(Untitled)

[grabmyballs]

There's a couple of things Cook's learned since his first day on this island. Chief among them is that this place is nails your balls to the wall boring. Yeah, there's miles of beaches. Fucking whatever. There's no nightlife to speak of, a limited and piss-poor selection of drugs and alcohol and without those two things playing the field becomes an

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[honestlyrubbish]

The nice thing about the Compound was that practically all services a citizen could require in a pinch could be found on a single floor of the building. For Hermione, having the Clinic, the Council offices, and the IPD in such close vicinity calms her more than she likes to admit, having that bird's eye view of most that she would take interest in, even being able to hear voices through the wall and determine, through the level of panic in their tones, whether or not she's needed to offer extra help. That was how she'd heard a rather disgruntled exchange about some prankster who appeared to be steadily making his way across the island, from callbox to callbox, and why Hermione had set herself out (having already finished more than her share of paperwork for the day) to find the offender and impress upon him how important it was that the lines remain clear and resources not be strained thin in the event of an actual emergency

[grabmyballs]

He expects it. Let's be honest, it's a small fucking island and they've got fuck all else to do. Cook expects someone to collar him just as much as he expects them not to be arsed enough to chasing after him. He doesn't expect it from so young -- or accidentally familiar -- a voice.

He turns, all smiles and ready wit, but the words die on his lips and the smile freezes on his face. Hermione Granger's chasing after him. Fuck the books or whatever, Cook'll give her a ride on his broomstick anytime. But it's still so surreal a moment that even Cook has trouble coming up with a reply.

Instead he just stops, ostensibly obedient, with a hint of a smile on his face as he waits for whatever comes next.

Best way to spend an afternoon? Easy.

[honestlyrubbish]

There's something in the young man's gaze that throws Hermione off, makes it hard to know how exactly to proceed with giving him the inevitable lecture. There's surprise and recognition alike in his eyes, and something else entirely, something Hermione doesn't want to put her finger on. It's pretty clear by now that there are a lot of people on the island who know Hermione, although the 'how' is still something that isn't entirely clear to her- it's the next detail she needs to clear up, and a part of her is tempted to ask, but she shakes that away as best as she can. First, comes her responsibility as a member of the Council.

"Are you the young man who's been using the callboxes for prank calls all day?" she asks, still hurrying on over to his side, before he can make the decision to tear away again and out of her reach. "Do you even know how many resources that ties up and wastes? And how valuable it is on an island of such limited means to keep those lines clear for real emergencies?" She breathes heavily, the last exhale more of

[grabmyballs]

She's all kinds of twisted up and it's easy for Cook's filthy, finely tuned imagination to figure different reasons for the heavy breathing, the way her hair falls around her face, the intense look in her eye, the parting of her lips as she waits for him. Her arms press against her chest, increasing the swell of her breasts under her shirt, and Cook's rather pleased with this reaming, it must be said.

He doesn't answer the first question; she's already answered it for herself. A little off-putting that, not being given the benefit of the doubt. Did he just look like a troublemaker? Yes, but that didn't mean people had to act on it. He frowns with a look of interest, crossing his own arms over his chest. "You know, I don't know," he replies matter-of-factly. "How many resources? How valuable is it?"

He's looking for numbers because he knows she hasn't got them. The long and the short of it is that it doesn't fucking matter. Nothing Cook does matters anymore.

[honestlyrubbish]

"Eighteen active members on the IPD, five members of the support staff, and thirty-four emergency call boxes for a population of over two-hundred," Hermione rattles off, arms still cross and tone clipped. There's no point in scolding him the way that she might have her friends, because at the end of the day, she doesn't know this young man, and the only authority she has over him is on an official level (not something everyone on the island thinks worth honoring). But if she can at least convince him of the importance of keeping the call boxes clear, then she'll consider that a job well done. "Every time you call in asking for help, we'd have to send an officer out there, and if you're calling from a few miles away, then it could take hours for them to reach the call box, scour the area, then head back to report. Believe me, I could understand if you were making some type of statement against the perils of bureaucracy, but our resources are very limited for the scope of problems that plague this island

[grabmyballs]

"Well fuck me," Cook murmurs, though in the face of that kind of recall, he forgets to murmur it so much as just say it. It's sort of impressive, though all that shows on Cook's face is a kind of slack-jawed surprise.

He takes that and twists it, shifting his expressions through an array of feelings. First he's surprised, yes, and then as the information sinks in, he takes time to consider it. His mouth bends thoughtfully, he nods along. But then he winces, being good enough to look apologetic as he does, and shakes his head.

"Sorry, miss," Cook says, the word not at all as respectful as it should be (but not, notably, all together disrespectful). "But if you're sending officers out into the wilderness 'cause someone's reported a runaway fridge, you've got bigger problems on your hands than lack of resources. You should up your standards if your bobbies can't tell a prank call from a real, screaming, bloody emergency.""

[honestlyrubbish]

Although Hermione has a habit of scolding people at the slightest provocation, these days, it's difficult for that anger or irritation to remain for long. Put into perspective, problems like prank calls pale in comparison to most of what she's seen in the past year, and even she has to admit that she's more irritated than anything else. The rules are there for a reason, to be sure, but to pretend that this young man's put the system at great danger would be an exaggeration at best.

She exhales deeply, eyes closing for a moment, before she speaks up again.

"We haven't... sent out officers in response to all of your calls. Actually, I neglected to check whether or not any officers were sent out at all- my guess is that they've learned to recognize your voice by now- but the point is that if one person breaks the rules, then others are more likely to follow. And it might be ordering Chinese food or reporting runaway appliances at first, but it could quickly become dying of thirst, or spotting a dinosaur, things that we can't just

[grabmyballs]

Here's the part that Cook loves about this island. He tilts his head to the side, his gaze never leaving her and asks, "What rules?"

He knows the "blank slate" rule, easy. He's aware that they're called emergency call boxes, but there's no ready definition of emergency. He's even taken the time to discover that there's a declaration somewhere. He's only skimmed it, not interested enough to do any more once he got the gist of the document (kumbaya and treat your neighbor as yourself). It's almost enough to make him want to get involved in politics again, because being on this council would give him a bigger laugh than winning the Roundview elections.

"Now, maybe it's 'cause I'm new," he allows, trying to sound reasonable. "But I'm not aware of any laws at all."

[honestlyrubbish]

It isn't difficult to conclude that this young man wants to get under Hermione's skin. He isn't the first, won't be the last, and part of being on the Council (or indeed, of having any type of administrative position at all) is fielding questions, complaints, and concerns. Perhaps it's the dedication to her job that has Hermione keeping her calm remarkably well, but at the same time, this man certainly isn't earning her favor, and the slight spark in her eyes serves as such indication. Her gaze travels to the side for a moment as she tries to determine how precisely she wants to reply, what will give him the least avenue to be a smartass

[grabmyballs]

It doesn't take a clever person to find them. Read: You're not clever, Cook. But he doesn't give a damn if Hermione Granger thinks he's clever or not. She's got her nose shoved too far in a book for her own good anyway, and it doesn't stop her from picking up the likes of Ron Weasley. Clearly compensating for something there.

He doesn't hear most of what else she says, though his gaze never wavers and his expression barely changes. It grows hard for a moment. "You don't know fuck all about me," Cook informs her, reminds her really because that should be standard. Chewing him out for prank calls does not an acquaintance make.

"But if you're asking," he continues, face and tone pliable, shifting capriciously to a more open expression, "so nice and politely, then I suppose I should explore my options. Think I could find some fun in your knickers?"

[honestlyrubbish]

"I didn't know much about you," Hermione corrects, feeling her expression grow hard, forcefully neutral, because this kind of behavior and treatment is precisely what she despises in boys, and is one of the reasons why she continues to be grateful for the two that she calls her best friends. They might be clueless at times, or needlessly stubborn at others, but at least they have the decency to treat others with respect.

"But now I know that you're vile," she continues, nose wrinkling as she shakes her head and rolls her eyes. Having no way to guarantee that any of her warnings have been taken to heart, Hermione turns around and starts heading in the other direction altogether, feeling indignation brewing just under her skin and coloring her cheeks. "Though I'm sure you'd find someone interested enough, if you care to look."

[grabmyballs]

There’s only two possibilities when he makes a play like that and he wasn’t expecting anything positive coming of it. But, chipper and optimistic lad that he is, Cook will take what he can from the rejection. Vile. That is, surprisingly, a new one and Cook basks in the novelty of the insult. And his face isn’t stinging from a slap. That’s always a good thing.

“Oh, I’m looking, sweetheart,” he calls out after her. His tone is lazy and lecherous as he watches her go, watches her arse with deep interest. “Trust me, I’m looking.”

[honestlyrubbish]

With an aggravated huff, Hermione strips herself of the light cotton shirt on her shoulders, the one that she wears to block out the sun. There's a camisole underneath, of course, but the shirt she now ties over her hips- there isn't anything else to see while she's walking away, right?- to block her backside as well as she can. On the bright side, if it can be considered that, at least he's done nothing more than jeer from where he stands.

"Look elsewhere," she calls back. "You'd be better off looking elsewhere."

[grabmyballs]

It's fucking hilarious how twisted up she gets, a sure sign that our man Weasley has yet to succeed where all others will surely fail. Girl needs a deep dicking, make no mistake. He bites his lip to keep from laughing and swallows the worst of it down.

"Like your shoulders?" he shouts after her, not bothering to follow. "Always liked the nape of the neck, you know."

[honestlyrubbish]

Hermione isn't sure whether or not it'll help as she slows down to a stop and glares back in his direction, a small growl catching in her throat. There's a concession in showing so much of her frustration, but the only thing that Hermione can imagine as being worse is not voicing her discomfort at all. Halting, she turns around and steps closer, arms crossing over her chest before she lets out another irritated huff and reaches instead for her shirt, stuffing her arms in the sleeves and wrapping it tightly around.

"Would you please stop?" Hermione asks, and in spite of everything, there's an earnest look in her eyes. It isn't funny. "You're making me uncomfortable. Please."

[grabmyballs]

Cook's a lot of things, but heartless isn't one of them. She's lucky he isn't drunk or high or angry right now, unable to give a shit and seeing only what he wants to see. It was funny, but only because he had thought she was strong enough to handle it. Cook doesn't see the strength in begging someone to stop, not ever, but he can respect her for saying exactly what she wants, not running or spitting back or making veiled remarks.

The smile hangs onto the edge of his mouth, like he's forgotten to put it away and it just got left out on accident. But his eyes aren't laughing anymore.

"Just walk away," he tells her. It's not a challenge. "Just walk away."