it's a fool who plays it cool [darla]

Deòiridh Fionnghuala Boyd was not the type of person to easily forgive others. Forgiveness came even harder when it was required by a person whom she found herself loyal to. The former Gryffindor did not trust people easily, nor did she let them in with equal effortlessness. Darla knew Edith was aware of that fact. She knew from the very first moment she’d received an owl (after three weeks) from Edith to meet up that her friend was highly aware of the fact that this meeting would not go especially well.

Darla was severely disappointed by the English witch, and, truth be told, she wasn’t exactly keen on meeting an Edith she didn’t know. She wasn’t keen on seeing an Edith that just settled with anything less than perfection. The Edith she knew was competitive, ambitious, and desired to make herself remarked through her hard work. She knew that while Edith had the tendency to appear too tough at times, her friend wasn’t this weak. Her friend wasn’t as weak as to ruin her life in such a way. But did that Edith still exist?

The witch had initially desired not to go. But Sierra had found the letter. Her brother’s fiancée didn’t open up; at least not after the war. She had talked only frivolities with Darla ever since she’d moved in their Chelsea house, sometimes even siding with the healer when Ranulph was being the extraordinarily over-protective older brother and wouldn’t allow her to go out after ten in the evening. But Sierra approached her. The former Ravenclaw didn’t say anything; all she did was enter Darla’s room while the witch was studying, and place the letter on her desk.

Darla knew she had to go.

Let it be very reluctantly, she reached the coffee shop. Darla unbuttoned her coat as she entered, dark brown eyes scanning the room for her friend. Her eyes fell on Edith’s figure, who offered the slightest tentative of a wave – she noticed how the other witch was looking especially presentable that day. Well, at least for Edith standards. She approached the table firmly, hanging her bag by the chair’s back, as she took a seat. Before she could say anything, a waitress approached her. “Green tea.” Darla ordered, and then glanced in her friend’s direction.

She didn’t know what to say. Actually, Darla didn’t want to say anything, for she has told Edith everything she thought the last time they met and clearly the other hadn’t appreciated her honesty. Darla couldn’t even say ‘hello’. Edith thanked her for coming, and promised that the meeting wouldn’t take long. Darla still couldn’t say anything. Edith pushed a copy of the Daily Prophet in her direction, and the healer arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow. Only after Edith had said that she ‘talked to some people’ and ‘wrote some things’, Darla lowered her gaze and glanced towards where Edith was pointing.

There was an ad, circled in red. The former Gryffindor read it, and raised her gaze back to Edith, still emotionless. She didn’t know yet if this was Edith getting herself back together, if she was starting to think of herself as a survivor and not a victim, if she actually wanted to do this all, or it was all simply because Darla herself had suggested it. Either way, it seemed that, at the very least, Edith was trying. She could appreciate that.

“Alright.” The former Gryffindor stated simply, her voice monotonous. “Did you find it? The story you want to publish first?” She inquired, unsure herself if it was out of courtesy or out of sheer interest. Still, Darla would observe closely how Edith would react to her comments, and act accordingly later on. 

Edith didn’t read into Darla’s silence. There was no point to that, really, because either way Edith was going to say her bit, clear her ‘keeping Darla in the dark’ bit of conscience, and move on with her life; whether or not Darla wanted any part in it was up to her, at this point. She had talked about everything with Elias throughout the whole process, and she would be able to survive on his support alone. Not like that would be anything new for her.

“Alright,” Edith replied quickly, again trying not to read into Darla’s tone. She spoke, at least. That was something. “Er--” Edith looked down again at the paper, drumming her fingers across its surface still. “Well, so far I only have the one story.” She looked up as she nodded. “Only one person called.” It was hard to keep the disappointment out of her voice, but what more could she do? She had to go about things like this for safety reasons, things she really didn’t feel like explaining to the woman seated across from her.

She let her gaze trail off behind Darla, looking out the window and not really focusing on any one thing. “But,” she started again, still avoiding Darla’s eye, “Lloyd -- the editor -- thinks if the one is good enough, more people will want to contribute.” She looked back at Darla then, trying to discern whether or not she agreed without having to plainly ask. “I know some people I could ask, but--” she stopped, unsure how to say what needed to be said, how to put into words why she hadn’t been as aggressive in seeking stories out.

“But I know if someone called me up out of the blue to ask me to talk about my war experiences, I’d hang up.” That was as far into any personal details she was willing to get. She had been mum on the whole subject, with Elias, with her parents, and especially with Darla. She didn’t expect her to understand, and honestly didn’t need her to. Edith just wanted to show Darla she wasn’t the worthless lump of unemployment that the healer thought she was.

Taking note of the trail of disappointment in Edith’s voice, Darla realised that regardless of what motivated Edith to approach this path, she was genuinely involved and had thought this through properly. “Only one person.” She repeated, emotionless yet again. Darla couldn’t necessarily blame anyone for not responding to the advertisement; in the end, it was difficult sharing one’s experiences, opening up to the world about even the good ones. Traumatic ones were of a different kind; some never talked about them at all, and they could not be blamed. Sometimes the past was better left there, behind it all. Darla disagreed to that logic in regards to Edith, but not many were as strong as her friend.

Edith mentioned what the editor had told her, and Darla arched an eyebrow with slight scepticism. Well, she didn’t know about people opening up with the right intentions, but at least those who wanted to prove a point and move forward would contact Edith should they see that the advertisement was not a scam. She highly doubted the editor genuinely understood where Edith was coming from, or the people who would contact her, nonetheless the journalist knew it would sell, knew it would allow Edith to make a living out of it. Sharing stories of survivors, of anonymous heroes, was not easy, nor common.

Regardless of the material aspect of it all, Darla wanted Edith to break out of her shell. She clearly had thought this through, even if it were just to prove a point to Darla herself. As her friend, the healer couldn’t find it in herself to allow Edith to fail in perhaps finally coping with life and its issues like a proper adult. “I understand.” She replied simply to Edith’s remark, and despite what the other witch might have thought, Darla did understand what she meant. In the end, she had a person in her family who’d suffered first-hand due to the Second Wizarding War. Sierra.

Darla’s eyes widened slightly, and she placed her hand on her bag. “I might have someone for you.” She picked up her bag, and then got up from her chair, arranging her coat. “I need to talk to my brother first.” Darla omitted the name on purpose, for she had not opened up the topic of Ranulph and Sierra with Edith so far. It was a far too sensitive matter, and it wasn’t her story to tell to begin with. It was theirs; it was Ranulph’s; it was Sierra’s. “I’ll go talk to him now, actually, before he starts work.” Darla glanced at Edith once more, and sketched a small, yet warm smile. “I appreciate you telling me.” Hopefully, she would have a story for Edith by the end of the day.

With that in mind, Darla Disapparated, wanting to catch Ranulph before he would start his shift. 

[[out]]

Edith nodded. There wasn’t any need to reassure Darla that she hadn’t misheard her; yes, only one person. She didn’t think Darla couldn’t understand. How could she? To be called out -- again -- in the paper couldn’t have been a good feeling. She knew she would have had pleasure throwing The Prophet away if she had been on the receiving end of the advertisement -- who would have the actual nerve to ask about this shit and then actually expect anything in return?

She was half -- well, closer to fully -- expecting a lecture. She had picked a very public place to hopefully quell any of Darla’s desire to yell again, though that had never stopped her before. Somehow the silence was worse. Edith was trying; she didn’t owe anything to Darla. It would have been so much easier to move on with her life in this anonymous way and keep Darla in the dark about it until the end of time. She couldn’t pinpoint why she felt some kind of absurd responsibility to keep her in the loop.

Brow furrowed, Edith looked back to Darla as she finally spoke again. She understood? Edith could have laughed. She didn’t. She couldn’t. Maybe she could, some day, but Edith wasn’t going to hold her breath. They had established a few weeks ago that they didn’t know each other anymore, but Edith knew Darla well enough to know that there were limits to her understanding and to her knowledge, she hadn’t seen anything suggesting otherwise.

She raised both brows as Darla got up, unable to offer anything more than, “Okay.” She couldn’t return Darla’s smile -- it felt like ages since she had been in a pleasant mood -- but she did manage a quick, “Thanks.” Edith swallowed, her hands back around her cup of tea, gaze back out the window where the rest of London went about life as usual. God, this was a bad idea.

[[ thread ]]