voyage au bout de la nuit | cas

APRIL 2004

Léon swore under his breath as another person bumped into him as he attempted to navigate the busy street, not sure if he was going in the right direction because his friend had said something along the lines of turn at the phonebooth, you can’t miss it, and there seemed to be a million of them on the street he had wandered down before he noticed. The last time he had been in London had felt ages ago and with it had gone whatever little sense of direction he thought he had. Of course, last summer, all he really had to worry about was understanding the map that had been all in English—a language he still struggled to master—but now he had that and concerns about a future he was not entirely too certain about.

He looked around him, trying to find the name of the street he was on while also trying to avoid getting knocked into by the next person who came practically flying around the corner. And here he’d always believed the French were the less polite of the two, only to be proven wrong by the crowd of men in suits that seemed to pour out of a building as soon as the clock struck, he paused to look around for where that sound had originated from, seven o’clock. His eyes widened a little as he moved out of the way and into the nearest alleyway, sighing in relief as it was quieter, much more picturesque.

It was an image he committed to mind, one that joined a catalog of other images he reserved in his memory for later use. He considered how he’d eventually like to convince his friends to take him out into the English countryside, even if his time was limited before he could return to Beauxbatons. He was in desperate need of open space, a space that would put his problems into perspective so that he’d be able to finish the year without breaking down like he’d been doing in the last few months.

Of course, had he actually been paying attention to the time or, more importantly, the surroundings he might have realized that he’d circled the same building twice in an effort to figure the place out. Eventually coming up to what he assumed was the front gate, even if it looked a little vacant, he smiled, shoving his ticket in the man’s face.

“Merde,” Léon muttered under his breath as the man shouted something at him, he couldn’t understand. His English wasn’t perfect, and the man’s unpleasant accent and ugly face didn’t make the situation any better. “Ticket, see!” he tried again, shoving the ticket in the man’s direction, frustration marked clearly on his brow as the man said something to him again, pointing at the back of the ticket as if Léon had any clue what that said. He supposed had he not been in the muggle part of London he might have used his wand to figure out what it said--surely he could remember some sort of translation charm but that was not really possible under the current circumstances. So he considered a different route. He looked around, spotting a stranger in the corner and making his way closer to him hoping this man would somehow be easier to talk to than the one at the door. “Excuse me,” he said in his best, though heavily accented, English, looking up at the stranger.

“Is this the,” he produced the letter he had received from his friend, bringing it closer to his face as he squinted, “the salle d’opéra—um—” he flashed the man a smile, feeling embarrassed, “Royal Opera House, yes?” he said finally, nodding his head as if to imply that he’d take a nod if the stranger wasn’t feeling particularly interested in the conversation. Was he in the wrong place? “I’m late, a little,” he glanced around looking for a clock and frowning a lot late but surely they’d let him in, right? “So if you could, help me--” he paused, “I’d thank you,” he offered the best, most polite sentence he could, his friends back at Beauxbatons would be proud.

@Casimir Regan

“Yes, mum they’ll be back before curfew.” He said in an exasperated way that caused the older woman to roll her eyes with a curt nod. Always with the questions and worries it baffled him how some could be parents and survive with their sanity. What baffled him most however was that she would think he’d ever allow his sisters harm. If they were safe with anyone it was Casimir. He glanced back towards his father’s closed office door and sighed, knowing just behind the door rested unwarranted judgment. He would have to buckle down and talk to the older man one day, but, that day was nowhere in the near future. One of his hands came up as he felt a swat at the back of his head, “Ouch.” He muttered before pushing Rebecca to the side with a grin as she stumbled in her heels, “Ah, a woman incapable of keeping her balance. What will all the many suitors you lack think, hmm? “ he flinched as she swatted his arm, “Hey, don’t use violence it will upset mum.” He said with a chuckle before he sighed, “HAN HURRY UP!”

He snapped as he adjusted the vest he wore. He couldn’t understand what was taking so long when there was no one to impress. He would lock her in the attic if they missed the doors, he promised mentally just as the youngest of them walked into the room. “By curfew I know mum.” He said just before the floor vanished beneath them and reappeared again some few blocks away from their destination in an alleyway. A beautiful girl on each arm Cas walked with a grin before they stepped into the opera house. After they were seated Cas found himself bored and annoyed he couldn’t see passed a woman’s hat. Blowing air through his lips roughly, “Going out for a smoke.” He whispered to Bex who nodded distracted. He rose making his way along the row of people to the aisle. Ugh, why didn’t they get box seats. It was a shame to watch any performance from the rowed seats below where he often took witness. As he made his way to the door the man there gave him a look and Cas chuckled, “Yeah I know they lock behind me. I’ll wait until intermission to come inside.” He stepped through the open door and jogged down the stairs to walk passed another man guarding the gate with too much purpose.

He paused as a boy walked by his green eyes following the figure as it moved along it before finding him a spot to relax as he sparked fire to smoke. His mind hadn’t drifted there in a few weeks time but he couldn’t help think back to the way things had gone. The things that had been said and the feelings that had been hurt, some beyond repair. It was a reminder why he often avoided feelings. Why he often kept those coveted emotions to himself. It was better that no one got hurt. He inhaled deeply as he thought about how his year had began and how the spring had started. Exhausted from feeling and fighting not wanting to feel. Wary of the intentions of those he met like some scorned woman. He understood now why women protected their hearts. Why some had a harder time giving away their emotions that connecting physically. There was a line drawn with intimacy and rules that could be formed but….his gaze followed the same boy as he passed again and Casimir wondered if he might be lost. His head turned as he watched before he turned to look at the man at the gate who seemed to have noticed too.

He flicked the unfinished smoke onto the street as he glanced down at his watch. A near thirty minutes for the intermission to arrive and he sighed. He knew his sisters loved the show he could tell from their faces, the awe in their eyes. It was rare that they were out enjoying themselves without the stressed of being young ladies in waiting. His eyes drifted as he heard the slight commotion watching as the boy he’d watched attempted to enter and the man not caring enough to respect the language barrier. Cas straightened as he was approached a brow lifted at the accent to touch his ears and he smiled slightly. This guy was cute, adorable even, as he attempted his best to communicate. Cas nodded, “Yes. You’re in the right place.” He couldn’t speak the most fluent French but he could Converse thanks to Genevieve. “They won’t let you in because you’re late.” He explained slowly as he remembered what words might go where. He tapped his watch because he was sure he might have said something wrong. “30 minutes. “ Cas gave a shrug before he pushed off the wall, lips curving at the edges as he smiled. “There is a shop up here where you can wait.” He said rocking on his feet as one of his hands slid into his pocket inclining his head as he turned to walk. “Casimir.” He said as he held out his hand to introduce himself, “I was headed there.” He held up his own ticket with a grin.

“I think the kitchen is still open for food or something if you’re hungry.” He could actually use a snack himself. He hadn’t eaten before leaving because he figured his sisters would want food after the show, but, now as he thought of food it was what he wanted. Maybe a nice cup of coffee would do him justice, remove the exhaustion from his bones. “Are you visiting for the show?”

The look of relief on Léon’s face upon realizing that this stranger understood his language and was able to communicate in it was unmistakable, so much so that his face lit up with the prospect of finally being understood. “You speak French!” he said with excitement, half-listening to what this man was saying and more so fixated on the fact that he had understood him.

“You have no idea how hard it is to navigate this country!” he said that tone of relief consistent as he spoke, suddenly feeling much chattier than he had a bit earlier when no one knew what he was saying. Sure it wasn’t the most polite thing to expect people to speak his language in a foreign country but it had always made him feel a little less alone when traveling to see his friends; he depended on the people that he cared about, and thought at first glance it came off as selfish, it was also why he was so close to his friends. “I see,” he sighed, looking back at the door but not so much in a rush anymore, talking had always been his forte, after all.

But all relief aside, he mulled over the man’s suggestion—well Casimir’s words now that he had introduced himself. “Ah-Casimir, like Casimir Ney,” he suggested, though he wasn’t sure if it was an obscure reference, and as if to find a common point, he hummed a few notes of the Prelude, “No?” he tilted his head a little before chuckling, “never mind, never mind,” he waved it off with a charming smile. Back at Beauxbatons, his reputation preceded him so he often started with one silly line or another, a homage to his egotism or his position on the Quidditch team but in a foreign country on his own, well he could start with the parts of himself he was proud of, like the music.

“I’m Léon,” he explained taking his hand and shaking it. It was weird introducing himself like that when so many people recognized him as Prosper's younger brother, a cheap copy that was half as handsome and not really all that charming in comparison. The polite thing to do would have been to kiss him on both cheeks, but Casimir was relatively taller and apparently British (presumptively!) so that probably wouldn’t be taken the right way. “Yeah, do you mind showing me where that is?” he asked, starting to walk in one direction, assuming he’d be redirected if he were wrong. “Friends, actually,” he said instead, “they know I can’t get enough of these performances so they always try to take me but I got distracted at the art museum and got lost and well, here I am quite late,” he said sheepishly, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck.

“Were you on your way out?” he asked, “If you’re going home or something, I don’t want to keep you—but if the performance is that bad, I won’t waste my time either”.