L'enfer, c'est les autres.

Roman Delacour. French Ambassador to the British Ministry of Magic.

[peacockheir]

March 7

Singles Night

The Kelpie & the Imp

Open Starter

Charles awkwardly tugged at the tie around his neck, growing more uncomfortable the longer the host spoke. The idea of the whole thing left him with an uneasy feeling. He couldn’t handle crowds, let alone the fact that the stupid thing was designed for matching people up together.

He cleared his throat and straightened out his tie, teeth digging into his lower lip while he tried to appear a little more at ease.

“Alright,” He sighed and turned to look around. “Where is the bar?”

[roman-jadore-blog]

Roman hadn’t come to this ‘singles night’ with the intention of really participating- it was more for a laugh, really. The whole match-making business had always amused him. The fact that he’d be getting a few drinks out of it, and possibly someone to take home for the night (just for the night, mind), was merely an added bonus.

He should have expected to run into someone he knew that evening, honestly- that was beginning to happen more often than he’d like- but it hadn’t crossed his mind that it would be somebody he’d, for lack of a better term, been ‘involved with’ before.

As Charles turned, Roman was the first person he met eyes with. Roman gave him a lazy smile and lifted a hand in a casual wave. 

“Nice to see you again,” he said, as the other man approached, “Though if I’m being frank- I hadn’t expected someone like you to attend one of these.”

[roman-jadore-blog]

knockturnburke

Octavius did not think there was any point in reminding Roman that he did not know him well, and could not simply take his word on the fact that he believed himself reliable and trustworthy. He had a feeling that his words would fall upon deaf ears and it would be a waste of his time and breath to continue arguing the point. Instead, he listened intently to what the other an had to say, even though his eyes focused more on the dancers than the man sitting beside him.

“You mean that it is not entirely legal” he corrected, his voice low as if he thought anyone could be listening to the two of them discuss such a topic. Phoenix’s were rare, extremely rare, incredibly valuable and the transportation of one, not to mention the ownership process could take months, if not years, and never reach a conclusion if put through the proper channels at the Ministry of Magic’s Control of Magical Creatures department.

“It is not a surprise that you would come through less legitimate channels with such a request, given the Ministry’s position on matters such as these. I am a man with that reputation it’s true…” he murmured, running his fingers over the soft beard that he had allowed to grow over his chin and jaw line.

“I suppose it is, but I must warn you, my services do not come cheap”.

“Well I didn’t expect it to be free,” Roman huffed out a laugh and leaned back in his seat, resisting the urge to outwardly roll his eyes, “Money’s not a concern. I just need results.”

He knew he’d not be able to do this the legal way- he didn’t have the patience, nor the inclination to go through all the trouble. Roman knew this was his only feasible option, and he was ready to offer up whatever it took to get what he wanted- not that he’d let Octavius know that.

“So, how much is it that you want?” he adjusted his cufflinks as he spoke, “Just give me a rough estimate. And,” he let the word draw out, pausing as a crescendo of music swelled from the orchestra pit below. The ballet, it seemed, was also reaching its crux. “I trust that procuring what I want won’t take you too long. It’ll be dreadfully boring if you don’t come through on your end.”

If all went well, this wouldn’t be the only time Roman would do dealings of this nature through Octavius. This was better left unsaid, for the moment. 

[roman-jadore-blog]

siriustheblackstar

Sirius took another sip of his drink as he studied the other man. He had no way of knowing what was running through his mind, of course, but Sirius found himself wondering why he seemed so interested in his life already. It was not as if they were close, though Sirius could acknowledge that there were many who found themselves curious about his work and about his family now that he had returned home. If he’d been them, Sirius guessed he’d have been curious as well.

His lips quirked. “I suppose,” he stated, though he didn’t mention that being a hitwizard was far from a desk job. Even when he’d been working, Sirius remembered the mountains of paperwork that he would let languish for as long as his supervisor would allow. “Though managing family assets are little more than working at a desk.” He also supposed that he could consider the interactive part of the role, of making connections with others, strengthening alliances and ties. But he said nothing more on it, merely took another short sip as he enjoyed the flavor of the whiskey rolling over his tongue.

He nodded as he looked over at Roman, curious as to just how much the man had imbibed. Sirius, however, had been drinking for years and his limits were, perhaps, not as low as many others in his social circle. “That he does,” he agreed as he took another sip and finished off his own glass, pushing it over to the bartender. “I trust you’re safe to apparate?” he asked.

Roman could feel the other man scrutinizing him- it was called for, he supposed, and not something that surprised him in the least. But it was also his cue to leave.

“Who are you, my mother?” Roman snorted and waved a hand in a dismissive gesture, “‘Safe to apparate’, he asks. Of course I am.”

He wasn’t all that sure that he was. He was going to have a hangover of the worst kind when he woke up the next morning if the current state of his head was anything to go by. He’d always had a low tolerance and an even worse sense of impulse control- a horrid combination.

Roman got up from the bar stool as steadily as he could, hoping his balance wouldn’t betray him. Luckily, he managed to keep himself upright.

“As thrilling as this conversation about managing family assets has been, I suppose I’ll be getting on my way.” He’d already paid the bartender and had all his affairs in order- there was no need for him to linger for the rest of the evening. Especially if he was veering into the territory of becoming miserable company; too much whisky tended to have that effect on him. 

Roman gave Sirius one last once-over. He didn’t know that he’d be seeing him again any time soon, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t curious about the man’s situation and where it was going. It was why he’d struck up a conversation, in the first place. He didn’t doubt he’d be seeing him around the Ministry again by the end of the year- who gave up on being a hitwizard for their family, of all things?

He held his hand out for a firm handshake and gave Sirius a smile that was only mildly unsettling.

“Best of luck to you and your endeavours, yes?”

[roman-jadore-blog]

Date: February 14, 1979

Location: Il Tavolo, Horizont Alley

( @richieroyce )

Valisblot wasn’t something Roman had ever felt strongly about- it wasn’t a day that held any kind of importance or meaning to him. Now, however, he found that he cared even less for the Muggle version of February 14th. Valentine’s day was ridiculous in every conceivable way, down to the gaudy decorations and the overstated proclamations of love through frilly, heart-shaped cards. Roman found the entire concept a little nauseating. 

Naturally, he was spending the evening alone.

He’d attended the Ministry’s sacrificial feast, of course- though he hadn’t stayed long. He needed a proper meal- a warm one, at that- and a good, stiff drink. The streets were busy and so he’d slipped into the nearest restaurant with an empty table and stationed himself there, content to be alone. Alone, but surrounded by a crowd of people he’d prefer not to acknowledge.

This proved less easy than he’d hoped when the entire atmosphere of the restaurant shifted. The people around him became more restless following the sound of glass shattering in the street, and after that by the general sounds of growing unrest amongst the crowd outside. 

Roman heaved a sigh, drained the last of his whisky, and decided to get up and go investigate. He’d nothing better to do. Another of the restaurant’s patrons had the same idea as him, it seemed, and Roman inclined his head towards the other man as they stepped out of the restaurant together.

“Lovely evening,” he said, as if unaware of the scene they’d just walked out to. The people in the streets all seemed excited, or anxious, hysterical even- Roman took note of it all, but couldn’t discern the source.

He turned on his heel to make his way back into the restaurant. If the night was going to get riotous, he needed to pay the bill for his dinner and head home. And that’s what he would have done, had his muscles not frozen up, all at once.

As his body seized up and he fell backwards, helpless to do otherwise, his brain helpfully informed him that he must have been hit by a stray curse. A body-bind, it mused, this should be fun.

He fell to the ground with a less-than-graceful thud. The back of his head was throbbing where it had hit the cobblestones.

Roman winced and met the eyes of the man now standing above him- he realized, then, that he recognized who it was. Richard Selwyn wasn’t exactly someone he knew well, but Roman was going to need to make fast friends if he wanted any help.

It took some effort before he could get the muscles in his face to move enough to allow him to talk. Even then, it was strained.

“Are you going to stand there and watch while I get trampled to death in the street, or would you mind dragging me somewhere a little safer?” He tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, he really did, but he was loathe to ask for help- especially in a situation like this. “The nearest couch would be preferable, but anywhere away from this crowd will do.”

[roman-jadore-blog]

knockturnburke :

He ignored Roman’s comment about curiosity and cats, having never been a fan of the saying himself. He could tell by the look on Roman’s face that the musing was false, and that the man knew exactly what he had been insinuating. He was also stalling, a tactic used by many of his clients when they were trying to work out how to put across there request, solidifying further Octavius’s belief that the evening’s meeting was one of business, over the pleasure of the theater. As such, he remained quiet, until the other man spoke again.

“That words seems to be passing a few lips as of late, though they are not entirely correct in their accounts” Octavius murmured, politely, raising an eyebrow at the man who sat beside him. His business was hindered, but not by much and Octavius had always found a way around the Ministry. He would begrudgingly admit that it would have been nice if they wouldn’t trash his shop every other week though.

“If you are proposing a deal Roman, my services do not come so cheaply or easily, especially to someone whom I have never done business with before. How could I know if you would follow through on your end?” he asked though he continued, as it did not require an answer. “But I am willing to listen to whatever you have to say and negotiate if necessary…”

Their little conversation had reached its crux, and it seemed it was time for Roman to get straight to the point. He waved a dismissive hand in response to Octavius’ reply, rings glinting as they caught the low light.

“I can assure you, you can rely on me to come through on my end. You’ll find my offer is entirely generous, considering how simple my request should be for someone like you.” 

His gaze was on the dancers again while he spoke. As a child, he’d learned the subtle artistry of ballet actually required very practised, calculated movements; every grand jeté and pas assemblé was as much an art as it was a science. Conversation was the same, in that regard.

"I need a Phoenix,”  he stated, “Unfortunately, getting one’s hands on such a magical creature isn’t exactly...easy. Hence why I’ve come to you. I’ve heard you can get a wizard just about anything he wants.”

Roman let his gaze return to the other man’s, delicately quirking an eyebrow.

“Is this the part where we negotiate?”

[roman-jadore-blog]

siriustheblackstar:

The scoff was quiet, but Sirius picked up on it all the same and his lips twitched at the corners. “It’s all a show, at any rate,” he admitted. “As popular as Abraxas is in the current climate, I am not certain he’s a viable, long-term solution. Traditionalists like him fine, but he needs…a bit of finesse, I suppose. Something to make him appealing to a more younger generation.”

That much, at least, was true. Sirius found it unlikely that Abraxas Malfoy would be elected to the Minister position permanently without offering some concessions. There were too many muggleborns, too many halfbloods, that had as much bigotry toward purebloods as purebloods had toward them. “Then again, the Malfoys used to marry halfbloods into the family, so perhaps that’s his hook.”

His face remained impassive at the next question and Sirius lifted the glass to his lips as he considered his response, his brows rising when Roman offered more clarification. Sirius set the glass on the bar in front of him. “It’s mostly the same,” he said with a practiced grin. “Just a different boss, really. A bit more freedom this side.”

Roman felt himself swallowing against something bitter in his throat. What you wouldn’t give, the voice in the back of his head negged, for some semblance of freedom, too.

What was this? Jealousy? Roman had to resist physically shaking the feeling off; he was being ridiculous. Sirius was obviously putting on a front. There was no freedom, in being tied down to one’s own family and their expectations. Roman should know- he’d run with his tail between his legs to another country just to get away from it all.

Sirius’ grin was so practised, so easy, that the bitter feeling was crawling its way back up Roman’s throat. He tilted his head back with his next swig of whisky and swallowed the burning liquid a lot harder than he needed to.

“In that case, I’m happy for you.” The words burned almost as much as the whisky. They felt like a lie. They were a lie. He couldn’t be happy for a man he barely knew. “Anything’s better than a desk job, right?” He laughed. It didn’t succeed in lifting the mood.

His head was throbbing with the sheer amount of alcohol he’d just downed, and all the thoughts that were currently swimming around and pressing against his skull as if desperate to get out. He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut.

“I may need to lay off the whisky, for now,” he muttered. “A man needs to know his limits.”

[roman-jadore-blog]

charlesalexei

Charles shifted to deepen the kiss, the heat of the moment causing him to raise a hand and run his fingers through Roman’s hair. His actions started off heatedly — merely an attempt to make the younger man shut up he justified — but soon fell into something a little less angry feeling. It was meant to be quick and behind closed doors with little thought put into it and nothing more to come out of it.

Having that in mind did little in stopping the low groan he emitted when the blond took hold of his shoulders. Not to mention the fleeting thought in regards to how the man smelled. As brief as it was, Charles could not bring himself to appreciating his mind’s intrusion when it came to kissing. Getting lost in the moment was always far better when he could keep from overthinking every action.

He tugged at Roman’s hair when he pulled back from the kiss, teeth catching the blond’s lower lip in the process of doing so. Dark brown orbs met Roman’s while he caught his breath, focusing on him for a moment because he stole another kiss from him.

Roman knew he had a certain amount of allure, but the sounds he could pull from the other man still stirred up a certain amount of smug, warm satisfaction. He felt his hair being tugged loose from its neat bun as Charles broke the kiss- he definitely wouldn’t be fixing up his hair, after this. Let people assume what they wanted.

Charles’ gaze seared into his as they caught their breath, and Roman swallowed down the words he could already feel crawling up his throat. Is that your wand in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me? That sort of joke would only serve to ruin the mood. 

Luckily, he was saved from having to say anything by Charles kissing him again. This kiss was slightly more intoxicating than the last; Roman felt dizzy with the intensity, the heat, the pure want underlying it all. His hands gravitated from Charles’ shoulders to the front of his shirt, fingers scrambling to undo buttons in the heat of the moment.

[roman-jadore-blog]

ophelia-alana-greengrass :

Ophelia resisted a chuckle at his smug expression, he seemed a bit arrogant and understandably full of himself. She wasn’t completely sure if he should be dropped a few pegs as he wasn’t a complete arse, just amusing. Time would tell. Confidence was attractive, but too much so and it became quite disgusting.

He was curious. The conversation felt like a simple game of cat and mouse, yet who was the mouse was beyond the two of them. They might have both at this point thought the other was the mouse and they, themselves, was the cat. But, really, that was most likely their own arrogance portraying the facade.

As he slid the plate over her eyes lit up like a child. She adored sweets. It was just too bad she couldn’t cook to save her own life no matter how often the house-elves tried, she burnt everything she placed on the oven. It was hopeless. She picked up three of the four left on the plate and slid the last one over to him thanking him with a gentle smile and a nod.

Before taking a baby bird bite with the want to savor the cake, she shook her head in agreement, “Yes, that seems to be the case. Curious as to why. It isn’t like we do not go to the same locations.” Given as they were at one right now. She was in the cafe at least 3 times a week, it was a surprise they happened upon each other as they did. “Quite curious you are. The question is rather rhetorical as you knew the answer before you asked.” She smirked taking another small bite of her cake, savoring its every flavor. “Sure you weren’t asking yourself aloud?” She chuckled softly with a wink.

He was so poised, so calculated. Every movement had a purpose and each word thought of before spoken. She would like to say she did that, but really she just had no filter, it merely came out straight from her head with grace. Some days it ended better than others.

As Roman considered the woman across from him, he tried to assimilate the few pieces of information he knew about her. She was the youngest in her family, he knew, and he supposed he had that in common with her. That was likely where the similarities ended. 

On the surface, she seemed young, carefree, and nothing more than exactly that. He didn’t doubt they’d run into each other by complete chance- but he still wasn’t going to underestimate the woman. Roman didn’t just let his guard down for every pretty girl that crossed his path.

“I do tend to muse aloud,” he laughed softly in response to her wink. He ran a hand through his hair- which he’d left loose for the day, blonde locks spilling over his shoulders- as he considered her answer to his question. He’d been trying to gauge her reasons for approaching him, but she'd danced around his question with graceful ease and turned it around on him. It was a tactic he’d often used, himself, and he couldn’t help but respect that.

“I suppose tea is better when shared with another,” a blatant lie. He preferred these times for quiet contemplation. “I know why I’m alone in this cafe on this lovely morning, but why are you?”

Before she could respond to his question, he lifted the teapot from its perch on the tea tray, his rings clinking against the delicate china. He poured some of its contents into an empty cup and offered it to Ophelia, “Would you care for some redbush tea? The flavour is quite...earthy.”

[roman-jadore-blog]

WHAT?!

He’d stop short, he’d take a moment to recollect his thoughts. It’d end the argument, if only for a moment. Roman would go quiet. He’d need to think, because he wouldn’t know how to react at first. 

He’s hardly ever heard the words “I love you”  from a person who truly meant it. He’d walk out the room, stop, take a moment, and go back. He’d ask Charles, outright, if he was just lying to get Roman to shut up.

Depending on the answer, Roman’s heart would either entirely shatter or heal on the spot.

[rpmememaker]

SEND "What?!" FOR MY MUSE'S REACTION TO YOURS BLURTING OUT "I LOVE YOU" IN THE MIDDLE OF AN ARGUMENT.

[roman-jadore-blog]

ophelia-alana-greengrass:

Elia chuckled softly to his overexaggerated statement in regards to the pastries. Cute, petite fours with a white flower made in hardened buttercream pierced her tongue and it instantly watered. She’d say it was better than sex, but really she wouldn't know. She moaned softly at the sweetness of the pasty. As he spoke she kept the bits of four left in her mouth until he finished. It was too savory to let go. “Mhm, really, those are good.” She whispered taking a sip of her cappuccino before speaking again.

She rolled her eyes playfully to his adorable mockery, “Mm, I think I would have to go with, yes, yes I do believe I am accusing you of such atrocious acts. Polite is certainly one word to call it. There are others I would use in its place.” She admitted. Leaning forward painstakingly slow as she kept her eyes within his own until she stopped but five inches from his face or so from his own, she scanned his entirety over, “Hmm, “She began as she scanned him long enough to draw discomfort, “I do not see any blood just gorgeous features. But, I am sure you knew that. However, that being said, I think you’ll live.”

She tilted her head with a soft smile before taking the full rest of her seat against her back and buttocks once more. “Though, thank you for allowing me to join you. A silent cafe is nice, but the intriguing company is better. Hmph, are you? Quite interesting. I would ask why, but I can come across my own conclusion over time.”  She didn’t need the instant gratification of knowing the reasoning for why he was so instantly invested. Most did not come off so bluntly in their society, but when she was met with a curious challenge, someone who could revel right back what she gave then the actual games were all the more fun.

“Also, you’re not getting this pastry back.” She teased, taking another bite.

Having the face of a beautiful woman inches from his own was, to be fair, not an uncommon occurrence for Roman. Having that same woman compliment his gorgeous features? Also not all that rare. He didn’t flinch away as she scrutinized his features; he merely gave Ophelia a smile, gaze fixed to hers with unwavering confidence. 

What intrigued him was the way she held herself, and how she was navigating the conversation. She’d called him out from the start for being ingenuine- and yet, she hadn’t really seemed to mind. The conversation was becoming a game, one they were both quick to learn how to play. He slid the plate of petit fours closer to her, a silent gesture for her to have as many as she desired.

“You and I haven’t spoken much,” he said. There was no point, he decided, in unnecessary small talk at this point. “In fact, I’d hazard to say this is the most either of us has ever said to each other. So I can’t say I know all that much about you, Ms Greengrass.” He leaned back in his own seat and crossed a leg over the other, hands delicately folded over his knee. “Is that something you’d wish to correct?” A question poised with a quirk of an eyebrow.

He wanted to know her intentions, outright. Was she looking for friendship, for companionship, for information? Had she known he would be here or was this merely a coincidental meeting? Roman found it prudent to always know what others wanted from him- because there was always something. Normally he wasn’t so forthright about it, but Ophelia certainly seemed different. Attempts at subtlety would probably be wasted.

[roman-jadore-blog]

knockturnburke :

Octavius had never had a problem with meeting potential clients in odd locales, and as the raids on his shop had become increasingly frequent and public, the suggestions of meetings in strange settings or events he would never have gone too normally had grown. He couldn’t say that he didn’t miss doing business from the store that he had worked so hard to build up again after his father and Borgin’s drunken antics had all but destroyed it, but he also wouldn’t turn down business. With the Ministry on his back, he had feared that business would slow and times would become desperate, but the opposite had occurred. Since more people seemed to believe his work to be less than legal due to the Ministry’s interest in him, requests had soared.

Stepping into the theater, late enough so that no-one could be found hanging around in the lobby, he straightened the tie he wore and messed with the cuffs of his jacket. He had dressed appropriately for the location, not wanting to look out of place. Octavius Burke in a theater alone, or at least without his fiancee, would raise a few eyebrows if he was not careful. And if he was nothing else, he was always careful.

He and Roman had not spoken a great many times, and though his invitation did not specify why he wished for Octavius to join him, he was pretty sure that a night of gossiping at the theater was not on the cards. In the same way his clients sent hi word of their meetings, so had he, and he figured the man had something to ask of him. He was however, a little wary, knowing that Roman worked with the very institution that was attempting to derail his business. Following the usher to the private box, he ceased his messing with his jacket cuffs and attempted a warm, if not simply polite smile, as he took a seat.

“I will admit that I am mostly here out of curiosity” he murmured in return, his eyes following the dancers on the stage, though his head was inclined towards the man sitting in the seat next to his. “My apologies, Mr Delacour, but I am here now” he added the last part as a sort of nudge towards beginning the conversation he wished to have with Octavius, since they both knew he had not been invited to watch the dancers.

“What’s that the English say about curiosity and cats?” He mused, “It’s one of the more morbid proverbs, yes?”

He was stalling, and perhaps- though he’d never admit it- trying to make the other man sweat a little bit before getting to his point.

Roman was to walk out of this dealing with the promise of exactly what he wanted- no more, no less. He liked to think that he was well-versed in finding the exact way to get what you wanted out of another; simply find what might be irresistible to them, an offer they wouldn’t be able to refuse, and you had them in the palm of your hand.

Some people were easier to figure out than others. Octavius was more of a challenge- luckily, in this particular case, Roman was well aware of the current position Burke’s business was in. And, equipped with that knowledge, things were leaning in Roman’s favour.

“Word has it,” he kept his tone easy, “That the Ministry’s been hindering your business practices as of late.”

He let the words settle in the air for a moment. Roman leaned back in his seat and ran his thumb over the jewels on his knuckles- four rings, each inlaid with a startlingly blue sapphire- in a ruminative gesture. He met the other man’s gaze.

“It must be a terrible nuisance, having them hovering over your shoulder like this. If only you knew someone equipped to make that little problem...disappear.”

He let a smug sort of smile tug at the corners of his lips. In the end, he did so love to dance around these things.

[roman-jadore-blog]

ophelia-alana-greengrass:

The Cafe was silent. The only sound echoing about the empty, subtle eatery were of two newspapers rustling in close quarters. With such small proximity, she couldn’t help but hear a curious chuckle come from the boy across her. Glancing up, his face struck her. It was odd yet beautiful. His eyes really should have been considered too far apart and lips too big, yet his features all together were breathtaking. His movements precise and directed. At the catch of his eyes with her own, she caught her breath, having not realized her stare.  

She cleared her throat as her eyes diverted back to her cappuccino She took a quick, small sip. The warm, frothy creamer and mild espresso warming her insides while her hands quickly turned the page of her paper.

She was struck by the words he spoke next. As she took in a breathe she gathered her composure and folded her newspaper softly into one whole. “Mm. Yes, that is correct. I have seen you about before. Delacour, correct?” matching his syntax and voice pitch, she placed the newspaper completely on the table and picked up her drink in both hands with a regard to hold something between her delicate, movement-craving fingers.

Having come with the nature of being a Pureblood and going to all the materialistic, attention-seeking parties, one grew to know the ingenuity of someone’s body language. As he smiled, her eyes darted instantly to the creases of his eyes or well, the lack thereof. Tilting her head she thinned her lips in a not as attempting to be a pleasant smile, “Hmm, are you quite sure? With the lack of crow’s feet, one might assume the statement is a simple, yet abandoned attempt at a pleasant gesture.”

Without a pause to let her words sink in, she picked up her bag and drink, moving with grace and ease strut to his table just two feet away and placed herself into the chair in front of him.

“That, however; is just one assuming opinion.” She challenged quietly, her eyes curving with cat-like dexterity as her lips pierced forward, curious to his return as she picked up her drink once more. The warmth of the mug wrapped her hands in a cozy blanket. “Quite impolite company to speak across tables. Hope there is no mind.” She commented as she leaned back in her chair. Her feet hanging to the side as he leg tucked behind the other with muscle trained composure and formality.

There were a sparse number of people in Roman’s life that could see right through him. The first being his own brother; the man had the uncanny ability to always knock Roman down a few pegs as if he deserved nothing more than to be called out on his often less than gracious behaviour. The second being the only person dear enough to him to be called a friend- a woman who, just like him, hid her emotions behind a carefully constructed facade.

Roman was not expecting Ophelia Greengrass to be the third person on this list, particularly not after what could have been no more than a minute-long interaction.

His superficial smile faded and gave way to a far more genuine smirk, one accompanied by a glint in his eye. The look in the woman’s eyes was challenging him, and he could confidently say that he thrived on a piercing gaze such as hers- one that almost held the ability to cut right through him as if he were no more than paper.

“My dear, are you accusing me of faking an attempt at polite conversation?” He placed a hand to his forehead, the gesture a mockery of a swoon, “How you wound me.”

He gestured to the table invitingly, though she’d already taken a seat across from him. 

“By all means, you’re welcome to join me,” and, surprising himself, he meant the words, “I’m suddenly a lot more invested in this conversation.” A pause, a moment taken to sip at his tea, “Try one of the pastries, they’re to die for.”

[roman-jadore-blog]

charlesalexei

“Noted,” Charles admitted with a chuckle. A crooked smile remained on his lips, eyes scanning over Roman’s form once more. He wouldn’t be the one to instigate the ordeal. Even with having been the one to suggest they go off together.

It was merely part of his nature to be on the more skittish side of things, preferring to be the one that was sought after instead of doing the chasing.

His breath caught in the back of his throat when Roman motioned toward him, a hint of anger flaring at how content he looked. As calm and collected Charles tried to be, he would never match the way the man in front of him carried his self. He narrowed his eyes at him then closed the distance between them, arms on either side of Roman’s form.

Charles let his eyes look into his for mere seconds before crushing his lips over Roman’s.

There was always that one moment, leading up to a kiss. That one, lingering moment; the heated gazes locking, the shared breaths, the hesitant fingers pressed to waists, the silent exchange of words left unsaid but that nonetheless needed to be expressed. If Roman was a hopeless romantic, he’d say he savoured those moments. But he wasn’t, and he didn’t.

Luckily for him, Charles seemed to forgo almost all of this entirely and dive straight into the next, arguably best, part of it all: the searing introduction of lips, and the bubbling rush of endorphins that came along with it.

This, Roman decided as his fingers scrambled for purchase on Charles’s shirt, gripping the other man’s shoulders- this was his favourite part: the dizzying heat, the rushed exchange of what felt like a dirty secret in a dark room where nobody would look for them. Roman allowed himself to be surrounded by the other man, to simply lose himself in the moment and taste and feel.

But it was just a kiss, he had to remind himself. After this was over it would mean nothing.

[roman-jadore-blog]

character aesthetic: interests

[roman-jadore-blog]

siriustheblackstar:

Sirius could think of a multitude of other things they could ask for in addition to stability. Moral fortitude. Inclusion. Understanding of other cultures. But though the Sirius who lived in Muggle London and rode a motorbike would have dismantled the other man’s comment, the Sirius who lived in the Black family home and trimmed his beard just so each morning left well enough alone. “It’s certainly what the masses need most,” he allowed as he inclined his head and leaned back.

It rankled him, the way Roman assumed he cared nothing for politics. For while Sirius caredabout politics, he believed so much differently than his family. But he knew better than to say that. “To be a Black,” he began, well aware that his tone was more pretentious than he usually allowed, was a tone he’d spent years despising. “Is to care for politics.” His lips quirked and he drummed his fingers on the bar. “I just see little point in celebrating before there’s an actual election.”

“Well that depends,” Sirius said as he swirled his whiskey in his glass before taking a heavy pull. “What would you consider interesting?” He was curious about what Roman wanted, or if the other man was merely trying to make conversation.

The words and tone felt so practised, so careful, that Roman almost felt inclined to believe them. He scoffed quietly, a response to the latter half of Sirius’s statement, “This celebration feels a little premature, yes.”

He considered his next words very carefully. What did he want to know- what had he started this conversation for? To get a better read on whatever was going on with Sirius Black, he supposed; he knew what to expect when it came to the rest of the Black family. But Sirius? He was an outlier, a wild card, an enigma. Roman needed to know if this was a man he should worry about helping or hindering if it ever came down to it. If this was a man he needed to worry about, period.

“Tell me, is the grass greener, on the other side?” Roman let the question hang in the air for a moment too long, gauging Sirius’s reaction. He leaned forward and amended in a more congenial tone, “I am, of course, referring to leaving the Ministry to become a family man. How is it treating you?”

[roman-jadore-blog]

Date: Saturday, January 13

Location: Russian Magical Ballet Premiere; Cardiff Theater & Opera House

( @knockturnburke )

The lights of the stage shimmered and reflected off the outfits of the dancers, the movement of the material glimmering like silver water; a magic in and of itself. From Roman’s seat in his own private box, he could almost imagine that the sight was purely for him. 

Roman usually came to these sorts of events alone, nowadays. Art such as this was always better enjoyed alone, the peace of it enabling one to reflect over one’s own thoughts as they beheld a beautiful, albeit sombre and haunting, ballet. Tonight, however, was not just for pleasure. Business of a sort had been arranged.

His gaze didn’t stray from the stage as his companion was ushered into the private viewing box. He kept quiet as the other man took a seat next to him, and stayed that way until they were left alone, surrounded by orchestral music and deep red curtains that seemed to hide them from the rest of the world.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me here,” he said, turning his head a fraction to finally acknowledge the other’s presence. 

Octavius Burke, whom he’d only associated with a handful of times, didn’t quite fit the aesthetic of Roman’s loge- the man was clearly one made to be in the dark recesses of an alley, in a gritty atmosphere such as his own store. However, just because Roman was beginning to get into the business of not-entirely-legal dealings, didn’t mean he had to arrange them in nameless back alleys. Roman preferred to think of it as hiding in plain sight; no one was going to blink twice over a Delacour meeting someone in a theatre. It was both safer and less suspicious, and, besides, Roman always preferred to hold the power in arrangements like this. He’d extended the invitation to Octavius, and he’d not made his intention for the meeting entirely clear to him just yet. Roman was keeping his cards close to his chest until the time was right.

He had something to offer Octavius, something he was sure he’d take him up on, but he had to be sure the other man could get him what he wanted, in return.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to come, to be perfectly honest,” Roman kept his tone neutral as he turned his gaze back to the performance, icy blue gaze following the graceful, swan-like forms of the dancers, “You’re late.”