#⚜ Interaction — ❝ marlene & percy ❞

[percys-perfect]

Tag dump!

(there is nothing behind the curtain)

[percys-perfect]

percy is thoroughly unsettled by those who have returned from the dead, and seeing them at christmas dinner? it's enough to make his skin crawl, though he's got the manners not to say anything about it.

percy approaches--or rather, percy's third cousin once removed does. it is far easier for cousin steve weasley to maneuver through order relationships than the man that many consider a traitor for working with the wraiths. and this way he can still make sure his children are alright. or as alright as they can be. he's almost starting to get used to the taste of the polyjuice.

marlene doesn't know it (how could she ? ) but she was a whispered legend for the young weasleys. she died when he was five years old and yet here she is. younger than him (his daughter's age) and throwing up in the bushes.

he easily summons a bottle of water. his twenties were not spent on such things, but he has always among the more conscientious of his friends.

"i think we're all a little overwhelmed at this point," he says, offering the bottle, "it's just that some of us are dealt a more difficult hand. give it a few days, i'm sure you'll feel better."

merlin, he hopes he'll be used to all of this in a few days.

WHO marlene mckinnon & OPEN WHEN 25.12.30 (christmas with the order) WHERE outside 12 grimmauld place

She's going to hurl. In typical Marlene fashion, she had drank and drank and drank if only to just show off that she could hold her liquor as well as everyone else seemed to. But all of that and she still didn't quite understand how she was standing here. Bloodied crescent-moons dug into her palms, her own reminder to herself that she was in fact standing here. She was standing here.

Sunset-flushed, with ruffled hair, and breath panting out in small, burning clouds against the night air, she stumbles her way away from the party and to a quieter part of the street. She can barely see straight when she bends over, her stomach starting to bubble and boil its way past her tongue and straight into the bushes, the sounds of retching the only thing cutting through the silence. She hated it—hated the weakness in it—but she could not stop. The goblet remains clenched in her grip, as though it alone could tether her to this world, this moment, this fleeting shred of something resembling life. But even as her stomach writhes, her fingers tighten around the chalice with desperate conviction.

Her hands are shaking when she straightened back up and out of the corner of her eye she sees – in her spinning, fluorescent world – a figure standing opposite her. Another gulp of her drink seemed necessary, and she doesn't even care that her mouth was still coated with the thick taste of vomit. Her eyes flicker up to theirs, the back of her hand dragging across her mouth in a half-assed attempt to seem decent.

Her lips twitch into something that resembled a grin, “Ah, well. A second chance at life and this is what I do with it—big surprise.” Her voice cracks slightly, but she brushes it off. She takes another swig from her goblet, almost as if to prove a point.

“I should probably start charging admission for the entertainment, don’t you think? I’ve got all the drama and none of the dignity.” The words coming out more challenge than apology. A short bark of laughter passing through her lips, the sound brittle and unfamiliar. She tries to steady herself, and then gave a little shrug before allowing the wall beside her to take her weight. It was an offer of nothing—no excuse, no reason. Just her, standing in the hollow silence of the street, still wearing the remnants of the life she no longer knew how to live.