Who: Emmeline Vance & Vincent Avery When: June 12th, 1979 Where: The Leaky Cauldron
Emmeline Vance was not a good cook. To be fair, however, she’d never really cooked at all. Her mother had always been the cook at home, and Emmeline considered her mother’s dinners, always just finished as Emmeline walked in the door after a long day, a special sort of magic. Once her mother fell ill, she’d insisted on teaching Emmeline a thing or two around the kitchen, if only so Emmeline wouldn’t starve when she was gone. Emmeline, however, had always promised they would do it later, as accepting the lessons felt to her like admitting defeat. They would have years ahead of them, surely, and there would be plenty of time for cooking when her mother felt better. But now her mother was gone, and Emmeline still didn’t know how to cook. She certainly didn’t have an interest to learn from anyone else. Therefore, she resigned herself to take-out, frozen dinners, and all of the other convenient options that would have her mother shaking her head.
She picked at the food on her plate distractedly as she thought about her lack of domestic skills, her gaze roaming over patrons of The Leaky Cauldron. There were plenty of regulars there besides herself, but it was the faces she wasn’t accustomed to seeing that drew her attention more. Emmeline wondered about each of them, and how they came to find themselves all in the same place at the same time. A string of coincidences, she supposed, wasn’t that how it usually went anyway? How many of them couldn’t cook either? The thought had a smile tugging at her lips, at least until she saw him. Vincent Avery. Their last conversation had hardly been enlightening as to his situation, but Emmeline’s research since had been. Supposedly disgraced, kicked out of the Avery family and forced to fend for himself, Emmeline couldn’t help but feel some sort of kinship to him, one that had nothing to do with the blood that ran through their veins.
Flagging down the bartender, Emmeline quietly ordered a second of whatever he seemed to be drinking, asking to send it his way. Lord knew he probably needed it, and that she should apologize for the way in which she’d demanded answers of him just a few days before. It had been rude of her, impulsive, and thoughtless. Like most of her decisions, really, but he’d obviously suffered enough without her hounding him. Emmeline watched from the corner of her eye as the bartender approached Vincent with the drink, setting it before him and gesturing her way in explanation. Emmeline gave a small nod and smile, hoping it might serve as enough of an apology, or perhaps and open invitation should he want to talk.
@sadavery
