he would try to tip the scales in his favor in such a drastic way. So it was with burgeoning eagerness that she watched him cast a spell on the paint splatters around them.

Around them, the paint splatters seemed to gather themselves up off the floor as if they were merely peeling themselves up and gaining their previous form: bubbles. When Irene caught on, she started laughing. “Oh, absolutely.” She replied eagerly, pushing up her sleeves and quirking an eyebrow at him. “No wands; you’re too crafty with yours for me to even think of beating you at this.” And of course this was to be a fair competition, wasn’t it? “Winner gets treated by the loser to Honeyduke’s.” It was her usual wager; something she knew both of them would enjoy; except — “And no cockroach clusters this time Gus Gus, one of them almost choked me to death last time!”

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as of 20 Dec 1893, Irene's hair is cut short above her shoulders

Gus lifted his hands in surrender as Irene laughed, like he wouldn’t dream of trying to best her with magic — he had his height on his side, anyway, if really wanted the advantage of her. Wouldn’t put it past Irene having some weird bubble popping trick that he wasn’t aware of, although he wasn’t a sore loser even if he was insanely competitive. Even more so now that some form of sweet was on the line… he wondered what summer flavor of chocolate covered frogs Mr. Honeyduke had made this go around.

Then he laughed and shook his head, never understanding why none of his friends seemed to like to eat chocolate covered bugs! One day he’d get them all to eat chocolate covered crickets… “But those are the best!” Gus pouted at her, but she did have a point. The cockroach clusters hadn’t set well with her. “Gotta try some ice mice this time around. I swear you’ll like them.” They made people squeak and Gus really just wanted to laugh at Irene with that kind of voice, and he couldn’t help but chuckle just imagining it, his wand waving for a moment. Somewhere off to the time, a large, wispy pocket watch appeared to act as their clock for the popping. The paint bobbed in the air, waiting for their timer to begin; they would float around them, bobbing up and down to make things a little more interesting.

Gus tucked one hand behind him as he tucked his wand away, head cocking as he appraised his dear friend. “No wands, and I’ll use one hand unless you really start to beat me.” He smirked at her. “Alright Irene, on the count of three. One. Two. Three.” Then he stepped forward and pressed his finger into the one right above her head, sending a rain of red paint downward, hopefully staining her hair. Gus shrugged and laughed, skirting away to start poking the bubbles in front of him.

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