December 15th, 1894 - Diagon Alley

He'd made it to the front steps before remembering he couldn't access the library like he used to. Mor had claimed it for her own and now he had to do all of his searching through post for books. It was... aggravating to say the least. It had always been one of his favorite haunts. There was nothing quite like the silence occasionally broken but shuffled pages and low murmurs. Merlin he missed it.

Brooks had turned around before reaching the second step. It was cowardly, of course, but he also knew himself, knew how he was around her and he knew he couldn't, shouldn't do that to himself anymore. After a year in the bottle, he'd learned his lesson; it was time to pick up the pieces and move on. And so he had. He was courting a lovely woman, had thoughts about asking her to marry him, despite his previous humiliation. Brooks was a proud man, but he also was lonely and he'd grown to enjoy having a romance in his life.

After making it back to the Alley, Brooks detoured toward the book store instead. The cold air on his cheeks was helping to rid him of the sting of annoyance rippling across his skin. Maybe he'd stop by the Cauldron for a bit to eat. Brooks was cautious about his alcohol consumption these days. Rarely in public and only pints, nothing too strong, or he feared he'd slip back under to drown. He'd forgotten the time of year, the Alley was bustling with holiday shoppers, which did not help his mood. He had only one person to shop for this year and he had already gotten her a gift. It was a beautiful necklace that matched the ring he intended to propose with, but she wouldn't know that just yet.

Detouring toward the bookstore, he made it inside and finally felt that sense of peace he was looking for. Brooks moved further into the store and back to his favorite section; mysteries. He didn't often read fiction, but when the mood struck, it struck hard. He could use an escape from reality these days. But of course that was the aisle that was blocked. He couldn't help the huff of frustration as he turned the corner; which of course wasn't as quiet as he meant for it to be and the person blocking the way had heard him.

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Drusilla would not say she was especially fond of her children — they had too much of their father in them to be particularly interesting to her — but she did like to preen with them from time to time, the same way one brought out nice jewelry: to be admired and complimented when it suited the day's outfit, and to be carefully stored away at home when it didn't. Today was a flaunt-the-children sort of day. They had been dressed impeccably, with fingernails cleaned and hair combed, and they had been behaving splendidly throughout the outing so far. Yes, Mama to any of her questions and keeping their hands to themselves in the shops. Her second had asked for a treat and she had indulgently granted it, allowing them to stuff their pockets with sweets in the candy store. She liked to be indulgent — liked to have moments where she could roll her shoulders back and think I am an excellent mother, despite her lack of good parenting examples — and ignoring the memories of the times her father had done exactly the same thing, substituting indulgence and extravagance for real affection.

She was an excellent mother.

The next stop was the book store. The nurse was minding the youngest, who was unlikely to make much progress from the rug at the front of the store where they had been set down. They were only barely mobile to begin with, and the children's area had far too many distractions for either of the younger two children to be particular interested in wandering. Her oldest, on the other hand, had disappeared into the shelves. Dru had gotten lost in her own search for books and hadn't minded him, and was now making a round to try and find him when she heard someone scoff. At her child, as it turned out. She would have felt protective of the boy regardless of who it was — children may not have been especially interesting, but no one was allowed to be dismissive of her children — but when she recognized Brooks Watson her expression turned predatory.

"I admit it's hardly a serious pursuit, books like that," she said lightly, with a nod towards the mystery aisle. "But you can't blame the boy; he's only five."

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ty MJ <3

Brooks nearly groaned at the familiar voice that assaulted his ears. What he wouldn't have given for the response to be from anyone other than Drusilla Pettigrew. He had never been particularly fond of her, but had managed to tolerate her for Mor's sake. Now though, he had absolutely no reason to. He was however, not a complete asshole, so he wasn't going to be outwardly rude with a small child present.

"There are worse things to be interested in," mystery books, though hardly appropriate for the child, were at least entertaining. They had a purpose, unlike this conversation. "And it is more that you are in my way, than any child's interest in reading." Brooks was an avid reader himself, he devoured information voraciously, it was not like he was scoffing at anybody's pursuit of knowledge. Once upon a time, he imagined, though reluctantly, that his own children would have been friends with Drusilla's, until Mor left him at the altar of course. Then everything had crumbled.

He should pick up something for Effie while he was here. That would make him feel better.

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"I am in your way," she repeated. Her eyebrow arched as though it were a question, but her tone was too dry for anyone to think that she expected a response. She turned her head towards the aisle where her child had been standing and swept her eyes across it in an exaggerated fashion, then turned her gaze back towards the main aisle in which she and Watson were standing in, and down which she had approached. The implication she was trying to get across: there aisles were plenty wide for people to pass, and there was no one else in the vicinity, so he hardly lacked for space. It was rather ridiculous for him to imply that she had blocked his way, when by all accounts he had been heading down the mystery aisle instead of the main one she was standing in. It was slightly less absurd to claim her child was in the way, since he was standing in the aisle, but he was so slight she doubted Watson would have any trouble at all nudging by him, if he hadn't had to stop and be dramatic about it first.

"Ah, I am in your way," she repeated, her tone now implying she understood and was agreeing — though it had a patronizing quality to it, the way one would agree with a child's assertion in a game of make-believe. "You couldn't possibly read book titles while I am being so entirely distracting, existing in the same store as you?"

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ty MJ <3