Agent: I just sold a house to that actor from Smallville. Vince: Where's Smallville?
My show really is back. I was a bit worried as episode 2.1 was a bit crap, and then 2.2 was ace. This was my deal breaker, but people, it's all about Entourage.
He would be like the friggin Godfather. It'd be crazy. He'd have his own hit squads that he'd hire out, and Narcissa would try to have him killed, and he'd be like, 'No, this is not going happen. If you try to kill me, I'll kill you. We will have a symbotic co-existence, cos you're like the only family I have left. Even though Blaise killed Draco.' It would be so spectacularly dysfunctional. Blaise would send him random owls, and Theodore would go crazy because Blaise had made himself Unplottable. Actually they both were/are. Stupid magic. Terry Boot would be Theodore's second (Ravenclaws aren't stupid). They'd have sex a lot. Terry would totally fancy Theodore, but Theodore would be all about finding Blaise. Blaise would be his White Rabbit.
He'd have his own hit squads that he'd hire out, and Narcissa would try to have him killed, and he'd be like, 'No, this is not going happen. If you try to kill me, I'll kill you. We will have a symbotic co-existence, cos you're like the only family I have left. Even though Blaise killed Draco.'
Fucking GUH.
And the remaining Gryffindors would hate what was happening to Gotham their world, but Potter's long dead, and Weasley's left, and Hermione can't do much by herself to stop them -- Theodore keeps her alive because Neville would have --
Not that he thinks like that. Not anymore.
Blaise would be his White Rabbit.
And Blaise has been there, right there, all along ...
Yes, it's all very cloudy in Theodore's head these days. He thinks of Neville in these hazy terms that can't have any possible bearing on reality. He's certain that Neville was never as good as he's making him out to be in his head -- and then he smacks himself in the head, literally (this tends to freak out his underlings), because he can't malign the first person he ever loved. And then he thinks that's wrong because he loved Blaise first, but Blaise just fucking left him. Blaise just left and now Theodore's this crazy twenty-three year old Slytherin running a crime syndiate that protects wizards from Muggles and then revists something special on the Muggles, because he hates Muggles.*
*He blames the muggle government for not doing anything to help wizarding kind during the war. Total anarchist, man.
There are shadows, and then there are shadows, and it's been a long time since Theodore Nott has had to differentiate between the two.
But today (and here he sits, restlessly folding his hands, studying his fingers; something jogs at his memory, but he pushes it back), today feels like it might bring something new.
He doesn't think of Neville much in his day-to-day activities. He tends to think of Blaise much more, but recently, even 'more' isn't that much. Hermione would call it coping, but the last time Hermione sent him an owl with that word in the message he set the bird on fire and had it delivered with beans and potatoes. Hermione stopped sending him owls after that. Now she just calls on him at inappropriate times, but with Neville gone, Theodore doesn't have to be civil to her anymore. Blaise used to tolerate Hermione far more than Theodore ever did; he suspects it was simply part of Blaise's plan to irritate him. It always worked. Theodore doesn't like referring to Blaise in the past tense -- it makes him irritable. More irritable that usual, and when Terry Boot arrives at the office at ten-past-eight, he finds Theodore sitting behind his mammoth-size oak desk, cigarette burning in his oyster-shell ashtray, and flipping through the Daily Prophet.
Theodore doesn't sleep more than four hours a night, and he's on his third cappuccino of the day. Terry drops a fresh croissant on Theodore's desk and opens the bay window without so much as a hello. They've moved far beyond trite pleasantries, and Terry makes a 'mmm' noise as Theodore reads from the financial pages. "Gold has gone down six Knuts," he says matter-of-factly. "Rubies are up one Sickle and Sapphires are flat."
Terry's looking out the window, and Theodore frowns when he realises Terry's not paying attention. "And then I set them all on fire and danced a merry jig."
Terry turns to Theodore in confusion. "Whom did you set on fire?" he asks distractedly. He's addressing Theodore, but his eyes are on something occurring outside the window, and his forehead is wrinkled like an old warlock's. His mousy brown hair looks unkempt and messy, but Theodore knows how much product goes into such an effect.
Theodore frowns; Terry's not paying attention at all, and he grabs his cigarette and gets up from his desk. "The Muggle Prime Minister," he says, taking a quick inhalation as he walks over to Terry's side. "It's been a dream of mine for a long time.
Terry's still not focussing on Theodore. "Do you plan on telling me what's so interesting outside that window or are we playing a game."
There are circles under Terry's eyes, which is not particularly confidence building in an advisor. "Do you ever feel like you're being followed?"
Theodore raised an eyebrow and took another drag of is cigarette. "Yes," he said, "but that's because I normally am."
The window sill is slick with wards; they shimmer in slick silver warning as Theodore steps closer. The smoke from his cigarette ripples over the gossamer spell-threads -- he saw a Muggle film once with laser rays and jewel heists and a great deal of wriggling. Blaise loved it, Theodore hated it, and there, there he is again.
"I could have been a flim star," Blaise used to say. Blaise used to say a lot of things.
Terry looks tired, and Theodore is not pleased. It is Terry's place to be tired when Theodore makes him tired. But Terry hasn't been around much lately, which is interesting, isn't it, and just where has Mr. Terry Boot been, at that?
"I think I'm being followed," Terry says again.
Theodore looks once more at the wards. Theodore leans against the wall, feeling the wet chill of a dozen protective magic-dampening charms leaking through the wool of his jacket.
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hackthis_archive) wrote2005-06-19 06:06 pm
no subject
no subject
Fucking GUH.
And the remaining Gryffindors would hate what was happening to
Gothamtheir world, but Potter's long dead, and Weasley's left, and Hermione can't do much by herself to stop them -- Theodore keeps her alive because Neville would have --Not that he thinks like that. Not anymore.
Blaise would be his White Rabbit.
And Blaise has been there, right there, all along ...
no subject
*He blames the muggle government for not doing anything to help wizarding kind during the war. Total anarchist, man.
no subject
There are shadows, and then there are shadows, and it's been a long time since Theodore Nott has had to differentiate between the two.
But today (and here he sits, restlessly folding his hands, studying his fingers; something jogs at his memory, but he pushes it back), today feels like it might bring something new.
no subject
Theodore doesn't sleep more than four hours a night, and he's on his third cappuccino of the day. Terry drops a fresh croissant on Theodore's desk and opens the bay window without so much as a hello. They've moved far beyond trite pleasantries, and Terry makes a 'mmm' noise as Theodore reads from the financial pages. "Gold has gone down six Knuts," he says matter-of-factly. "Rubies are up one Sickle and Sapphires are flat."
Terry's looking out the window, and Theodore frowns when he realises Terry's not paying attention. "And then I set them all on fire and danced a merry jig."
Terry turns to Theodore in confusion. "Whom did you set on fire?" he asks distractedly. He's addressing Theodore, but his eyes are on something occurring outside the window, and his forehead is wrinkled like an old warlock's. His mousy brown hair looks unkempt and messy, but Theodore knows how much product goes into such an effect.
Theodore frowns; Terry's not paying attention at all, and he grabs his cigarette and gets up from his desk. "The Muggle Prime Minister," he says, taking a quick inhalation as he walks over to Terry's side. "It's been a dream of mine for a long time.
Terry's still not focussing on Theodore. "Do you plan on telling me what's so interesting outside that window or are we playing a game."
There are circles under Terry's eyes, which is not particularly confidence building in an advisor. "Do you ever feel like you're being followed?"
Theodore raised an eyebrow and took another drag of is cigarette. "Yes," he said, "but that's because I normally am."
no subject
"I could have been a flim star," Blaise used to say. Blaise used to say a lot of things.
Terry looks tired, and Theodore is not pleased. It is Terry's place to be tired when Theodore makes him tired. But Terry hasn't been around much lately, which is interesting, isn't it, and just where has Mr. Terry Boot been, at that?
"I think I'm being followed," Terry says again.
Theodore looks once more at the wards. Theodore leans against the wall, feeling the wet chill of a dozen protective magic-dampening charms leaking through the wool of his jacket.
"Tell me," he says.