16. January, 1892 - Padmore Park Bench, after 11pm sometime...

For the record, Olixander did not make a habit of getting blasted. Nor did the usually relaxed bachelor have a habit of publicly displaying his less than sober side except for in the most intimate or appropriate of settings. Tonight, neither of these facts held true as firstly, this was the second time in a week he’d been in this state and secondly, he was sitting out on a very public bench in Padmore Park ogling his shoes. Whatever it was that had come over him tonight to bring him to this rather humiliating present situation, the former Slytherin could not have said. He remembered only drinking copiously with friends that evening somewhere in Wellingtonshire and then… nothing. Until now of course. My his shoes looked scuffed. He’d have to toss them at the house elf when he got home for some buffing.

With a sigh, Olixander ran a hand through his dark wavy hair and turned his face up towards the moon. It was waning now, on this side of the full, and he was sure his magical prowess was slowly returning to full strength. He didn’t feel particularly capable right now, but he was sure come morning the moon’s effect would be less so. Still, the constellations seemed obscure tonight and the dark haired boy squinted up in that direction.

Olixander was in a mood. It wasn’t a pleasant mood, but he supposed it wasn’t a bad mood either. It was.. melancholic, at best. Spurred as all emotions were to heightened elevations when alcohol was involved, he felt himself drowning in it even so. Ever since the start of the year, another new beginning in and endless foray, the eldest Blackwood found himself thinking a lot about his situation in life. His family, his friends, his other acquaintances… They were all close to the brunette in their own ways and yet not one of them knew that he liked to study the ancient romans and greeks. Not one of them could pick out that he had an affinity for myths or history. Not a single person knew much of the real Olixander Blackwood beyond the masque that, frankly, he’d worn so long it had molded into his visage and started to melt into his actual personality. Could he himself even tell the difference anymore? Did it even matter? Scrubbing a hand over his face, Olixander blinked at the shadows along the path.

He supposed he should make his way home at some point instead of philosophizing to himself on a park bench while drunk. The Blackwood house in Wellingtonshire wasn’t nearly as far as it felt, and yet Olixander tipped to the side and rested himself along the length of the bench instead of standing. He would just loiter here for a moment longer. It was so peaceful and quiet; he ought to take advantage of the solitude before someone came along and hustled him home. (Or worse, caught him laying on a park bench to begin with! The horror!)

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Mabel Brighton & this mood inspo

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The night shift had always been a bit of a comfort; though the wards tended to explode in a frenzy of movement from time to time, Mabel enjoyed the solitude that it did often bring when there were just patients in their beds. She would get the occasional call from one patient or another, which would see her small frame burst into action as she tended to whatever their request was, and then she would get to relax after the task was complete. Tonight, there were no such requests, however she left her shift still feeling rather content. A few of the patients staying over night had requested her assistance in playing chess despite her insistence that she was a poor player.

So, the end of her shift had not ended in healing, but rather in being beaten rather severely at a game of chess. In fact, Mabel was quite sure she'd seen spells leave wands slower than the time it'd taken her to lose to her patients. But the rounds had left all in high spirits, so she walked out of the hospital feeling amused and decided she would rather fancy a walk in Padmore Park before she got home.

Padmore Park was always a lovely sight at night - the little golden orbs that floated in the air were almost mesmerizing to watch during a stroll. She'd changed out of her healer's robes, and so she plucked the collar of her coat to pull it tighter around her as the night's breeze gently buffeted her face. It was only when she instinctively looked over her shoulder that she realized one of the golden orbs in the park had attached itself to her and was floating serenely right behind her. Mabel reached out a hand and fluttered it to ward off the thing, but it stuck. "Oh, go away." She muttered, batting at the orb a bit more forcefully to no avail.

Huffing, Mabel hurried along the path, wondering how long it would take for the golden orb to detatch itself from her. "Leave me be, budge along!" She said, this time a bit more loudly before a movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. A figure falling against the bench. Startled, Mabel hurried forward to investigate. It was quite late, and they were the only two people in the vicinity; alarm rising in her chest as she approached the bench, the golden orb still floating along behind her. "Sir, are you alright?" She asked quietly as she approached.

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   Olixander Blackwood

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Olixander didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until he was opening them again and looking up into the face of an angel. She had a halo and everything. He blinked groggily at the beautiful figure and wondered, idly, if he had died on the park bench and simply floated into the afterlife. He supposed it wasn’t the worst way to go. It wasn’t like he had anything specifically he was doing in his life anyway. Reaching up a hand to see if it would pass right through, Olixander was a bit surprised to see his pale fingers stop against the woman’s porcelain cheeks. He snorted an indelicate laugh. Well this was a fun introduction.

Hand dropping to his side, Olixander shrugged a little bit in response to her query. “If you consider utter loneliness and little to live for alright, then yes: I’m positively thriving.” Another snort left the brunette on the bench and Olixander sighed, closing his eyes again. He didn’t much care who, or what this woman wanted. She looked harmless enough but even if she was a robber, she could take him for all he was worth. The only things of value Olixander had on him were a pocket watch and his wand. Both were easily replaced. (His wand quivered in indignation from inside the man’s waistcoat. They had a love/hate relationship.)

“Are you a woman of the night?” he asked suddenly. Big brown eyes opened again and focused, just barely, on the glowing round thing floating by the woman’s side. He reached up a finger to poke it. “You oughtn’t be,” Olixander continued, rambling nonsense. “You’re much too beautiful. You could easily find work as…” he thought for a moment “…as a ladies’ maid! Yes, I’ll ask my mother if you like!” Pleased with his own charity, Olixander folded his hands behind his head and grinned up at the woman. “However, I do recognize this is a bit of an abrupt change and I’d be willing to have one last, magical night. To mark the end of your salacious career.”

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Mabel Brighton & this mood inspo

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When he reached up, the last thing Mabel expected him to do was touch her cheek, and she froze as his fingertips brushed against her skin. What in Merlin's name? She sniffed. Ah. Not quite injured, just thoroughly intoxicated. While she wasn't unfamiliar with drunk people, being around them certainly didn't make her feel relaxed. Had he not dropped his hand, she might have taken a larger step backwards; instead, she merely scooted back half a step as he spoke. He seemed quite at ease lying on the bench, and Mabel wondered if she should just leave. He hadn't expressed any signs of distress, and from the looks of his outfit, it was likely he was merely a rich man who had consumed too much alcohol at a weekly party.

Mabel opened her mouth slightly, wondering if she should bid him good night and be on her way when his eyes popped open and she jumped slightly, her heart rate ticking up in her chest. Her mouth popped open again, this time in an expression of shock at what had come out of the man's mouth. In fact, she would have thought herself someone to reach out and give him a good slap across the face, but he kept talking and her eyes grew wider at the nonsense that was spewing from his mouth. Her hand was still at her mouth, which was still open in shock. She couldn't have been hearing this.

She watched as he stretched to prop his hands behind his head and peer up at her. One last magical night...

Before she knew it she'd reached out a hand and done what she should have done before; slapped him straight across the face. Perhaps in truth she truly just wanted to slap the grin off his face, but she immediately recoiled as if she'd been the one slapped. "I'm sorry!" She gasped, staggering back a few steps.

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Shock wasn’t exactly a surprising sensation, even as it flooded through Olixander. The sting in his left cheek however, now that was more of a surprise. Frowning up at the woman, Olixander let out a small whine (very unbecoming) and scrambled to sit up, resting his weight on his elbows. “What was that for?!” he asked, genuinely confused. After all his thoughtful charity, this was what one got for helping the poor! It was no wonder his mother wasn’t a fan of the lower classes.

Blinking himself back to some state of sobriety and rubbing his cheek, the brunette eyed the woman before him again, this time with more care. He supposed she didn’t look all that poor, or like a typical prostitute. That might have (definitely) just been wishful thinking on his part… He resigned himself to being an arse and laughed a little, despite the awkwardness he should have felt. “It was meant as a compliment,” he tried by way of apology. “You’d be worth at least a Galleon, maybe two.” A cheeky grin stretched across his face, entirely teasing in nature. He hoped the woman had a sense of humor and wouldn’t slap him again. He really was trying to make up for his mistake, honestly. 

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Mabel Brighton & this mood inspo

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"And I hope you carry that mark on you to remind you of your obscenity!" Mabel admonished as the heat rose in her face. No, this was not the moment to cry, not now. It wasn't even distress that descended upon her but sheer fury at having been mistaken for a woman of the night. Nevermind the fact that was technically what she was, having been walking through Padmore Park well past midnight without a chaperone.

Her hand stung from where it had connected with his face, and she backed away even further, cradling it in her good hand. "And I suppose that's about as much as you think you're worth too, then?" She shot back, determined to keep her tears at bay. That she was failing made her even more furious and she reached up to swipe a hand at her cheeks which were now rather damp.

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Olixander could see plainly that his attempt at apology was not going over too well. The fury all over his angel’s face was a very clear indication. As the woman backed away from him more, biting words in his direction, Olixander sat fully upright on the bench and grinned at her. “I’m not worth two whole Galleons,” he replied, shaking his head. “That privilege is all yours.”

In his less than clear-minded state, the brunette found it hard to recognize the twisted look on the woman’s face as she stood before him. She was evidently displeased, but it wasn’t until she reached up to wipe… what was that, a tear? That he actually realized how terribly upset he’d made her. Frowning, the brunette stood. He wobbled in place for a moment and had to steady himself by catching a hand on the back of the bench. “Are you crying?” he demanded rather bluntly. It was a much harsher sounding inquiry than he’d meant, but surprise had gotten the best of him. It was a rhetorical question anyway. Of course she was.

Olixander wondered for a moment if he ought to feel badly. On the one hand, the sensitive part of him that was dulled by alcohol in social settings and extraordinarily heightened when he was on his own, told him yes. Quite frankly, it said, he should be ashamed of himself. On the other hand, the part of him that had been desensitized over the years to the plight of others told him, no. It was silly for the woman to cry over a stupid comment. She was silly, and not worth his pity.

The over-sensitive side won out.

Clearing his throat a little awkwardly, Olixander shoved his hands into his pockets. “Please don’t cry,” he mumbled. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do to make her stop, but he figured handing her two galleons in a gesture of goodwill probably wasn’t it.

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Mabel Brighton & this mood inspo

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Now that the tears had started, Mabel found that they wouldn't stop, and she sniffed in response at first, afraid that if she said much more she would only cry harder. She was looking down when he stood up, and so didn’t notice his height at first. It was only when she saw a movement out of the corner of her eye that she took another step back and looked up. Merlin. He was almost as tall as Dory. At his question she felt the urge to petulantly exclaim that she was not crying, despite the fact that there was sufficient evidence to prove that she was. So instead she elected to say nothing and force herself to hold back tears.

Please, don't cry.

Well she was! And it was all his fault! Mabel felt her cheeks flood with heat again as indigence rose in her chest. If only she could just calm herself down, this would all be over and she would be able to go home. Although this was certainly enough to convince her that what she should have done as transform into her wolf form and run home that way so she might be undisturbed. But it was too late for that. "You should be ashamed of yourself!" She heard herself admonishing, her hand still stinging from when she'd slapped him. Her tone would have been more fierce had she not just been overcome with a case of the hiccups. "I am not a woman of the night -" Hiccup. " - nor do I offer such services."

Hiccup.

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loveliness by mj <3

Olixander felt like he was a child again and his mother was scolding him for something mischievous he’d done that he, obviously, knew better than to do if it attracted her attention and not the governess. He remembered the embarrassment that came with that feeling, the warmth around his collar and his inability to look her in the eye. "Que vergüenza!” She’d say. “Como un mono sin modales!” Shifting awkwardly and avoiding his angel’s eye, he felt that same shame wash over him from the inside out. He really could be a monkey without manners sometimes. Especially when he didn’t think before acting.

“Lo siento,” he mumbled, instinctually. That had always been the response that seemed to appease his mother, though in her case it was because she was proud he was using his native language instead of English. In the case of his angel, well, he didn’t even consider she might not understand him. Clearing his throat, and raising his head, he tried again. “I’m sorry, truly I am.”

Stepping towards the girl, Olixander reached out a hand but hovered before ever touching her. He wanted to extend an olive branch, but he wasn’t exactly sure how. He dropped his hand to his side. “You can slap me again if you’d like,” he offered. What was it his mother was always saying? Turn the other cheek.

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Mabel Brighton & this mood inspo

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At least he had the decency to look embarrassed by his actions! Though perhaps in retrospect it was not the worst name someone had called her. She was in the process of wiping away her tears with her sleeve – she'd given her handkerchief to one of her patients and forgot to ask for it back – when he mumbled something, clearly in a different language which caused her breath to hitch in her throat. She paused, looking up from her sleeve. "W-what?" Her question was covered up by the presence of more hiccups.

After hearing his apology in a language she could understand, Mabel set about wiping her tears away again. Her nose was likely extremely red now, so she hoped the cover of the night might aid in making her look somewhat decent. She would have been content to accept it and move on (honestly, anything to get rid of these blasted hiccups!), had it not been for the fact that she looked up at the exact moment he reached a hand out to her. She jumped slightly and took another step back, eyes wide as she watched the movement of his hand. "I — what?" She could only say again, this time out of shock more than confusion. But she didn't want to slap him again! What kind of woman did he think she was?

"I - I don't want to slap you!" She squeaked in the midst of another hiccup.

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It would seem there was no winning with this woman! Trying to keep his frustration at bay, Olixander laced his fingers decidedly behind his back. (He wasn’t going to strike her, and it bothered him that she was so flinchy.) He wondered, idly, if she was just determined to be angry at him and it was just going to be this way. From his experience, when women got into those moods you could bring them the moon and it wouldn’t do much good. Besides, he’d apologized twice already! Wasn’t that enough?

“Well I’m glad we’re past this,” he deadpanned, sarcastically. Then, reining in the obnoxious tone he could hear echoing back to him like he was outside of himself, Olixander bowed his head again and cleared his throat. He meant to say something elegant, something gentlemanly. Something along the lines of ‘my sincerest apologies travel with you now and forever’ but instead he became quite aware of the throbbing pain in his temples. It would seem even the copious amount of alcohol he’d drunk tonight had its limit and it was starting to taper off into the nauseating headache that usually accompanied such endeavors. Olixander hoped he wouldn’t throw up all over his angel’s shoes.

His face grew pale, the real threat of vomit clouding a usually too suave complexion. He stepped back towards the bench and took a seat, hoping to settle his stomach. It was amazing how quickly these things could escalate. From utter utopia, to solemn melancholy, to vomiting ones life up. It was a vicious pattern, one that Olixander was not at liberty to quit. Holding his head in his hand, he waved a shooing gesture at the woman and hoped she’d get the message. He didn’t have the tact to deal with humans at the moment. He could feel too many emotions stirring, waiting to bubble up and out. This was always the worst part!

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Mabel Brighton & this mood inspo

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He had been the one to insult her, and yet here she was, feeling quite sorry for him and worrying about how she might further apologize! This was all too much, and yet Mabel still found herself rooted to the spot wondering how on earth she might take her leave. She watched him anxiously, his tone causing her to frown with uncertainty. "It's not —" she ventured, her voice small now; but the wave of his hand cut her off and it was all she could do to not skitter backwards and stumble down the hill.

Instead she merely turned on her heel, curtsey and manners all but forgotten as she hurried away down the path with the golden orb still trailing behind her. She wouldn't be able to shake it off until she was finally out of the park.

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   Olixander Blackwood

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