March 5th, 1891 — Leaky Cauldron

It had been less than a full day since their fight, and already, Alfred missed Jo.

He felt so lonely. He couldn't talk to Zelda about this, because she didn't understand his relationship with Jo. He'd tried, with his letter yesterday, but he hadn't known where to start and he'd realized by the time he'd gotten her second owl back that afternoon that even if she had understood, she wouldn't have wanted to talk about this. He was asking for more emotional capacity than she had to give up, when it came to Jo. He couldn't talk to Pablo, because Alfred had been a pretty shit friend lately, and he hadn't kept him up to date on half the things that were going on. What he did know about Zelda and Jo he only knew from the post office on Valentine's Day, where they'd run into each other by chance.

He missed Jo. He wasn't sure whether he was allowed to miss Jo. He had no one to ask for advice on the subject.

A week ago, even a day ago, he would have thought the concept of whether or not he was allowed to feel any certain way about Jo Smith patently ridiculous. He knew that their relationship had never been conventional or appropriate, but he hadn't thought it would matter. Maybe some people couldn't trust their partners alone with members of the opposite sex, but he and Jo were different. Those rules didn't apply to them. It was silly to think anything would happen. Except yesterday, during their fight, something very nearly had happened. He had been half an impulse away from throwing away everything he'd been working towards for the past eight months — for years before that. He'd nearly ruined it, and Zelda didn't know. Zelda might never know. He could have even done it, followed through with it, and maybe it would have worked and Jo would still be here and Zelda still wouldn't know, and the idea made his stomach pitch uneasily.

He took a long drink of his pint and leaned his head back against the booth. He closed his eyes and blended the background noise of the Cauldron into one muddled thrum in his head, effectively tuning it out. He was just going to sit in this booth and drink until he stopped feeling sick, he'd decided. He'd sit here without looking at anyone else and drink until he didn't feel so untethered. Until he stopped composing stupid letters to Jo in his head. Until he could bring himself around to the idea of never telling Zelda about this.

It was going to take more than one pint. He opened his eyes, took another long drink, and waved to the bartender for another.

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Though his circumstances had changed drastically over the last twenty years of his life, one thing remained the same: the comfort of an English pub. In his youth they were a source of laughter, a source of friendships, and as he grew older he found them useful in other ways. When he'd lost his leg it was an easy place to sit, think, and drink (and if he was lucky, get some wise advice from a stranger he knew he'd never meet again). Now closer to forty than his youth, pubs had a different purpose: they were the perfect place to write action sequences for his novels. The atmosphere was serene yet chaotic, and the sound of burly laugher and clinking glasses captured the backdrop of his scenes the way no other place could. Maybe he was just a dork, but he swore his scenes were better when he was tucked away in a booth with a pint in his hand and his notebook on the dirty table.

He arrived at the Leaky Cauldron without greeting anyone, but that didn't mean he wasn't noticed. The bartender smiled at him, but there was an unspoken rule about Julian there: if he headed for a booth instead of a bar, he hadn't come to socialize. He hobbled over to the his regular booth, pleased to find that it was empty as usual, but as he neared it his gaze flickered over to the next booth over and he recognized the face—the miserable-looking face, if he was being more descriptive—of John Alfred Darrow, Zelda's... something.

"You know, you probably shouldn't sit in a pub looking like that," he commented cheekily, a smile stretched across his lips, "Someone might come over thinking something's wrong—or worse, they might try and solve your problem for you." He didn't ask to join him, instead sliding into the booth across from Darrow. He laid his notebook out in front of him, along with his quill and ink well, but he didn't touch them. Instead he stared at the curly-haired mess that he supposed Zelda wished to marry. Poor bloke.

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The following 1 user Likes Julian Fisk's post:1 user Likes Julian Fisk's post
   Cassius Lestrange

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Alfred hadn't been expecting anyone to speak to him, and so even though it was a familiar face that approached it still took him a minute to realize what was happening. Entertaining one of Zelda's myriad of siblings was the last thing he'd wanted to do tonight, and the blow was only softened slightly by the fact that it was Julian and not one of the ones who were openly hostile to him. He tried to smile in greeting, but managed only a brief flicker at the corner of his mouth. Julian seemed to be settling in, making himself comfortable. Alfred debated lying and saying he'd just been on his way out — he could drink at home, he just didn't want to because so many of the things at home were reminders of time he'd spent with Jo — but just as he opened his mouth to offer his apologies, the bartender approached with the second round he'd ordered. Now there was a full pint in front of him, in addition to the third that was still in his current glass, so if he got up to leave it would be obvious he was running away.

Well, fuck.

"I was under the impression a pub was the perfect place to sit around looking like this," he said dryly. He took another drink and glanced at Julian's notebook, wondering what was in it. "Are you planning to solve all my problems for me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and trying to sound like he was joking (though, actually, he was rather dreading that this in fact the case — though what Julian supposed his problems were was anyone's guess). "You've certainly come well-equipped."

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Julian took note of Darrow's unwillingness (or inability?) to smile, but did not comment on it. Instead, he sent the waitress back bar with a request for a pint of his own, already considering the ways he could turn this talk with his sister's maybe-soon-fiancé into inspiration. (He'd come to the pub in hopes of being inspired; he wasn't about to put that on the backburner because someone was sad.)

"I wouldn't write off my problem-solving abilities so quick," he joked, his eyes following Darrow's gaze down to his notebook. He did solve problems for a living—or, rather, write them and then solve them. Or didn't solve them. He got himself into a tizzy trying to tie up loose ends in his stories every now and then, but that wasn't what he was working on right now. "... But no, I don't think I'll try to solve your problems today. Getting myself in trouble with Zelda for interfering with your life isn't on my to-do list today." That was a joke. Definitely. Without a doubt. "But, since I have you here, you might as well help me." It was his turn to raise a brow this time.

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Alfred was skeptical of Julian's assertion that he wasn't trying to solve any of Alfred's problems. None of the Fisk siblings were suffering from a lack of strong opinions when it came to him and Zelda, and he didn't entirely believe that a healthy respect for her wishes was going to stave off attempts to meddle, if someone was inclined.

If he had been in a better mood, he might have made more of an effort to seem enthused about whatever Julian was trying to bait him in to. At the very least, he would have tried to demonstrate that he was willing to go along with it for the sake of engendering good will between the two of them. Right now, though, he just didn't have the energy. He wanted to drink. He was on his first pint, still, and would have preferred to have been on his fifth — maybe by then at least his brain would have been too numbed to keep drifting back to the letters he'd tried to write to Jo and Zelda.

"Well," he said with a shrug and a vague gesture at the full pint in front of him on the table. "Since you have me here." His tone gave away precisely how unenthused he was at the prospect, but he wasn't going to just get up and walk away, and have Zelda's family talking about him later and saying he was rude, or odd, or something.

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

It was becoming increasingly difficult to pretend he didn't notice how unenthusiastic Darrow was by his presence, but he maintained the same air of friendly cluelessness that he he held onto whenever in stressful meetings with editors and his publisher. It helped him stay confident, and moreover, it stopped him from actively interrogating the the man. He began to flip through his journal, all the while humming a familiar tune. Once he reached a blank page he folded the cover back and left the book open, his gaze jumping back to Darrow.

"You know I write books, of course," he started. There was no "of course" about it, but Darrow didn't seem in the mood to contradict him and it was much easier to keep up with his confidence when he didn't have to ask people if they knew he wrote. "And in this particular one, the protagonist has to make a decision about a problem they have. I have two possibilities for solving the problem, but I can't tell which one would be the best decision." Did Darrow even read? He can't believe he hadn't bothered to ask Zelda that before. Hopefully he could follow. "I thought you, a neutral third party, could help me."

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Alfred raised an eyebrow. No part of him believed this was a serious inquiry. For one thing, they weren't exactly friends (though they could have been, he thought, if not for Zelda), so it wasn't logical that Julian would seek his advice on his career. For another, the entire Fisk family had reason to believe his judgement was suspect, so they wouldn't be asking his advice on anything, most likely.

But he had to play along, didn't he? Even if he was almost entirely convinced this was just going to be a long-winded way of saying he ought to stay away from Zelda, he didn't really have a good out.

"Why does it matter what the best decision is?" he challenged mildly. "People don't usually do what's best for them."

The following 2 users Like J. Alfred Darrow's post:2 users Like J. Alfred Darrow's post
   Julian Fisk, Jupiter Smith

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Julian dipped his head to the side as if to say I'll give you that. "Most people do," he agreed. He decided that, even if Darrow did read, he didn't have enough knowledge about writing to understand where he was going with this—or if he did, that he was being intentionally obtuse. Figured. "But they also don't have insights about how their choices will affect them in the long run. And even if they could, they wouldn't usually think that far." He thought the meaning was plain enough, but it dawned upon him then that he might seem vaguely threatening with such an extensive metaphor.

"But as the writer, I need to think about how my choices will affect the future story. Even small things can have implications in the future." The more he explained, the more threatening he sounded, and his façade of ignorance was fading quickly. The smile left his face first, but he didn't ask what he really want to. Instead, he tried to continue on his long-winded speech.

"For example, if the protagonist tells someone about the story's conflict, that's one more character who has the ability to affect the plot. What they do with it... well, the protagonist loses control over that. But if they keep it to themselves and don't say anything, they have to face it all alone when another character could have helped them." He flashed the waitress a smile as she finally delivered his pint. It was about time. "Both choices have their own implications, you see?"

He took a sip, allowing a moment for Darrow to think.

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— gorgeous set by MJ<3 —

Alfred's general impression of this speech was that he'd been correct in assuming it was a very long-winded and obtuse way of saying he ought to stay away from Julian's sister. Out of context, this convoluted protectiveness might have been mildly endearing, but Alfred had been on the receiving end of so many of these talks (with varying degrees of politeness) that he had run out of patience with them. And, of course, his overall mood didn't lend itself to receiving this speech in a particularly charitable light.

Characters don't know what will affect the story in the long run; he assumed this was another way of casting doubt on his ability to provide, financially, for Zelda in the event that they were to be married. Even if they could, they wouldn't usually think that far; this one was obvious. Hopefully the allegories in his books were a little deeper than this. He'd had eight months to come up with it, too.

The last bit, about telling other people, had him baffled. Was there some secret Julian Fisk was threatening him with? In theory, Ari might have told him about the night on the boat with Zelda, but if he had, it was strange timing for it — three years after the fact and shortly after Alfred thought he had, grudgingly, gotten Ari over to his side.

"No, I don't see," he said, a little tensely. "Maybe you ought to give me some background on your story."

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

He didn't see. Great. Now he'd worked his way this far into the metaphor, and Zelda had decided to pick someone without a brain (not that he held it against him, necessarily) to fall in love with. He didn't think he was being too complicated with his wording; if anything, he was surprised Darrow hadn't cut him off minute or two ago and demanded he stop being nosy. (Maybe this could be used as inspiration for a scene: two characters sit down, one doesn't seem to get the memo, the other gives up, and hopefully some way down the line the character is hit with an epiphany about what the other was trying to say to begin with. It could work.)

He waved Darrow's request away with a dismissive hand and shook like his in frustration. "No, I don't think the context is important. I'm not asking you to write my story; I only want to know what makes the most sense." He supposed he could phrase it more plainly and hope the message came across the way he'd intended.

"Say the protagonist was having a difficult time. Maybe they doesn't want to tell another character their troubles—because, you know, people are assholes." Now he was making it worse—great. He couldn't seem to make it less complicated without making it more complicated first. "But if they don't tell someone—well, they don't get a solution, and the problem only magnifies in their mind—and then more problems happen down the lines, and—" He released a shallow, frustrated breath.

"—for Merlin's sake, Darrow, what's wrong with you?"

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The following 3 users Like Julian Fisk's post:3 users Like Julian Fisk's post
   Alice Dawson, Cassius Lestrange, J. Alfred Darrow

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The hell was he talking about, context wasn't important? Context was the only important thing in evaluating decisions, Alfred thought. But maybe that was the tribal philosophy coming out. It was very English to think there was always, objectively, a right and wrong, no matter what was happening or how anyone felt about it. (Objectively right: letting Jo Smith leave. Objectively wrong: thinking about kissing her in order to get her to stay. Still, he felt lousy about it either way).

Then Fisk's speech took a sudden, unexpected turn. Alfred blinked, trying and failing to reconcile this question with the rest of the speech. He still expected this was about Zelda, but he didn't know what Julian was trying to get at. He ran his tongue over his teeth, aware that he needed to respond but under the impression any answer would be a wrong one.

"I don't think I've had enough beer for that sort of question," he said after a moment. "Ask me again after two more pints, maybe."

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Well... that was an easy enough answer. Or a non-answer, rather, because Julian still had no idea what was wrong with Darrow, but at least he knew there was something wrong, and whatever it was required him to be properly inebriated to talk about. His brows creased with concern, and for a moment he could do nothing but stare. He hadn't been home recently enough to know if whatever Darrow was going through was about Zelda, and truthfully he knew it was impudent to assume Darrow's life revolved around his sister, but - well, he didn't know Darrow well enough to assume anything else. It didn't help that Darrow seemed willing to talk to him about it (because people didn't usually talk to their beloved's brothers about just anything).

Suddenly he snapped out of his stare, as if coming to a sudden decision, "Well, if it's that bad I think I ought to drink too, no?" he asked, and picked up his pint in a silent toast to whatever Darrow was struggling with.

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— gorgeous set by MJ<3 —

It wasn't until Julian spoke that Alfred realized when he'd said what's wrong with you? it had been a specific question, not just a general vague inquiry along the lines of where do you get off? or how dare you? He'd gotten a fair few of those more general questions in his life, and from one of Zelda's siblings it had seemed particularly fitting. Apparently that hadn't been it at all, though, and now Julian Fisk thought he had a Problem, and this conversation had progressed too far for Alfred to claim he didn't. (It hadn't; he just didn't think he could say he was fine and make it sound convincing).

He shook his head at the mock toast, but took a long drink all the same. His first glass was empty now, and he slid the second pint towards him while he wondered how he was going to weather this.

"It's nothing to do with Zelda," he said, though of course it was everything to do with Zelda. If it weren't for Zelda, he might have followed through on the impulse. Jo might have still been here — and either way, he wouldn't have had this extra layer of guilt about it.

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Julian drank from his own glass, too, but without any urgency. He had come here with the intention to write, and if he got trashed trying to figure out what was wrong with Darrow he wouldn't be able to do that (nor remember this conversation to use as inspiration in the future). Even if it wasn't about Zelda—and Darrow seemed insistent it wasn't—Julian had always assumed that Darrow would eventually worm his way into the family, and when he did Julian hoped they would get along.

"And that's okay," Julian responded in a lower voice. He really did care, maybe not because he was particularly invested in Darrow's life but because Zelda was enamored of him enough to go against their father's wishes—and that had to count for something. It might have been nearly two decades ago that Julian had gone against their father's wishes to become a curse-breaker, but he still remembered how daunting it was to face him. (And it had worked out well in the end, hadn't it? Minus the missing leg? He assumed Zelda would make it out in the end, leg hopefully intact. Her heart was definitely more important than her leg, in any case.)

"But—and don't tell anyone I said this—I don't actually hate you, Darrow. If that counts for anything," he added, "I know Zelda wouldn't want you to be miserable right now, so..." He shrugged.

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— gorgeous set by MJ<3 —

Alfred considered the man across the table with suspicion. It did not really fit with what he thought he knew about Julian Fisk for him to care about anything in Alfred's life except as it pertained to Zelda, and that comment about not hating him certainly didn't track. If it was going to be anyone, though, it might as well have been Julian — he was one of the siblings who had never been openly hostile, more just — well, perhaps a bit uncomfortable about the whole thing, was really the impression that Alfred got. Still, he wasn't going to just let his guard down; he had a lot to lose if he made a poor choice in trusting Julian Fisk. But then, maybe he had something to gain, too, if Julian was being sincere — he did plan to make this man his brother-in-law, after all.

But that didn't mean he knew where to start. "Well, thanks," he said, uncertainly. "I'm glad to hear it, I suppose." But as for what Zelda would think of him being miserable right now... well, Zelda didn't know, and she probably never would, but what would she think if she did know? Alfred looked down at his beer and idly ran his index finger along the rim. If she knew what he'd almost done yesterday, he suspected Zelda might be just fine with him being a little miserable, at least for a while. Proper penance.

"I wouldn't speak for Zelda," he said, against his better judgement. He should have just kept his mouth shut about this — took the win about Julian not hating him at face value and changed the subject. He knew he wasn't going to be able to think about anything else, though, so it wasn't much use trying to talk about anything else. "You don't know what it is I'm miserable about. And neither does she."

  

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

After spending most of his youth (and apparently the last ten minutes) saying the wrong thing, Julian had learned when to be silent and when to talk. There were plenty of things he could say to Darrow—hopeful things, like it would only be a matter of time before Brannon came around to the idea of him as a son-in-law, or supportive things, like his situation was a tough one but he was doing just as well as he could given the circumstances. But then Darrow went and made that one comment about Zelda and the silent sympathy turned to the silent curiosity.

He'd figured out a few things so far: (1) whatever Darrow was going through required a few drinks to talk about, which meant it wasn't some everyday trouble, (2) that it wasn't about Zelda, or at least something Zelda knew about, and (3) that there was a chance Zelda... would want him to be miserable about? If this were the plot of a story Julian might have a few guesses, but his perception of Darrow was tainted by so many viewpoints that he wasn't sure whether to assume the worst or assume that Darrow was being too rough on himself. He took a deep breath and nodded, his gaze fixated on the table.

"I'll say, it doesn't sound like it's not about Zelda," he observed. Frankly, it sounded like this was about Zelda, however indirectly. Why else should he not speak for her on matters such as Darrow's happiness? "But if you say it's not, I'll trust you." That was a good way o establish a relationship, right? An offer of trust? Even if underneath it lied complete distrust in the situation at hand. "But for the record, I know I'm no expert on relationships and all, but I do know Zelda. I don' think she'd want you miserable."

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