» Yesterday's News, Private

[Felicity Prewett]

never let me go

The Words: 265 The Tag: James <3 The Notes It’s go time.

February 16th, 1882

She was being childish—again. How did he always bring out her girlish, foolish side, the side that threw a tantrum as if Fiona had tried to steal a favourite doll (which, if the redhead recalled correctly, had happened quite often)? It wasn’t even recent news. She hadn’t read the Prophet from the day prior until this morning...and perhaps, Felicity realized, that might be the reason she was behaving less patiently than usual to those villagers relying on her care that day.

At least she was assigned to Miss Fallon today—that was something; she had yet to actually see James.

It wasn’t as if Felicity had any claim to him, nor that she was convinced she wanted to. Though they were on better terms now than they had been for the entirety of January, Fee still would not have said that their relationship—a comfortable, friendly one before—had quite returned to where it had been before... The Incident. Still, she liked to believe that they had regained friendly terms, at least enough so that he would have told her something like this.

Too, she was surprised. When they had reopened communications between them, he had suggested to her that he had been in love with his Alice Lovegood, that that had been a trigger for his deplorable behaviour. And now the intern awoke to this? She was no longer as sure of James Riley’s moods as she once was, to be sure, but this seemed a bit of an about face, even for him.

Why, in Merlin’s name, was he marrying a prostitute?!

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[James Riley]

Twenty-four hours, almost exactly, since he'd first opened up the paper and seen his face plastered on the front cover. He'd gone through work in somewhat of a daze, and then had asked for a half-day off, which his superiors had gladly given him, though whether this was because of sympathy for his name and deeds being posted in the paper, or because it was distasteful for them to be so near someone who had apparently entered into such a relationship, he wasn't sure. In any case, as he'd realized after getting home, he hadn't seen any of the interns and had only briefly run into the other healers and coming into work the next day, he had no idea what to expect.

James had worn a scarf and hat into work that day, because he would not allow anyone to speak to him on the street. As such, he'd managed to get in with little incident, but now he had to face the entire day. He couldn't very well go home early again. He needed to find some way to solve this, but of course Everett had been no help. All his "best friend" had done was offer him booze, and James was quite adament about staying sober for as long as possible after his month-long drinking binge. So, for all intents and purposes, Ev hadn't even the slightest solution except "get over it," which wasn't particularly helpful.

His heart just about stopped when he caught a glimpe of Felicity. Of course, she was the one he'd really been worried about, for all that he didn't want to admit it to himself. He wondered if she'd read the paper yet--was there a chance that she hadn't? Did fate think that well of him?

"Good morning, Miss Prewett," he said to catch her attention, knowing that he'd be able to tell from the color of her cheeks whether she'd been exposed to the story or not.

[Felicity Prewett]

never let me go

The Words: 250 The Tag: James <3 The Notes It’s go time.

Oh. He was here.

Felicity had not quite prepared herself for that much, had not finished processing this new information enough to actually engage—just thinking as much made the intern chastise herself for noticing foolish puns under the current circumstances—with him. Miss Fallon had been one thing, the patients, save for her grumping, another, but James himself was a horse of a different color.

Smiling broadly and sweetly in the hopes of masking her feelings—those which she had not yet discovered—for all that her eyes possessed something of a deer-in-headlights look, she turned to the wizard after only half a moment’s hesitation. “Good morning, Mr. Riley,” Fee greeted, voice perhaps a little higher, a litter bit more chipper than was her standard. “Are you well today?” Are you going to explain yourself today? Am I going to be able to stop smiling like a lunatic today?

The intern was not at all prepared for this. A foreigner. A lower class girl. A prostitute. Once more, the witch caught herself explaining, well, herself to herself: it was not that she was jealous; she had not given the matter enough thought for that; no, no, she was purely troubled, troubled that... that what? That he wasn’t comfortable enough to confide such drastic developments to her? That he would attach himself to that woman sooner than he would to a friend? No doubt this whore of his had talents Felicity, quite rightly, had not yet considered looking, but still!

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[James Riley]

Her smile gave him a confidence boost, for sure. Their relationship at present was iffy at best, but he was fairly certain that if she had read the Prophet article, she wouldn't be happy about it. Not that she had any reason to be unhappy about it, per ce, but she would at least be scandalized. So she probably hadn't seen. Maybe? Could he be that lucky?

There was something in her demeanor that should have tipped him off that something wasn't all right, but it was just so much easier to believe, to hope against hope, that maybe she really hadn't seen it. He tried to return her smile, but his grin faltered a half-second later, realizing that he couldn't really pretend he hadn't seen that momentary look of panic and surprise when he'd greeted her.

But what to say? On the slight, slight chance that she hadn't seen, or heard, he didn't really want to bring it up, but if this was just an elephant in the room it seemed silly not to address it. And how to answer that question? Was he well today? That depended, he decided, to a large extent on whether she'd heard or not. How much she was judging him.

You shouldn't care this much what she thinks, he reasoned, but it was foolish of him to pretend that he didn't. He cared what Fee thought more than almost anyone; Ev might have had more sway if he ever managed to have opinions, but since he didn't, Fee was about all James had in the way of a conscious.

"I've--been better," he said finally, feeling some color rise to his cheeks. He needed to address this, but was dreading doing so. Instead, he reflected the question back at her. "And how have you been? Pleasant morning so far?"

[Felicity Prewett]

never let me go

The Words: 282 The Tag: James The Notes It’s go time.

He was publically betrothed to a prostitute and he could have been better? Of course he could have been better, he was in one of the most scandalous positions he could have mustered; he did not even have the allowance for such eccentricities afforded to him by his status, as Duke Seymor did (not, of course, that Felicity thought that excused the latter’s similar actions, but she was not so naive as to believe that one’s position within a society did not make a difference)! And yet still, James elected to go along with this foolish engagement, however it had come about—and still had the gall to complain about it?!

But Fee could not berate him for it; she had given him enough trouble of late—though he had, she reasoned, earned it.

Likewise, she could not question his dissatisfaction, for that would open a door—a door that, the redhead knew, she could not close without berating him. It was a horrible situation, and one that her prim and proper upbringing had not prepared her for. Not once had her aunt touched upon ‘how to deal with one’s friendish-type colleague becoming betrothed to a prostitute’ in her etiquette teachings; Felicity most certainly would have recalled it now, if she had.

“Miss Fallon has been working me hard, as is to be expected,” the witch offered, sidestepping around his seeming lack of enthusiasm for his current circumstances. “It has kept me from thinking upon much else, which, in turn, has kept me largely neutral, on the whole.” And now she was lying through her teeth; she had done little more than over-think since the paper had graced her lap at breakfast.

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[James Riley]

That couldn't have been accidental. She'd been busy, she hadn't thought about anything, and thus was largely neutral. What a choice of words, oddly suited to the situation if she really didn't know what he was thinking of. Still, it could have been worse--at least she was maintaining neutrality. At the end of January, she'd been pretty openly hostile--though he supposed he'd really deserved that. This time he absolutely didn't--he was the victim in the situation, if anything, a victim of that horrible Ventus woman, but of course Fee wouldn't have assumed that. Based on his previous conduct, why wouldn't she assume that he was really engaged to a brothel girl?

"Neutral," he repeated, clinging to the idea. Maybe if he repeated it, it would enforce it and she would actually remain neutral--but was that really what he wanted? He kind of hoped that she would be... not angry. He didn't want her angry. But maybe disappointed?

That was ridiculous. He needed to say something. "Do you read the paper on a daily basis?" he blurted, completely out of the blue. Why had he said that? Now there was no going back. Merlin, why had he tried to talk to her at all? Maybe he could fix this somehow, or just wait for the whole thing to blow over, and then talk to Fee after it was all done. But it was a little late to say goodbye and run away now. He'd asked her a question, so he had to at least hear the answer. Shit, what was he doing?

[Felicity Prewett]

never let me go

The Words: 279 The Tag: James The Notes It’s go time.

Do you read the paper on a daily basis?

No, no, no. She was not prepared to deal with matter for herself, never mind actually discuss it with the man involved. He was moving quite too quickly for her liking—not, Felicity realized with some discomfort, for the first time—and the intern had to struggle to regain her composure and attempt to move the conversation in a more desirable direction. It would not be a lie, per se, Fee reasoned; rather, she would be evasive, would guide him away from this uncomfortable topic and onto more neutral ground.

Neutral. It was there again. Could she truly have felt neutral on the matter, as she so adamantly insisted, and fret so much about discussing it? That was an even less pleasing train of thought to ride on, and Felicity vowed to disembark from it at the next available opportunity.

“Er, n-no, Sir,” Felicity responded slowly, carefully, still mildly taken aback by his blurted question. “I was quite too busy to pick it up yesterday, for example, and that is hardly the first time I have simply been too tired or too short of time to indulge in it—particularly with what it seems to have become of late,” she added knowingly. His was not the only scandal to have been plastered in ink upon the paper’s pages in recent months; she was quite honest in expressing her displeasure at the Prophet’s lack of real news—and besides, for all that Fee found herself capable (or at least tried to present herself as such), such constant bombardment with this and that scandal did, to an extent, trouble her.

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[James Riley]

No? No, she didn't read the paper? No, she hadn't read it yesterday? James really couldn't believe his luck. He had realized that he had started holding his breath after the question, but he released it now, relieved. Could it really be true? She hadn't seen the article, she didn't know?

He should have seen through this charade, but the idea that she hadn't read it was just too comfortable, especially after his little moment of inner panic, that he latched onto it and refused to let himself see beyond. Fee had said that she hadn't read the paper yesterday. Why would she lie about that? She wouldn't; she had no reason to. If anything, having read the paper would have made her more prone to want to talk about it, in his opinion. So she hadn't; it was decided.

"Oh," he breathed, not taking any particular care to keep his relief hidden. "Alright."

Then he was struck by a thought; she would probably hear about it anyone. People talked. And now there were a lot of people "in on the story," or so they thought, who would want to talk. This would be even worse than if she had read the paper--he wouldn't know when it was coming and might accidentally incriminate himself. Biting the corner of his lip, he added hesitantly, in a voice that was trying and failing to seem nonchalant, "Good that you missed the paper yesterday--it was complete rubbish."

Would that be enough? Would she remember such an offhand comment when she did hear about it? He shouldn't press his luck; it was enough good fortune for a month that she had somehow missed the article in the first place. In any case, he could deal with that whent he situation arose; for now it was enough that at least she didn't think all that about him at the moment, because he was still floundering under the news himself, and couldn't possibly find his way out long enough to somehow dissuade her. Besides, the truth of the situation wasn't exactly rosy--he had taken a prostitute out on a friendly afternoon, and if he said that much, she would want to know how he'd gotten to know her, which he was by no means prepared to answer. Somehow Ev did it didn't seem like a valid excuse in this context.

[Felicity Prewett]

never let me go

The Words: 309 The Tag: James The Notes It’s go time.

Rubbish? That must be it, she decided: James had disliked the judgemental way in which the article had treated his relationship (though had it treated it in any other way, Felicity herself would have been quite disappointed), and that was the reason he was not exactly over-the-moon today. He seemed almost pleased at the assumption that she had not read the article; perhaps, the intern wondered, he did in fact intend to tell her himself and did not want her to become... biased by outside sources before doing so? Outside influences or no, however, the witch had little doubt that she would find the matter ludicrous and, as his social equal—social better, depending on who one asked; though blood purity was not a priority in the redhead’s eyes, she was well aware that the name Prewett afforded her a certain extra measure of... prestige?—rather insulting: he dared to choose a foreign whore over one of her peers?

Once again, Felicity reminded herself that this matter was not of her concern, and that it would be best not to allow it to trouble her.

“I would have thought you would be too busy to indulge in such trifles, too,” Fee teased, though it fell somewhat flat even to her ears. Could it be that he did not even wish her to know that the article existed? From their conversation, it was apparent that he did not know she knew of his bride-to-be, and she was certainly hesitant to steer the conversation in that direction—but how long would their forced ignorance last?

To keep her hands occupied, the intern started digging in the small supply cupboard beside her, relieved to have an excuse to no longer look at him. “You’ve not seen any essence of dittany, have you? We’ve had word of a splincher on her way in.”

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[James Riley]

James had no idea how to take her comment. Was it lighthearted, a joke? Or perhaps a biting critique that he had missed the bite on? What was he supposed to be too busy doing? And how should he respond? Should he try and defend the fact that he read the paper? He certainly didn't want to convert her now and have her start reading the paper, but he felt like if she had been criticizing him--or even if it had been playful--it merited some kind of response.

He was thinking too much into this, he realized. "Top right, behind the doxy eggs. They should be labelled," he answered without really thinking. He had worked here since the place was built; there was rarely something he didn't know the exact place of.

Relax, James, try to act casually, he told himself. He awkwardly leaned on a nearby counter. He wished he had something in his hands now, coffee or chocolate or liquor. Anything, really. Say something, he chided, but wasn't sure what to say and didn't want to repeat the rashness of the blurted question of a moment earlier.

"I usually read the Prophet over breakfast before work," he explained, somewhat lamely. "It's something to do, and it used to be a good way to stay current--though now I find more often than not it simply puts me in a disagreeable mood." To say the least.

[Felicity Prewett]

never let me go

The Words: 263 The Tag: James The Notes It’s go time.

Finding the requisite vile, she pulled it from the depths of the cabinet, resting it delicately—it would not do to break it!—on the counter top, curious as to how much longer James would insist upon making her uncomfortable before she could run off and return to work. Oh, on an intellectual level she knew that she could make her excuses at any point and James would bear her no grudge for fleeing to her work but, subconsciously, Felicity suspected she wanted to hear what he had to say, or to simply get the discussion-that-was-not-at-all-wanted out of the way. Surely that would be easier than avoiding him for the next week for fear that she might say the wrong thing—or that saying the right thing might cause offense.

“I try to, but I often find that I lack the time—this morning was a rare treat in that respect,” Fee offered, fleetingly meeting his eyes, still evading which edition of the paper it was she had had the pleasure of perusing that morning. “Though it does not hinder me too much, I find; between my sisters and patients, I am often kept up-to-date on the latest, noteworthy news.” Perhaps, Felicity realized belatedly, that comment might have hit too near the mark she was trying to avoid. “I’ll admit,” the intern added hurriedly, “that’s the only way I even heard about the incident at the theatre!” It wasn’t quite so bad as she made it out to be; she had heard from her sister, who had been in attendance at the time.

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[James Riley]

James' heart was starting to beat a little faster, wondering exactly where she was going with this. She had read the paper that morning. He tried to retrace the entire paper in his mind, looking for anything incriminating, although of course he'd read it once already and hadn't noticed anything of interest. Reading the paper that morning was probably harmless--so it was time to worry about the second thing she'd said. The rumor mill--goodness, he should have been worrying about that from the start. She had said that she hadn't read the paper, but she could have still heard.

Why was this so complicated? Once upon a time he had been able to talk easily with Fee, openly, lightly, honestly. When had it transformed itself into... this?

The latest noteworthy news. Was it his paranoia that made that sound like it fit his situation exactly? No, it couldn't be--she was talking about the article! She'd heard somehow! --but then she changed the subject, to the happenings at the theatre. James had almost forgotten, though it had happened just earlier that week and should have still been fresh in his mind. He had never been big on the theatre and no one had been killed or seriously injured, so he hadn't taken particular notice. It was interesting, but not really worth making an impression in his memory.

"Yes, that was quite horrible," he said, then added, almost without thinking, "Though it's nice to have some real news--the Prophet reports nothing but scandal articles most days."

And why, in Merlin's name, had he said that?

[Felicity Prewett]

never let me go

The Words: 221 The Tag: James The Notes It took great pains to type this. Literally.

Nothing but scandal. Did that mean he agreed that it was in fact scandalous? Why the hell, then, was he doing such a foolhardy thing?! “That much is true,” she agreed, cautiously. “I sometimes wonder what kind of—if you’ll excuse my harshness—idiots reside in Hogsmeade; surely there must be something in our water, to make so many of us make such deplorable decisions.” Well, that was that then, her standpoint: his was a deplorable decision. Nothing more to it, nothing less—but why would she care if he made deplorable decisions? Provided, of course, that they did not affect his work at the hospital, as his drinking had done.

Well. With her mind made up—was it?—there was hardly no excuse for her to postpone biting the bullet any longer.

“Duke Seymor, for example, becoming engaged to a courtesan—why, that’s just a fancy name for a whore—though of course,” Fee added hurriedly, “I am hardly an expert on such a subject. What on earth could he be thinking, to do such a thing?” What on earth are you thinking, James? How big a fool could you have become? I thought men behaved more sensibly when they took themselves off the drink?! She still, for whatever reason, could not bring herself to address James’ situation in particular.

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[James Riley]

The color drained from his face immediately.

Damn. Damn. No matter what she was saying, he knew now, conclusively, that she had read the article. And apparently had the desired--or undesired?--response, if she was talking this hastily on the subject. He knew her well enough, at least, to be able to tell that she wasn't pleased about what she was saying, or rather what she was not saying.

He realized, then, what he wanted--he didn't want her to be angry, or disappointed, or scandalized, though of course she probably would be at least one of those three. They were the logical choices. What he wanted, though, more than any particular reaction, was for her to care that he'd just "gotten engaged." Why he wanted her to care, he couldn't say, exactly, but he did. And it was fairly obvious from the way she was speaking that not only did she know, she did care. No one spoke with such emotion on a subject they were apathetic about.

Still, even if this was, in a way, a favorable reaction, he couldn't bring himself to be relieved. Because now he had to deal with this. Right now. Damn.

"I cannot speak for Duke Seymor," he said evenly, "As I've never met the man, but I believe that the Prophet sometimes--skims over some important details," he finished, his cheeks burning. He wondered whether they would really be red, conquering the pallor that had taken hold of him, or whether his white-as-a-sheet look would win out.

[Felicity Prewett]

never let me go

The Words: 237 The Tag: James The Notes Owww my arm D:

For the first time, the witch set her own thoughts aside briefly—fleetingly so—and took proper stock of her surroundings: was James ill, or was she just, in a sense, projecting her own unease upon him? “What possible details could be skipped over that might excuse living with, and subsequently threatening to force upon society, a prostitute?” That much, at least, was focused almost entirely on the Duke, as, to her knowledge, James had not yet taken up residence with his Japanese friend. “Quite frankly, any scandal is scandal, and it is the participants’ own faults if they fail to let any important details go unperceived. Image, Mr. Riley, is important, as I’m sure you well know.

And right now, Mr. Riley, yours is horrible.

And what was with this latest nonsense—he had danced their conversation ever closer to the discussion of his own impending nuptials, a discussion that she herself had quite readily avoided and now that she was prepared, for the moment, to touch lightly on the matter, he saw fit to delay the conversational outcome Felicity had believed him so eager to pursue? He truly was trying to make her uncomfortable, if this was the route he was electing to take, and she had half a mind to abandon him altogether and hope not to see him again for a few weeks—as unlikely a dream as that might have been.

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