[scotland] looking out for another, anyone will do | edith

It would have been a lie to say that Brennan Reinhardt had not been intrigued by the invitation that had promptly reached him several days ago. The title had captivated him for several moments, a celebration it read, in congratulations to a Deòiridh Fionnghuala Boyd for the publication of her research. Brennan had spent several minutes trying to recall who he had ever met with that name, the name did seem awfully familiar. It was not until he opened the invitation that he saw the picture—the girl that had captivated his heart with her innocent smile, his Darling Darla. It would also be terribly untrue to say that he had considered his approach careful, he had not even taken the time to glance at his schedule before rsvping almost immediately. He had never met any member of Darla Boyd’s family, there had never been reason for him to apart from his silly delusions of marriage in his fifth year.

The rest of the details were inconsequential, of course he would be attending, he sent word almost immediately after receiving the invitation, the expression on his valet’s face one of complete wonderment: Brennan had never been proactive about anything in his short life, after all.  His eagerness probably reeked of desperation but the thought of seeing her again was enough to help him ignore that very revelation. Then again, the invitation had arrived to his home on its own, maybe this was a sign from the universe, maybe all was not lost between them. Of course, the young man was riddled with worries, each day that brought him closer to seeing her again reminding him of how things ended between them in the past. Not that they were ever really anything to begin with. He had been a lovestruck fifth year and she had been the object of his dreams. After boldly asking her out, in retrospect his courage at the time had even astounded him, she had more or less rejected him with kind words and a beautiful smile.

He apparated to the location with enough time to be punctual, the surprise on his face obvious when he saw the multitudes of people already there. Part of him was disappointed by the development, the young wizard had sort of imagined that the gathering would be more private not that it would be open to the public like some sort of exhibition. He caught sight of Darla’s brothers, and it relieved him a little, at least he had not been pranked by one of his friends, this must be the place if the Boyd brothers were around. He nodded slightly in Iain’s direction when the older man gave him a polite nod. Brennan suddenly felt overdressed and out of his element. A good look around would reveal that he was not the richest or even most well known wizard in the room, and that was enough to worry him. With all the competition around, Brennan retreated towards the back of the room almost immediately, locating the bartender and asking for a neat scotch. He suddenly felt nervous, but he was unsure as to what was the cause, would Darla even recognize him? Would she want anything to do with him when surrounded by this crowd of people? Brennan decided to stay towards the back of the room, he could not be rash, especially not with so many eyes on him. Timing was key.

 “Seems like all of Britain’s here, Darla’s got her herself a bit of a fan club, eh?” he joked, looking over at the woman standing closest to him, before taking a polite sip from his drink The woman seemed vaguely familiar but then again, so did everyone else in the room. Maybe it would be in his best interest to stop standing in the corner so awkwardly and to make conversation with the other guests at the party, if he got lucky, he would somehow know one of them and before the night was over, he would strategically make his way over to Darla. “So,” he continued nodding towards Darla’s direction on the other side of the room, “You two acquainted through work or...?" he asked vaguely, depending on her answer, she could prove to be a useful connection and at this point, he could use all the help he could get.

@Edith Holthouse

Normally, the promise of free alcohol was enough to get Edith Holthouse to do anything, but not when the free alcohol was in Scotland. Edith was firmly against the country now, its association to Hogwarts, and the memories being in its borders inevitably brought back; but again, there was free alcohol and a portkey waiting for her at the end of the day, so she was coping. Plus, she wasn’t about to tell Darla why she didn’t want to be there -- and she still felt like she owed her for bailing her out of jail -- so there she was, being a very good, very supportive, very drunk friend.

She had migrated toward the bar immediately upon her arrival; she was blending in as best as she could, which honestly, wasn’t going very well. Edith had decided against wearing robes, didn’t own anything that fell under the ‘formal’ request on the invitation, so she had decided to wear her cleanest shirt and her nicest pair of jeans. She had expected the odd looks, sure, but the alcohol and her new sort of secret job writing about wanting to thwart the ways of the magical world had her not caring too very much. Elias probably should have been there with her, to mingle, to keep her very loud opinions in check -- but all things considered, she was doing well enough by herself. Doing well on the quiet opinions, anyway, but not so much on the mingling. It was probably for the best.

Darla hadn’t been able to do much more than wave in her general direction; the newly published author had people to meet and greet, parents to please, guests to entertain. Most of her brothers had hugged her when they saw her, but they too had better friends to spend their time with -- not that Edith was complaining about the lack of more hugs or more opportunities for drinks. And leaning against the wall at the far end of the bar, the drinks were close at hand.

She had started with beer but the reminder of ‘free’ convinced her to switch to gin and tonics. The second best part of the drink was the lime wedges they were serving with them, and Edith was in the middle of sucking on one when she realized someone was talking to her. She popped the rind out from between her teeth and into her hand before she deposited it in her empty glass. “Oh yes, Darla’s very popular.” Her eyes scanned the room quickly for her friend, but she brought them back to this new conversation-haver when the woman was nowhere obvious. She was thrilled he wasn’t one of the Scottish lads; the more gin in her system, the less she found herself understanding most of the words being said around her.

Edith placed her glass back on the bar and wiped her hands on her thighs as she pushed herself off the wall, getting herself just a little bit closer to his height. She tapped the bar a couple times when she caught the eye of the bartender, silently ordering herself a refill before turning back to the other man. “Ha, no.” St. Mungo’s sounded miserable, if she was being honest. She didn’t offer what she actually did for work, like any normal person would have done, but shrugged instead. “We were dorm mates for years, just best mates now, I suppose.”

The bartender returned quickly and Edith wasted no time before having her first sip. “What about you?” She asked, eyebrows raised. Not work, probably, but she supposed the hospital was big. There were those few years where she and Darla didn’t talk, and she probably had plenty of opportunities then to make other friends, as much as she didn’t want to believe it.

Brennan was not sure what to make of her response, though he could sense sarcasm in her words. Both his cousin and some of his acquaintances worked at St. Mungo’s, he had not made much of it but it seemed something to be admired. Then again, giving the woman another look over, he was not really sure what to make of her at all. Had she received an invitation by mistake or better yet, was part of the party planning service? However, Brennan did not comment on the matter, rather, he took another sip from his drink, the clarification on her relationship to Darla Boyd making him cough suddenly, the shock so evident on his face that he was slightly embarrassed by it.

He cleared his throat, smiling in a more friendly manner, “Best mates, are you? How about that,” he commented, contemplating his next move. His eyes searched the crowd again, but catching no sight of the woman he was there to see, he turned his attention back to the woman, when she asked about who he was. “Must be my lucky day,” he muttered to himself. It was not every day, after all, that he had the honor of meeting anyone in Darla Boyd’s inner circle.

He extended his hand in a gesture of politeness, “Brennan Reinhardt, creative direction at the Reinhardt Gallery in London,” he announced proudly. He did not expect her to know where it was, London was a big city and even though the gallery had been in the Prophet a handful of times, it was better known among the more creative type. And while it was terribly unfair to judge a book by its cover, he was unsure of what the woman. “Actually, funny story,” he started, leaning against the bar as he grinned, running his hand through his curly, black hair as he wondered where to start with his story. He had considered that maybe this was not the best time to talk about their past because even if it had been a memory he looked back on fondly, he was certain that Darla would be embarrassed by it.

But in typical Brennan fashion, he spoke first, and would probably consider the consequences later when they came back to punish him. “She came into the gallery with her brothers summer of...'96,” he could even recall the day and if he thought long enough, could probably even remember what she had been wearing. “I was absolutely smitten, never seen a prettier girl in my life," he disclosed. He still thought that much was true. "I asked her out fifth year, she was in…” he sipped on his drink again, “seventh year, studying for her N.E.W.T.s. Went into the library and asked her for a date, let me take her out once and when I asked her to be my girlfriend she flat out rejected me,” he laughed at the thought of the passionate boy he had been in the past. “Broke my heart, she did,” he confessed, though it was hardly a secret. Brennan had gone on and on about Darla Boyd through fifth year, and probably all through graduation. His friends had hated him for it.

He tapped his glass against the bar when the drink finished, signaling to the bartender that he was ready for a refill. “Anyway, safe to say we’re acquaintances but I doubt she’d recognize my face, seems like every pureblood wizard in Britain was invited, think it’s mum’s ploy to get her daughter married off?” he chuckled, even though the idea did not sit well with him. “Wouldn’t be surprised if she was seeing someone,” was his subtle way of prying into her personal life, the woman had just gotten another drink after all, and seemed interested in conversation. It seemed silly to not take advantage of the time to figure out where he stood in contrast to everyone else in the room.

“S’pose we are. We don’t have matching shirts or anything but she did bail me out of jail once so there’s no going back from that, y’know?” Edith laughed, mostly to herself, at the sheer understatement of it all. After everything they had been through… the mere fact that Edith could even stand to be in the same room as the other woman was some feat beyond all miracles. She was questioning why that was, now, the longer she was in Scotland without being entertained by anything more than gin, but she supposed her fellow Darla admirer could prove a good enough distraction from thinking about her less than desirable location.

Edith shifted her drink to her left hand and wiped the condensation from her right on her jeans before meeting his in a handshake. “Edith,” she offered in return, neither offering any other identifying information about herself nor having the slightest idea where Reinhardt Gallery was. His name was on the gallery though -- he looked too young to have come by it genuinely, she thought, which probably meant that she should know who he was, just for the sheer fact that he was probably important in this world. Besides, wizard or not, galleries were pushy places and a tad too pretentious for her; she far preferred London’s free art museums, where the only pretentious folks were those you could tell off if they were bothering you. Much easier.

Either way, Edith was happy that he changed the subject so she didn’t insult him or his profession so quickly. She raised a brow as she mirrored his lean, taking another sip before propping an elbow on the bar. ‘96 -- she had to do some math to figure out what that mean -- was the summer before seventh year, and Edith raised her other brow to raise them both fully, her interests suddenly piqued. “Eh,” she half agreed, half hadn’t quite expected what she was now hearing. It made sense though; that’s just how things were in school. Darla was always better than her, no matter how hard she had tried. Even being a prefect hadn’t put a dent in that.

But he wasn’t finished. He had asked her out? And Darla had failed to mention it? Not only that, but she failed to mention rejecting someone? Sure, it was well in the midst of her being in love with Arawn, but still. That seemed like information Edith had been entitled to, studying or not. How rude. Edith didn’t say anything, simply letting her face fall into what she hoped was a somewhat sympathetic look. “How awful.” Mostly that Edith hadn’t known about this -- surely she would have told Darla if the situation had been reversed (it never had).

Edith nodded a couple times as he claimed they were now acquaintances. Surely Darla would have mentioned it now if she was still acquainted with someone who had asked her out, had been in love with her, for all intents and purposes. Hell, Edith had heard about that horrible date a couple months ago, the one she had been set up on, and even that wasn’t as entertaining as talking to someone she flat out rejected. She was, one hundred percent, taking this personally.

“Dunno why Darla couldn’t just be celebrated for being published, no ulterior motives or anything,” Edith said without a smile, rolling her eyes. She wasn’t completely serious, because of course there were ulterior motives. She ignored the pureblood part of his observation, though he was probably right. This wouldn’t be the ideal room to draw any sort of confrontation to her; she supposed she needed to try to behave herself and play nice with others.

There was one exception to that rule, though, and he was standing right in front of her. “She’s not.” Seeing anyone, that is. “Actually,” she trailed off, and looked wistfully over the crowd in Darla’s general direction. Still not looking back, she finished her thought: “I was hoping that she’d realize I’m in love with her.” She looked back then. “Before it’s too late.” She nodded woefully. “But you know, apparently, how horrible it is to be rejected by her, right? I don’t know if I could handle it.”

“Is that so?” Brennan was unsure if he should laugh or be appalled at her confession, frankly, he had never considered that Darla would even go within twenty meters of any sort of jail, even if to bail this woman out. But then, rather than focusing on what unsavory deed the woman before him could have committed to land herself in jail, he focused on the fact that as he had assumed, Darla was a very good friend after all. But he had always assumed as much, though he wondered why Darla would go through the trouble of befriending anyone who might end up in jail. That seemed like the type of company he kept for an entertaining night out in London, not someone he would call a best mate.

He shook her hand firmly, committing her name to memory. He had never heard of an Edith before, or at least not one that he could remember. Brennan briefly considered having one of the butlers look her up but then thought it to be incredibly impolite. The woman seemed amenable the more she drank and while Brennan would surely hate himself later for doing so, he intended to get as much information about Darla as she allowed him to. At least in this way, should the opportunity arise again in the future, he would be prepared with his own arsenal of ways in which to win her over. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Edith,” she said, with the hopes that if she was not charmed with his smile, she would certainly be enchanted by his manners.

However as the conversation moved along he realized that Edith was not really giving him much information at all. And when she commented on his experience with Darla, it was difficult to figure out whether she was being sympathetic or being polite for the sake of image. Then again, he had retold his story with the hopes of amusing her, at least if she laughed he would feel that he had an in, and that way he could befriend her, at least temporarily. Brennan had never had difficulty talking to strangers, at least not before today. It was very possible that he was losing his touch, or that the woman before him was much too drunk to take proper notice of him.

“I guess that’s true,” he offered in agreement, taking a long sip from his drink as he attempted to rethink his approach. He knew that she was not particularly amused with his words and now, was convinced that she thought him to be some chauvinistic pig as well. “Of course not,” he said suddenly with more conviction, “Just jokin’ around is all, all the men here are just trying to catch her attention I’m sure, a little difficult to do that with a girl is so out of your league, you know?” he offered instead. At least she would know that he did not undermine Darla’s abilities, rather he was praising them.

He sighed in relief when she told him that Darla was not seeing anyone. That very fact had made his day, so much so that he immediately smiled when the information was divulged to him, probably much too eager for his own good. He sincerely hoped that Edith would not remember any of this. But his moment of happiness was short lived as her next words caused him to suddenly burst out in laughter, quieting down when he realized that she had a very serious expression on her face. Oh shit. “Uh…” he was at a lost for words. “Never took Darla to be…that way,” he started, unsure of how to express it without causing offense. “But I…I know how it feels to like someone that might not like you back. Rejection was tough but it’s helped me grow. Might help you…figure things out,” he continued unsure of where he was going with his reaction. Brennan, however, felt considerably guilty that he had spoken so openly about Darla when the woman who was not only her best mate but also in love with her had to listen to it. “Anyway, I support it, best of luck,” he raised his glass in her direction, “Guess we’ll be dueling soon, may the best man-…uh I mean person,” he joked bringing the drink to his lips again. “Say, has Darla ever had a girlfriend before? Or, a boyfriend for that matter?”

Fighting for Darla’s attention in a room full of men was difficult enough. He did not want to consider this woman her competition as well.

Edith waved off the story of her arrest or the subsequent bail, immersing herself in her drink instead. Gin was much more interesting, after all. “Pleasure,” she chimed, though she was sure her life wouldn’t be any different from meeting him -- social niceties were so fickle. But he seemed pleasant enough, she supposed; at least he wasn’t being openly anti-Edith, and that was a plus. Slight obsession with Darla aside -- though maybe that was simply due to the nature of the party? -- he was okay. Probably.

Besides, by this point, she was more upset by Darla withholding information from her about this man, rather than being upset by his presence at all, or the fact that he was still talking to her. He seemed to be taking everything she said rather seriously, as clearly evidenced by the change in the tone of his voice; this was going to be fun. “Yeah, yeah, being a healer and being published. How can anyone compete with that?” She was again, not completely serious, because there was always going to be that small part of her that continually compared herself to Darla, but that topic was a tad too serious for now.

She looked him over, then; he reminded her of Elias, just a bit, though he was shorter, not devastatingly handsome, and that length of hair would never pass her boyfriend’s standards -- okay, he reminded Edith of Elias not a bit.

He seemed to be too relieved that Darla wasn’t seeing anyone; good. Edith could only think of one reason that would be welcome news, and she wasted no time in testing out her theory. She raised her eyebrows as he laughed at her, as if she was offended that he wasn’t taking her seriously anymore. Hadn’t she just heard his confession, displayed proper secondhand embarrassment? What nerve. “Oh, she’s not that way,” Edith said with a sigh, picking up her newly delivered gin and tonic from the bar. “Not yet anyway.” She shrugged as she took a large swallow. “C’est la vie, am I right?” He seemed to get back on track, however, and started reassuring her that all wasn’t lost.

“Don’t count me as rejected yet, y’know. I haven’t given up yet. Poetry is hard to get right and I feel like I’ve only got one shot. She likes limericks, did you know?” Edith nodded, before clarifying: “‘There once was a man from Nantucket’, that sort of thing.” It might not have been completely truthful -- Darla had never expressed any fondness for any sort of poetry -- but that was beside the point. “But thanks for your approval, that means a lot.” She raised her glass to match the height of her sarcasm.

She laughed at the threat of a duel, waving her hand in front of her as if that would settle the matter. “I will,” win, that is. She took another drink as he did, though she regretted her decision as soon as he asked his next question. “Has she?” Edith laughed. “Oh, she has.” A bit of an exaggeration, but whatever. “I saw a couple of them here, actually, when I was making my rounds earlier.” She nodded knowingly before turning and leaning back on the bar. Edith pointed at one particularly old, particularly bearder wizard. “There’s one. Just look how sad he still looks.” She shook her head before a flash of red hair caught her eye and she nearly snorted as she pointed the new wizard out. “And him.” She didn’t pause to wonder why @Percival Ignatius Weasley was at this party, nor did she stop to consider if she needed to avoid him or not. “That was a naaaaasty breakup.”

@Elias Dörfler "*kissyface*"

 “I…” he was unsure of how to respond or whether the tone of her voice was sarcasm or a sort of natural aggression that had formed because she saw him as a threat. “I think it’s worth considering that she is quite young too, but I guess these days younger witches had done much better,” he added. In his head, the comment had sounded like a good way to ride the fence, not to think too highly of Darla when talking to someone who knew her much better than he did, but also not giving the woman the impression that he did not admire her.

Retrospectively, however, he realized that his words had changed, becoming in effect, offensive to the woman he had been there to celebrate. Brennan was unsure of how Edith wanted him to respond, her tone was too vague for him to pick up on, and because of this he was becoming increasingly confused. “Fuck,” he brought his hand up to his face, chuckling softly as he resorted to self-deprecating humor to make the situation less odd. “These bloody strong drinks have me mixed up my words,” he said, hoping that was enough of an apology.

He watched the gin and tonic as it was delivered to the bar, asking for another drink of his own when the bartender had made the trip over, the man giving him a disgruntled look as if offended that he had not made his order when she had made hers. Brennan gave the man an apologetic smile, he had and would always be a victim of bad timing. “So are you saying that you intend to…convince her?” he wondered outloud, though he was not sure that it was the way sexuality worked. He would be none the wiser, Brennan had lived in a world where what he was surrounded by was considered normal, whether he believed it or not, he was not sure, after all, his experience with talking with people of alternative persuasions had been extremely limited.

“Well, I s’pose if it’s meant to be, it’s going to happen, this is life, you’re right,” he tried in encouragement, though he was unsure of his tone had been convincing enough. He felt bad discouraging her but also did not want to have a competitor for his girl’s heart. However, when the topic of poetry came up, Brennan was immediately able to relate, and so he stood up straighter, finally a topic that he was partially knowledgeable in; finally, something that he and Darla had in common. “Limericks? Now that is something I certainly did not expect, I’ve a few that she might like, listen to this,” he said suddenly, putting his drink down as he cleared his  throat, his face becoming serious, “Here’s to the girl I love/ I wish that she were nigh/If drinking beer/Would bring her here/I’d drink the whole place dry,” he recited, breaking into a grin as he looked at woman for signs of approval, “What’d you think? Think she’d like it?”

He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out a card, and a pen, the words “Congratulations” written across the top in a gold, that flickered when tilted in the light. Several large bills tucked inside, “Heard in Korea you give money instead of gifts, we’ve nothing but coins but I figured I’d get her a bit of muggle money for fun,” he commented briefly, writing the limerick he had just recited in black pen. However, his hand suddenly came to a stop as he looked over at the men that she pointed out, frowning at every one of them, particularly when she pointed towards the red headed man in the corner.

That was odd, he certainly did not seem like her type at all, however all things considered, Edith did not either. Finishing the limerick, he tucked the card back into his pocket, bringing his drink to his lips once again, “What’d you mean by nasty breakup? Because if he’s hurt her and had the nerve to show his face around these parts well,” he shook his head, feeling suddenly angry at the thought of any man making Darla cry. “Well, I’ll just have to have a word with him, won’t I? What’d you mean by nasty, Edith? And please do not spare me any details,” he insisted, an angry expression forming on his face. Now this, he had to hear.

Edith raised her eyebrows as she considered what had just been said. Younger witches had done much better. It sounded like he was putting down Darla for not accomplishing this sooner, but his whole ‘I loved her’ schtick was quite contradictory. Interesting. She laughed as Brennan swore, covering her mouth with the hand that was also holding tight to her drink. “Strong and free,” she added, effectively waving off his apology. She had already made up her mind about how this conversation was going to play out, of course.

“Oh, I don’t know if ‘convince’ is the right word.” Edith shrugged, like she had given this a lot of thought, how to woo Darla. “Just like... sharing her interests, that sort of thing. I tried to learn the banjo, but I”m just so uncoordinated.” She shook her head, chancing a sideways glance to see if he had picked up on the casual mention of how Darla adored bluegrass.

She nodded along as he asked for clarification about the limericks. “Oh, really now?” She questioned his claim of having a few that Darla would like. For one thing, she certainly hadn’t been expecting him to know any limericks. For another, she was far beyond certain that Darla wouldn’t care for them. She had plenty of experience confusing Darla with poetry, all thanks to the Bard, never mind confusing her with even more ridiculous rhymes. But he claimed he knew one, and he looked ready to deliver. He started, and Edith nearly snorted, rather familiar with the lines he was reciting -- her father had put those very lines to tune years ago and always claimed that was the reason he was drinking all the time, even with her mother by his side.

Edith laughed again, nodding and raising her glass the slightest bit. “And people call Shakespeare a poet.” Darla would hate it. “I wouldn’t change a thing. Honest.” Absolutely hate it. It was beautiful. “She’ll love it.” She shook her head slowly then. “Can’t believe I didn’t try that one. Cheers.” She lifted her glass again, this time in mock surrender, as if Brennan would win Darla over with his rhymes. C’est la vie, indeed.

She looked down as he moved, raising an eyebrow as he produced a card. Edith had come to the party empty handed, of course, but she clearly wasn’t as well versed on the social norms as her new mate was. But she had to laugh again as he explained himself. “Oh, yes. Muggle money. Very funny.” Edith rolled her eyes, because there was literally nothing that money could buy; anything worth having was able to be purchased with galleons, clearly. “Good thinking about adding the poem, though,” she added with a nod.

Unfortunately, he was too invested in her made up story about her former boss. She sighed, though she was nearly sure that it could be taken like she was just about to dive deep into a very serious story. Of course, she didn’t want to created any sort of ‘damsel in distress’ situation, so she turned it around. “She made him cry.” Edith nodded seriously, looking out over the crowd, letting her gaze fall on Percy with a sad look on her face. “There was a lot of blood,” she added slowly before she took a drink -- talking about such gruesome things required alcohol to get through, after all. “If I hadn’t met her parents, I’d say she was half banshee.” That much was true, at least. She had been on the receiving end of Darla’s ire and she didn’t want to be there again.

She nodded a couple times as she turned back to Brennan. “I’m just glad to see he’s healed enough to get out of the house. Not that the scars would be in any visible place, mind, but it’s nice to see.” She nodded again, hoping he wouldn’t inquire for any further details, though she was more than willing to make some up. “Actually, speaking of family,” Edith leaned in and lowered her voice, glancing sideways like she was checking to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard. “You know about her brother Ùisdean, right?” She glanced sideways again before leaning in closer. “They say that Darla is the whole reason he left the UK. Because ‘things’--” She made air quotes with her free hand, “between them ended so badly.” She straightened up and took another swallow of her drink. “But you did not hear that from me.”

The banjo? his frowns furrowed at the thought. He did not particularly enjoy the instrument, had never had an affinity for any instrument if he were to be completely honest. But, if Darla enjoyed listening to the banjo he would damn well have to learn it after all, now didn’t he? Though the fact that Edith confessed to being uncoordinated and in turn unable to learn how to play it felt like a small victory in his head. Brennan could not understand how the woman could divulge her friend’s secrets so easily, maybe she simply did not realize that she was helping him win the race to Darla’s heart. But then again, Brennan could only assume that he was just that charming. It was a good thing for both of them, even if he would never tell Edith to her face for fear of hurting her feelings, he was not convinced that Darla was particularly interested in women. “That’s funny, I was just thinking about picking up the banjo, bluegrass is a bit of a family favorite,” he lied. Unlike the woman before him, Brennan was not about to give her the upper hand, no matter how pleasant her company had been.

He could not help but to grin at her positive response to his limerick, her encouragement was both confusing and well…very encouraging. Maybe Edith had given up hope that Darla would fall in love with her and instead had focused her attentions on finding her a better suited match. Brennan had simply been in the right place, next to bar, at the right time, at Darla’s celebration, and had somehow lucked out. He liked to think that life was finally smiling down on him. At least, it was the only way he could explain it. And here he was thinking of simply giving her a card, how very thoughtless of him, Brennan had not done his research after all, he would have to do better should another occasion like this come up in the future.

He gripped the bar a little when she sighed after he inquired further about Darla’s ex-boyfriend, particularly the one with the red hair. Brenna’s father had always told him that redheads were a load of trouble, he could understand that considering his very mother was a redhead with a very fiery temperament. Even though at the time he had dismissed it as a mere joke, the thought that the statement would somehow apply in the tale he was able to hear made him unreasonably upset. However, Brennan knew that he had to remain calm, this was not the place to cause a scene and if something particularly traumatic had happened to Darla with that man, the last thing he wanted was to bring attention to him. Of course that did not mean that he would not handle it outside and discreetly.

“Oh?” he asked curiously, her making him cry was not a story he had expected in the least. He grinned a little, partially at the man’s misfortune but also in response to word of her strong personality. Darla could relate in part, the day he had asked her out in the library she had also almost made him cry. “Prick probably deserved it,” he muttered, mostly to himself but loud enough for Edith to hear. Darla was an inherently good person, of that he was most certain of. It seemed unlikely for her to ever do anything violent without proper provocation he figured, she worked in the Maternity and Pediatrics ward after all, anyone that was brave enough to work with a young child or a pregnant woman had to be a saint.

Yeah well if he’s not careful, he’ll be leaving bloody at the hands of someone else,” he responded, his tone slightly more menacing, “What’s he here for anyway? Must’ve not gotten the message last time,” he continued as his eyes swept the room in an effort to trace his movements. He brought he drink up to his lips again, his eyes widening in shock as he looked over at Edith, unsure of what to make of the secret she had just shared. He had briefly seen her brothers accompany her the summer she had entered the gallery but had never suspected any sort of relationship between her and any of them.

Now, that seemed like a rumor, probably started by a jealous old friend or maybe even started by that red head ex-boyfriend in revenge. “Your secret’s safe with me,” he promised, but was not convinced by what he had heard, “Sure that’s not something you’ve heard from the ex?” he wondered casually, looking back into the crowd to spot him again. If he saw him doing anything strange, he would confront him immediately, the man sounded dangerous. “But people talk, you seem like a good, honest woman, Edith, what do you think happened between them?” he asked, he figured that as her best mate, Edith would know the truth.

"Anyway, the past is the past, don't want to judge Darla on what might have happened, I've got my own stories too, I once snogged my cousin," he said absentmindedly before rubbing the back of his neck suddenly embarrassed by how easily he exposed that secret, "Think she's got a type? I support you trying to pursue her but I intend to ask her out before the night's over, maybe the limerick will do the trick?" he wondered, putting his hand over his chest as if to make sure that the letter was still there.

“Well, ain’t that convenient.” Edith sighed, doing her best impression of someone who knew they were holding the losing hand. She didn’t care if he was particularly serious or not; she could only hope that meant he was willing to learn for Darla’s sake. Lucky her. Edith could do better, though. She leaned in, resting her elbow on the bar as she posed her next question. “Do you know who Kermit the Frog is?” Not that she thought Darla had the slightest idea, but that was beside the point. Edith had been talking about bajos, so it was only natural her mind had gone to the strumming frog puppet. “Actually,” she pulled back with a slight shake of her head. “Never mind. Said too much.” She brought her index finger up to her lips and shushed herself. She had to keep some secrets to wooing Darla to herself, after all.

She couldn’t have asked for a better reaction to her story about Percy -- well, ‘story’ about him, she supposed. Prick, yeah, that was about right. But when he asked his question, Edith shrugged, honestly not knowing why he was there. He certainly couldn’t have fallen into the ‘eligible bachelor’ category, could he? Poor Darla; she’d be better off with this bloke than Percy. She wasn’t going to let that reasoning keep her silent, though.

Edith shrugged, looking back at her old boss. “Well,” she started, trying to look as puzzled as possible as she voiced her thoughts. “Her brothers loved him, when they were dating, y’know.” She nodded, talking quicker now that she knew where she was going with her thoughts. “I’m guessing they invited him?” As if the universe could hear her scheming, Percy passed close by to Darla’s oldest brother, and she could have sworn she saw them made eye contact. “They’re a bit of work, see, so once they like someone it’s pretty hard to turn them off.” She shrugged again.

“I’ve their approval already, for--” Edith gestured in Darla’s general direction. “But y’know,” She lifted her drink again and smiled sadly at Brennan, as if she had just told him his puppy had just passed but was now in a much better place. “Good luck.”

She was doing a lot of shrugging already, trying not to look too interested or excited with how this was all playing out, but she didn’t stop herself from shrugging again. “He probably did make it up, now that you mention it.” She peered out at crowd, her eyes narrowed in ‘deep thought’. “He’s definitely the type to come up with something so utterly ridiculous,” she shook her head, not disappointed in herself at all because she was the one dishing out ridiculous advice. Whatever.

“Oh, did you now?” Edith raised both eyebrows, sincerely hoping he was pulling her leg, but having that uncomfortable ‘all purebloods are related’ feeling deep in the pit of her stomach -- she sent out a mental you’re welcome to Elias for helping him dodge that bullet -- and she laughed uncomfortably. “That’s unfortunate.” She drained her glass and turned to order a quick refill.

Did she have a type? Oh, you betcha she did. Edith didn’t care what her actual type was -- as far as she knew it was dragon-obsessed Welshies -- and she was pretty certain that Brennan didn’t care either. He seemed like he’d conform to whatever type Edith told him, which was exactly what she wanted. “The limerick alone probably won’t.” She shrugged again. “I know plenty of those, y’know.” She nodded thoughtfully. “But I suppose you’ve already got a one up on me -- besides being a man -- working at an art gallery. She’ll love that.”

Edith nodded again, taking her newly delivered drink in her hand and stirring it idly with the straw. “Well, probably.” She held her straw aside and took a drink. “What type of art did you say it was?” He hadn’t, Edith was sure, but whatever type of art it was would just so happen to be Darla’s favorite. Edith was sort of genuinely interested, but mostly, she knew that Darla didn’t understand art, didn’t even like art, and certainly didn’t look at art if she could help it, and that information was, above everything else, the last thing she would ever tell him.

Kermit the Frog? his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It did not sound familiar at all, was he some sort of underground celebrity he was unaware of? He could only assume that he was someone that Darla and Edith were interested in and it made him wonder what sort of person went for the stage name Kermit the Frog. It was certainly…creative, that was for sure. He sounded like a sort of folk singer, maybe someone that had chosen the word frog instead of hermit because the name Kermit covered that bit quite well. A play on words, Brennan smiled, maybe the name alluded to a sort of depth that Darla was interested in.

Considering that the name was mentioned after he had brought the banjo up, Brennan could also assume that he played the banjo, maybe he would ask one of his more cultured friends about the man and about his music. If he was lucky enough, maybe he could get ahold of tickets to a show or better yet, his autograph. He imagined it for a moment, the expression of utter joy in Darla’s face should she bring up her favorite musician and how that joy would only become blissful should he also add that he had managed to get tickets for a show and asked her to accompany him. “Sound a bit familiar,” he said with a smile on his face, hoping that his confusion had not been so evident when the topic was initially brought up, “Anyway, I’ll keep him in mind, fellow plays the banjo, doesn’t he?” he added, it was all speculation but Brennan had always been pretty got at picking up on small things. He could only hope that Edith would be impressed by it.

His eyes followed hers and landed on the redheaded man, which almost immediately filled him with unpleasant thoughts. However, Brennan knew better, and was well aware that it was particularly important for him to act like a gentlemen, especially at that very moment when all eyes were on the guests at the party. His eyebrows furrowed at the woman’s comment, it seemed that his work was cut out for him after all. “I suppose I can’t blame them,” he continued, his eyes trained on the ex-boyfriend, bitterness evident in his expression, “I’ve got five siblings of my own, three little sisters, not my favorite people but I expect the best for them. Now imagine being older brother to Darla,” his shoulders dropped as he forced himself to look away. It was difficult for Brennan not to smile, even if just slightly, when his mind wandered towards the woman he could not wait to see. And just like that, the ill will he harbored for a man he had not even met faded at the thought of her. “I don’t expect it to be easy, not with all the quality people she surrounds herself with, but I’m prepared for the challenge,” he said with a half smile, “she’s worth it.”

Brennan nodded in agreement with her statement, so it had been something the man had said after all, if things played out in his favor, he would make sure to speak to him personally. “It’s a bit of a joke for the community, might end up with your cousin but as long as she’s a pureblood,” he joked, laughing a little awkwardly as an afterthought. At least he hoped that Darla would allow him too—Brennan knew how it felt to be rejected, but he would never dream of tarnishing her reputation because things did not go her way. Then again, the young man could tell that the two of them were cut from very different cloths. Who knew what sort of person he was, but he supposed every girl had to have at least one bad experience to make the good ones that much more special. His eyes brightened when Edith mentioned that his place of work might have an impact on his ability to woo Darla. It seemed like things were finally working in her favor.

“Anything really, a little modern these days but I am a stickler to the classics. The family’s got a great collection of some 16th and 17th century pieces, we keep everything in rotation but…” his eyes widened in sudden realization before he turned to Edith again, excitement obvious in the way his expression changed, “You figure Darla’s an abstract art sort of girl? She gives me that aura, you know, a person who isn’t easily impressed by what everyone else is into. Needs something unique to really speak to her. If she likes that Kermit guy, he’s a bit of an obscure fella, I think I can get her interested in a few cryptic pieces,” he added, with a triumphant smile. “You’ve really inspired me, Edith, I’m going to make Darla the topic of my next exhibition, pick a few pieces she might be interested in. Think you can send her my way? Just to see the exhibit, I’d greatly appreciate your help.”

“Yeah, that’s him alright.” She was pretty confident that Brennan did not, in fact, know who Kermit the Frog was; he was much too calm for someone who had just been told the girl of his dreams fancied a banjo-playing felt-puppet, well-known for a song about rainbows. Edith loved him, of course -- who didn’t? --but she also spent half her life as a muggle and he had already made it plainly clear that he had not. She nodded again, because yes, he did play the banjo. It was impressive how desperate this bloke was clinging to everything she said. It would be such a pity if she were to abuse that…

Edith sighed as she pretended to imagine being Darla’s older brother. No, thank you. it was enough work being her friend, always being just slightly less at everything. “Yes, very quality people.” She nodded again, lumping herself into the category of ‘quality’, even as she attempted to take a drink through her straw and was completely off with the aim of her mouth. Giving up after a couple of seconds of awkward lip fumbling, she pushed the straw aside and took a drink directly from the glass.

She’s worth it. Lord, if her eyes could roll back any further she’d need to get a seeing eye dog. Edith had been one half of a couple for a whole year now -- Christ, she should find out if she’d forgotten their anniversary yet -- but hearing cheesy things from other people, especially about other people she was well acquainted with was more than a little offputting. She drained her glass then, setting it back on the bar with another nod and a silent plea for a refill.

“Good joke,” she lied, refraining from rolling her eyes again only because they still hurt from the last time. Kind of gross, really. Had they not seen the Habsburgs? Edith dropped her gaze to Brennan’s chin, checking that he didn’t have that telltale Habsburg look that just screamed ‘my uncle is also my father’. But if he had only two grandparents, it wasn’t obvious; she brought her gaze back up and offered another smile.

His gallery was a little modern these days; perfect. Edith’s eyes widened as she grinned, nodding along as he told her about the sixteenth and seventeenth century pieces. But then he circled back to the abstract and Edith nodded even more excitedly. “She is definitely more of an abstract kind of girl.” She threw a hand up for emphasis. “Have you seen her?” Like it should have been obvious that Darla was only into abstract art. “But not like… Rothko abstract. Real abstract.” She nodded as he said that kermit was a bit of an obscure guy. “Yeah, the more obscure, the better. Like you have to excavate to find the meaning.” She shook her head as she laughed. “You would not believe how much she loves all that analysis. I’m always having to study ahead of time if I want to know what she’s talking about.” Lies, all of it. Wow, what she would pay to see this all play out.

She shouldn’t push her luck, she assumed.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Edith nodded solemnly. “I guess it’s only fair that I don’t try to bias her toward me, right? Even the playing field, the like.” She shrugged like she wasn’t all that worried. “I doubt you’ll find the art that could really get her going, but y’know. Let the best man win.” She repeated his phrase from before and didn’t mind in the slightest that she was applying it to herself. She had been in love with Darla before (thanks, NEWT level potions) and she wasn’t really looking to relive that anytime soon.

“You want me to ask her now?” Edith raised her eyebrows; it was, after all, the least she could do.

Brennan had a difficult time reading Edith nevertheless in his intoxicated state, the young man had always been incapable of thinking straight after a few stiff drinks, wanted to believe that the woman had his best interest in mind. After all, she had proclaimed to be Darla’s mate—best mate if he wanted to be particular about it. Part of him realized it was a naïve thought, nevertheless, he was certain that Edith understood that out of all the aforementioned men, he was certainly the best choice. According to what he had been told, the two of them shared many interests in common. For one, the two of them enjoyed literature.

Though limericks were certainly not his favorite, he was willing to memorize a few more to impress the woman. Secondly, she enjoyed the banjo…Brennan, well he enjoyed music and should she require it of him, he was sure he could secure a tutor in the fine art of bluegrass music. And most importantly, Darla enjoyed art. Now that was a subject Brennan was well versed in, one he had not managed to disappoint anyone in. It was a match made in heaven, even Edith could see that.

And it was with that sense of self confidence that his smile only widened as Edith confirmed his greatest suspicion: Darla not only appreciated art, but she appreciated a good challenge. Now that sounded exactly like his type of girl. Brennan nodded enthusiastically as the woman before her explained Darla’s interest in depth, analysis; thoughts that had never made sense to him before started forming half-baked truths about what he assumed of the woman that had won over his heart. “I know exactly what you mean,” he responded even though in all honesty, he did not really know enough about Darla to come to the conclusion that she enjoyed abstract art.

“Rothko is for amateurs, I should’ve know,” he continued. Brennan himself struggled with Rothko and abstract art in general but that was not a confession he was going to make so carelessly in front of the woman before him. It was simply a matter of reacquainting himself with the family library and pouring over books in search of obscure information to impress her with should she make it to the gallery. “Hard to find a girl’s that interest in all the analysis but then again,” he raised his hand as if to encourage her to look at their surroundings, “Guess it’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Celebrating her knack for research and such,” he added. It all made sense now. Brennan was proud of his own deduction, somehow he just knew that Darla would be into abstract art.

“I certainly don’t intend to sabotage your chances,” he answered almost immediately when she responded with what he assumed to be ambivalence. Obviously Brennan was not going to drive her into the woman’s arms the same way that Edith had just done throughout their conversation but he was also not going to prevent the woman a fair chance. He only hoped that he was also right in believing that she was not interested in women in that way. Even if she was, it would never devoid him of the feelings he had for her, that was for sure. “But if you wouldn’t mind bringing her over to the gallery then I’d be forever in your debt,” he tried, wondering if his charisma would shine through and convince her.

“And you can even come to, if you’re interested in art, show her around, can be a sort of date for the two of you, should she be disinterested in me,” he continued, unsure of how that would have worked on him should she have told him the same. It did not matter, Edith was the naïve one between the two of them, she had told him everything he needed to know to plan his attack. “You’re right, I might not even get it right, she might utterly hate it, there’s a great pub down the street the two of you can run away to as well, my treat,” he added with a wink. Maybe he was being too generous after all.

“I’m gonna go see if I can talk to a few of the lads in the room, get them to change their minds if they’re plotting to steal Darla from right under our noses and such,” he added a little more dramatically than necessary, “then it will be a fight to the death between the two of us, fair and square,” he added. “You’re a great girl, Edith, we ought to have coffee sometime,” he continued. He considered shaking her hand but then thought it odd so he gave her an awkward wave instead.

Everything was going according to plan, he thought before ordering himself another drink. Edith was great, he’d have to treat her to something lovely sometime.

[/end]

“Pfft, amateurs.” Edith rolled her eyes, not at Brennan but at the amateurs, of course. It was nice that he was agreeing with literally everything she was saying, believing every helpful tip she had to offer. She could only hope he would follow through; she’d have to figure out some way to observe all of this considering the last time he had tried to woo Darla, she hadn’t felt the need to inform her ‘best’ mate. Edith rolled her eyes one more time, for good measure, as she remembered Darla’s years-old betrayal of friendship.

Edith nodded along knowingly. “Her criticism knows no bounds,” she replied, actually honest this time. Of course, Darla didn’t usually apply that critical eye to artwork, but it was only a matter of time now. She glanced out at the crowd again, looking for the woman among the bodies; she definitely needed to find Darla before he did. To warn her, or something. And she had called her a coward that lacked chivalry -- ha.

She shrugged, so appreciative of his gracious acceptance of not sabotaging things for her, either. So kind of him, really. Should she be more offended that he didn’t seem more worried about the competition? She could figure that out later, maybe after another couple drinks. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said with another shrug. “She doesn’t really like going to galleries with me anymore -- I said to many nice things about a Warhol apparently -- too commercial, y’know -- so I’ll have to get creative.” Her parents had supposedly named her after Edie Sedgwick, but had somehow forgotten the fact when they called Edith ‘Eddy’ instead; that was a worry for another time.

Fight to the death, he said, and Edith snorted into her drink. “Then I wish you all the luck in the world.” She almost hoped he did want to duel her, if it really came to that. The mental image of winning in every way -- because Darla had once been in love with Edith, too -- was really very appealing. “Coffee, of course,” she said rather distractedly, not sure if she remembered his name at this point; it was probably too late to clarify, she supposed. “I’ll get to it, then,” she said with another nod, returning his wave awkwardly before maneuvering her way through the crowd, nearly full drink in tow.

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