And You Said You Weren't Romantic
Title: Brandy: Tether to Sanity (aka Shall We Drink?)
Genre: Rab/Ros Fluff.
Characters: Rabastan Lestrange, Rosalind Bungs
Rating: PG-13, for mentions of alcohol
Word Count: 1013 words
Summary: Rosalind learns something about Rabastan on Thanksgiving.
Author's Notes: Huzzah. I managed Rab/Ros Fluff. *victory dance of glee* In the process, I may have distorted Rabastan's character a lot bit. Written for my Rab/Ros Prompt Table: #08. Thanksgiving.
Rabastan sighed as he perused a new book on dark curses. He muttered one under his breath to remember it. Flipping a page, he lifted his legs onto the couch and stretched. He stifled a yawn. Since when did books bore him? He forced his attention back on the next spell. Doleo, he thought as he read the description. When performed properly, this curse will cause the victim to-- Rabastan looked down as something made its way between the book and himself. After a few seconds, Rosalind had successfully managed to maneuver herself between his arms and completely obstruct his view of the book. He sighed and laid the book and his hands on her back.
"Good morning," she greeted softly, punctuating her sentence with a kiss.
"Good morning," Rabastan answered, nibbling gently on the underside of her chin. She giggled and laid her head on his shoulder. "Are you going to let me finish my book?"
"Unfortunately, yes," she answered, not moving from her position on him.
Rabastan smiled as he picked his book up and continued to read. Doleo, when performed properly--
Rosalind looked at her reflection in the mirror with a critical eye. She smoothed her skirt down and brushed her hair again. Rabastan watched her progress with mild amusement. She stopped to look at her reflection once more before turning around and smoothing the skirt down again. "Is this too short?" she asked.
"Depends," Rabastan said. "Are you going or staying?"
"Going," Rosalind answered, a small smile forming on her lips.
"Too short. Far, far too short."
Rosalind laughed and pinned her hair back. "I'll see you, then," she said, walking over to where he sat.
"See you next week," he said, accepting the kiss she laid on his cheek.
"No, no," Rosalind shook her head. "I shall be celebrating Thanksgiving with my family next week."
"That's an American holiday," Rabastan complained. Not to mention Muggle.
"Yes, yes, but Mother's father's first wife's something or the other happens to be married to an American or...something," she said, rolling her eyes. "They're at Papa and Mama's visiting and we thought it would be nice to humor them. Now, don't be like that," Rosalind stroked Rabastan's hair. "I'd rather be here than there, but they're family."
"I don't have a problem with it," Rabastan shrugged. "Enjoy yourself."
"Thanks," Rosalind smiled. "You could celebrate it, too, you know. Till can make you a turkey and all that. The point of the holiday is to be thankful for what we have," she explained as she walked over to the fireplace.
Rabastan let out a small laugh.
Rosalind smiled, her back turned to him. She took a fistful of Floo Powder from the tin above on the mantle. "It was an idea," she shrugged as she threw the powder into the flames and stepped into the fireplace.
Rabastan swirled the brandy around in his glass. He was already relatively drunk, but he fully intended to get a lot more drunk as the evening progressed. His mind was filled with all sorts of nonsensical thoughts he blamed on the eleven-odd glasses of brandy he had downed. For instance, he was wondering why he was drinking himself into delusions. Also, he was wondering why those delusions involved a giggling dark-haired girl. His thoughts also involved wild ideas like dressing up and Apparating at aforementioned dark-haired girl's house. Of course, all these thoughts were silly and not befitting his brain. This was why he was drunk. Wait, no, that didn't make any sense. He was indeed drunk.
"Till!" he called out once his brandy decanter was empty. Till appeared at the foot of the couch.
"Till thinks Master might be tired. Would Master like to go to bed?" she asked meekly.
"No," Rabastan said roughly. "Brandy."
"Yes, Master," Till said obediently. Rabastan looked at the decanter. It was now full of dark liquid.
Rabastan was contemplating another attempt at Apparating...somewhere...where there was...someone...but he already knew his body was far too full of alcohol to even manage to stand up, so he was perfectly safe from doing something stupid. His mind, however, was clearly starting to hallucinate as the flames in his fireplace had turned green. And a girl stepped out of them. He hiccuped.
"I should have known," Rosalind muttered. "Rabastan, forty glasses of brandy does not count as a Thanksgiving meal," she scolded, taking the glass from him.
"I. Onleee. Haff. Eyteen," he mumbled, showing the number of glasses he had on his fingers. Wait, no, he didn't have that many fingers.
Rosalind tried not to giggle. "Merlin, you are quite pissed."
In his mind, Rabastan sat up and pointed at Rosalind. In reality, he blinked sleepily. "Mmmnot pissssed."
"Of course, you aren't," she muttered, picking the brandy decanter up as well. Rabastan swiped at it. He missed.
Rosalind turned as Rabastan's fingers grazed her hip. "Piss drunk and still trying to get me into bed."
"Mmmmnot," Rabastan slurred.
Rosalind giggled again as she put the alcohol away. She walked back to Rabastan and sat down. She picked the package she had arrived with up. Rabastan looked at it. "Isssat?"
"It's turkey," she said.
"Waaabut yourr famlee?" Rabastan tried his best not to slur. He failed.
"They won't notice I'm gone," she answered as she brushed the hair out of his face with her fingers. She turned to the tiny box of food she had brought over. Picking a marshmallow up, she clipped it between her lips and bent down to feed it to Rabastan.
"Oh!" Rosalind pressed her forefinger against her lips. "I forgot you're supposed to say what you're grateful for before you eat," she looked at the now-empty box.
"Brandy," Rabastan replied promptly, having regained his speech skills.
"Brandy," Rosalind repeated, looking at him.
Rabastan sat up, caught the back of her head and looked at her. "Yeah, keeps me from going insane when you're not around."
"And you said you weren't roman--" the rest of her sentence was drowned in Rabastan's kiss.
Genre: Rab/Ros Fluff.
Characters: Rabastan Lestrange, Rosalind Bungs
Rating: PG-13, for mentions of alcohol
Word Count: 1013 words
Summary: Rosalind learns something about Rabastan on Thanksgiving.
Author's Notes: Huzzah. I managed Rab/Ros Fluff. *victory dance of glee* In the process, I may have distorted Rabastan's character a lot bit. Written for my Rab/Ros Prompt Table: #08. Thanksgiving.
Rabastan sighed as he perused a new book on dark curses. He muttered one under his breath to remember it. Flipping a page, he lifted his legs onto the couch and stretched. He stifled a yawn. Since when did books bore him? He forced his attention back on the next spell. Doleo, he thought as he read the description. When performed properly, this curse will cause the victim to-- Rabastan looked down as something made its way between the book and himself. After a few seconds, Rosalind had successfully managed to maneuver herself between his arms and completely obstruct his view of the book. He sighed and laid the book and his hands on her back.
"Good morning," she greeted softly, punctuating her sentence with a kiss.
"Good morning," Rabastan answered, nibbling gently on the underside of her chin. She giggled and laid her head on his shoulder. "Are you going to let me finish my book?"
"Unfortunately, yes," she answered, not moving from her position on him.
Rabastan smiled as he picked his book up and continued to read. Doleo, when performed properly--
Rosalind looked at her reflection in the mirror with a critical eye. She smoothed her skirt down and brushed her hair again. Rabastan watched her progress with mild amusement. She stopped to look at her reflection once more before turning around and smoothing the skirt down again. "Is this too short?" she asked.
"Depends," Rabastan said. "Are you going or staying?"
"Going," Rosalind answered, a small smile forming on her lips.
"Too short. Far, far too short."
Rosalind laughed and pinned her hair back. "I'll see you, then," she said, walking over to where he sat.
"See you next week," he said, accepting the kiss she laid on his cheek.
"No, no," Rosalind shook her head. "I shall be celebrating Thanksgiving with my family next week."
"That's an American holiday," Rabastan complained. Not to mention Muggle.
"Yes, yes, but Mother's father's first wife's something or the other happens to be married to an American or...something," she said, rolling her eyes. "They're at Papa and Mama's visiting and we thought it would be nice to humor them. Now, don't be like that," Rosalind stroked Rabastan's hair. "I'd rather be here than there, but they're family."
"I don't have a problem with it," Rabastan shrugged. "Enjoy yourself."
"Thanks," Rosalind smiled. "You could celebrate it, too, you know. Till can make you a turkey and all that. The point of the holiday is to be thankful for what we have," she explained as she walked over to the fireplace.
Rabastan let out a small laugh.
Rosalind smiled, her back turned to him. She took a fistful of Floo Powder from the tin above on the mantle. "It was an idea," she shrugged as she threw the powder into the flames and stepped into the fireplace.
Rabastan swirled the brandy around in his glass. He was already relatively drunk, but he fully intended to get a lot more drunk as the evening progressed. His mind was filled with all sorts of nonsensical thoughts he blamed on the eleven-odd glasses of brandy he had downed. For instance, he was wondering why he was drinking himself into delusions. Also, he was wondering why those delusions involved a giggling dark-haired girl. His thoughts also involved wild ideas like dressing up and Apparating at aforementioned dark-haired girl's house. Of course, all these thoughts were silly and not befitting his brain. This was why he was drunk. Wait, no, that didn't make any sense. He was indeed drunk.
"Till!" he called out once his brandy decanter was empty. Till appeared at the foot of the couch.
"Till thinks Master might be tired. Would Master like to go to bed?" she asked meekly.
"No," Rabastan said roughly. "Brandy."
"Yes, Master," Till said obediently. Rabastan looked at the decanter. It was now full of dark liquid.
Rabastan was contemplating another attempt at Apparating...somewhere...where there was...someone...but he already knew his body was far too full of alcohol to even manage to stand up, so he was perfectly safe from doing something stupid. His mind, however, was clearly starting to hallucinate as the flames in his fireplace had turned green. And a girl stepped out of them. He hiccuped.
"I should have known," Rosalind muttered. "Rabastan, forty glasses of brandy does not count as a Thanksgiving meal," she scolded, taking the glass from him.
"I. Onleee. Haff. Eyteen," he mumbled, showing the number of glasses he had on his fingers. Wait, no, he didn't have that many fingers.
Rosalind tried not to giggle. "Merlin, you are quite pissed."
In his mind, Rabastan sat up and pointed at Rosalind. In reality, he blinked sleepily. "Mmmnot pissssed."
"Of course, you aren't," she muttered, picking the brandy decanter up as well. Rabastan swiped at it. He missed.
Rosalind turned as Rabastan's fingers grazed her hip. "Piss drunk and still trying to get me into bed."
"Mmmmnot," Rabastan slurred.
Rosalind giggled again as she put the alcohol away. She walked back to Rabastan and sat down. She picked the package she had arrived with up. Rabastan looked at it. "Isssat?"
"It's turkey," she said.
"Waaabut yourr famlee?" Rabastan tried his best not to slur. He failed.
"They won't notice I'm gone," she answered as she brushed the hair out of his face with her fingers. She turned to the tiny box of food she had brought over. Picking a marshmallow up, she clipped it between her lips and bent down to feed it to Rabastan.
"Oh!" Rosalind pressed her forefinger against her lips. "I forgot you're supposed to say what you're grateful for before you eat," she looked at the now-empty box.
"Brandy," Rabastan replied promptly, having regained his speech skills.
"Brandy," Rosalind repeated, looking at him.
Rabastan sat up, caught the back of her head and looked at her. "Yeah, keeps me from going insane when you're not around."
"And you said you weren't roman--" the rest of her sentence was drowned in Rabastan's kiss.