[paris] retrograde. [tag; harlan]

It was almost like she was sleeping with the enemy, though the mere thought made her want to throw up in her mouth.

High heels click-clacked on the broken cobblestones of Paris as Charlotte broke into a jog. She didn't know the general guidelines for being "fashionably late" but she thought anything more than ten minutes was actually just plain rude.

As the traffic stopped, she huffed a breath as she swung her curtain of dark hair over her shoulders and crossed, weaving in and out of the locals and tourists alike as she could see her destination not that far away. The invitation had actually come as a complete surprise to Lottie and she'd read (and re-read) the card to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. The card said an intimate gathering but in fashion terms, did that mean ten people? Or a hundred?

Lottie hadn't met Audrey before sending in her article - she thought it was unfair to judge her the same way as she had Harlan, simply because they were related. The older woman seemed very busy and at times, Lottie found herself just being swept up in her whirlwind because she seemed very sure of herself. Correspondence had been by post and the magazine owner seemed pretty cool, though she didn't know how cool she'd be seen as when Harlan found out.

Checking the invitation and the elegantly lit up sign depicting the hotel, she stepped inside. A whoosh of warm air made her skin tingle as soft piano music filtered through the lobby area as her big bright eyes looked around before spying a smartly dressed man by the stairs. "Bonsoir," she said brightly as she scuttled over. "I'm looking for the Oui event? Here you go," she said as she brandished her invitation, which the member of staff took as well as her coat and gave her directions. The ballroom, he'd said. Fancy.

Thanking him and clearing her throat, she fluffed up her long dark hair and climbed the stairs, taking a moment to revel in the sumptuous softness of the carpet beneath her feet. This place was nice. She liked this Audrey already.

Along the hallway she walked, her dress trailed behind her as she finally reached the ballroom and stepped inside. Charlotte didn't know anyone here and she wasn't planning on staying long. She wanted to say hello, thank Audrey in person, maybe snag a free glass of something and be on her way. She had no reason to cancel and she didn't know what else she was going to do on a chilly October night.

Taking a glass of something bubbly off a tray, she looked around. People seemed very familiar with one another and there were a lot of air kisses going on, causing Lottie to smirk behind the rim of her glass. The lighting, she noticed, was very forgiving. All crystals and candlelight. It was warm inside and she wondered if there would be nibbles available later on.

Sipping her drink, she peered around the crowd before seeing someone standing off centre, looking like he'd just seen a ghost. Catching his eye, she simply smiled and offered him a quick two-fingered salute before stepping back and into the throng of people to find his sister.


[setting: Shangri-La Hotel, Paris]


@Harlan Bellamy

Harlan declined the champagne flute offered to him as politely as he could muster. His patience for the night, and the event on the whole, was thin enough but he was no where near his breaking point. He tapped the rim of his glass of whiskey with a pointer finger and offered the red-haired staff member something of a smile— for what felt like the third time in the span of half an hour.

Audrey was busy, not that he had expected anything less when he agreed to make an appearance at her event. Even still, the familiar feeling of discomfort seeped in as he edged his way to the outside of the crowd. How he still hadn’t learned his lesson was beyond comprehension.

He’d arrived right on time; Harlan decided that he would stay an hour, say a few words, then check into his hotel for the weekend. It was the Griffins’ off-week so time in France was on the agenda, for one reason or another (not that Audrey needed to know anything about the details).

All was as it should be— bullshit black-tie attire, fake laughs, each and every person sizing each other up and looking for their best chance of landing amongst the pages of the Prophet, or better yet, Oui. All was as it should be until he caught sight of a familiar face by way of her long leg. Fucking Bright. Harlan audibly groaned when the realization hit him. What was she doing there?

The salute hadn’t been missed (of-fucking-course she would), however, Harlan only rolled his eyes in return and left in search of something stronger.

It had been sufficient, for an hour or so— the tension relief that a stiff drink offered and the perverse comfort he took in making someone else’s wife flush. He’d almost forgotten about Charlotte when he spotted the familiar green of her dress, unable to stop himself from making his way over to her with her back turned, leaned up against the main bar.

“Run out of Quidditch reporting, then?” Harlan said over the back of her shoulder, cutting through the growing volume of the crowd. It was always the way with those sorts of events, they only started out demure. “And no French captain?” He knew he would regret even bringing the rumors of her dating life up but he couldn’t stop himself. "What a shame..." He clicked his tongue as he rest an elbow atop the bar casually.

"And then I had to put my foot down!"

There was a roar of laughter at the punchline to Charlotte's joke that reverberated around the opulent room, some snorting, some rolling their eyes but still smiling, but all seemed to enjoy it. It was the ending to the traditional my wife told me to stop acting like a flamingo pun but either they were being very polite or they hadn't heard it before. Even so, she grinned - she liked an audience.

"It was really nice to meet you. Here's my card," Lottie announced to a short, plump lady who took it and put it into her handbag with a promise that she'd write. It was no big deal if she didn't, of course, but it was the tenth business card she'd handed out that evening so statistically, someone had to call her. This was working out well for her, this networking thing. She had the elegance from her mother and the filthy sense of humour from her father.

A presence at her elbow made her turn, eyes wide in mild surprise. "Ah, bonsoir," she greeted Harlan brightly, shifting her body to angle it towards him casually. Her grin turned decidedly wolfish at what she assumed was meant to be a particularly disparaging barb. "Babe, if you're still playing, I'll never have to face that problem," she countered gently with her head tilted, elbows on the bar as she mirrored him.

Charlotte's eyes narrowed, her glass halfway to her lips as she stared at Harlan. She didn't like where this was going. "Nicholas didn't get an invitation," she said smoothly. "So he's meeting me at my hotel when I'm done here," she explained, flicking her eyes past his stupid big shoulders.

Harlan sank into the bar and Lottie wrinkled her nose in distaste. He and Nic were friends, they knew each other from the previous World Cups but there was a niggling in her stomach that she didn't like. Harlan could quite easily sink her battleship and she couldn't be nice to him because it felt entirely unnatural. Sort of like watching a cat have a swim - strange and uncomfortable. It was fair game, of course. She'd made fun of countless girlfriends he'd had but she actually liked Nicholas and she'd be damned if he wanted to play games.

"You're here late," Lottie commented in mild surprise. "Did you read my article?" She asked with a smile, her bright eyes glancing over at the guests in their finery.  "I think it's the reason they're throwing me this party," she joked with a smug smile as she swung her curtain of dark hair over her shoulder. Drinking her champagne, she gave him a cursory once-over. "You look --" trailing off, she blinked. "Fine," she replied.

Nicholas. The use of his full name wasn't lost on Harlan and his stomach turned all the same. It hadn't bothered him that his friend was dating Charlotte Bright of all people, at least he didn't think at the moment, but there he was, wearing that uncomfortable grimace. "How convenient," He let out a breath before taking another metered sip of his drink.

"I don't read your articles," Harlan replied matter-of-factly. It wasn't entirely true, though, he did read her work in moments of weakness when he was feeling particularly self-deprecating. She wasn't half-bad at it, either, not that he would ever admit it.

"Don't flatter yourself, Audrey's invited half the wizarding world reporters tonight..." He offered a nominal roll of his eyes. His sister had, much to his dismay, proclaimed her admiration for the woman's work to Harlan prior to the evening and that was another thing he would never let see the light of day with Lottie. She didn't need that kind of leverage. She had enough on him as it were.

He looked fine. It was as much of a compliment that was expected of Charlotte. "Wow, thanks," He began. "You look... tolerable," His eyebrow quirked. She looked much more than that but he wouldn't dream of saying it. "Really charming the pants off the men over sixty demographic..." He nodded to the group she'd just been entertaining with a wolfish grin.

"Is it?" Lottie asked with a sunny smile, the only hint of annoyance on her face was the slight narrowing of her dark eyes. She was having a rather nice time before he'd shown up. Harlan Bellamy was like her little black rain cloud. "You might want to tell that to your face," she remarked as she sipped from her champagne flute delicately. If he was happy Nicholas wasn't there, he had a poor way of showing it.

She flashed him a grin, the sophisticated lighting glinting off her teeth. "Of course you don't," she went along with it, nodding sagely. "But someone in your camp clearly does, otherwise you wouldn't be so mad all the time. Best be careful," Charlotte said in a stage whisper, as though sharing a secret with Harlan. "It'll give you wrinkles and at your age.." rather than completing her sentence, she let it hang in the air as she shot Harlan a pointed look.

Lottie wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Don't be so rude," she huffed, squaring her shoulders, visibly prickled by his party comment. "Can't you just let me enjoy one night out?" She scowled, pinching the skin of his forearm in a rather underhand tactic. "I'm having a nice time. People seem to like me." She paused. "Present company excluded, obviously," she added darkly.

She looked tolerable. "Whaou!" Charlotte replied, sounding surprised, a hand against her chest. "Dial down the flirting, Bellamy. People will talk," she added sarcastically, swishing her curtain of dark hair over her shoulder. She looked good and she knew it - he was being purposefully obtuse. It was bad sportsman ship.

He grinned at her and she refused to take the bait. "Thank you," she replied primly as she adjusted her skirt and smiled at Harlan brightly. "My favourite demographic. I'm not having much luck with the over 40s. Maybe you could put in a good word for me?" She asked him with another smile, poking fun at his age because she knew it annoyed him. It'd annoy her, too. Harlan looked really good for a thirty eight year old.

"How come you're standing here, chatting to me?" Charlotte asked Harlan, a slim eyebrow raised in question. "I would have thought you'd rather play the Falcons again." She let it hang in the air as she took a surreptitious sip of her drink. "Don't tell me you want to dance?"
"

Harlan sized her up and made no attempt at hiding it, his elbow hinged on the bar, drink halfway up to his mouth that had pulled into something of a grin. It was almost entertaining that she figured he (or his camp, for that matter) thought about her enough to have deemed her the reason for whatever look was on his face. "You're really flattering yourself tonight, aren't you..." He thought out loud, stopping short of telling her exactly what was on his mind.

Charlotte continued on and he did what could to not feed into the charade. With her, it was wiser to not play along. It was exactly what she wanted, anyway; her attempt at aging him, calling out any comment as being flirtatious, everything was an attempt to rile him up. And she really was pulling out all of the stops.

"Why not?" He answered the question as to why he was there, talking to her, as nonchalantly as he could muster. It was a valid question, of course, but it was also one that he didn't quite know the answer to. There were dozens of people there he could engage in far less painful small talk with but somehow—

"No, but thank you though," Harlan grinned and took a drink. It was way too early, and he was way too sober to dance with her yet.