Owl to Susan Sto Helit (closed RP for Susan and Charles Macaulay)

[charlesmacaulay.livejournal.com]

((Backdated to just after Henry Winter and Camilla Macaulay's wedding.))



Charles was antsy and bored and wearing a trench in the stone floor of his room from pacing. He needed distraction, somebody to talk to so he could avoid thinking about the honeymoon. Camilla would come back, yes, and his plan could go forward; but for now the fact that she was with Henry, on a honeymoon, was driving Charles crazy. But drink he would not, not after the last time. That just led to mistakes, and Charles refused to make mistakes. Not now. Not this time.

Which mean he couldn't go to Francis. Francis would just encourage him to drink. Or more. More was not a good idea. Richard was out, either - Charles was in no mood to deal with his unrequited melancholy over Camilla. This did not strike him as ironic in the least.

Charles was at a loss: he needed somebody, a friendly face. Someone who could take his mind off of what was likely happening in a hotel room in Mykonos. It occurred to him, somewhat belatedly and after some thought, that there just might be someone who could do that.

Susan. Camilla's friend and maid of honor.

Granted, he'd only just met her, but he'd liked her. Really liked her, not in a sexually predatory way but as a potential friend, and Charles had forgotten how good simple friendship could feel. It had been years since there'd been anyone who was just his friend. She'd seemed to like him, too. Maybe she'd be willing to help take him out of himself, stop him from sabotaging everything he wanted and ruining everything he'd risked.

Maybe she'd know what Camilla was doing.

With this in mind, he sent her an owl, carrying a bag of mini-marshmallows:

Susan,

Come to Hogsmeade with me for some hot chocolate and a change of scenery?

Charles

((Edited for more clarity on Charles' thinking. Shouldn't affect the actual RP at all. :) ))

Comments

[charlesmacaulay.livejournal.com]

(( reposted because I tag better when I'm not falling-over sleepy >> ))

Of course she was curious. Everyone had always been curious. There had always been rumors. Charles would have to be careful what he said and didn't say; but he was used to that, too.

All of you, she said. He had to restrain a wince. All of you properly included Bunny Corcoran, and she'd seen him at the wedding reception being disruptive. A late and ineffective disruption, damn it (though Charles had since realized that it had been a desperate and foolish hope Bunny could really put off the wedding anyway. Delayed it, maybe, that would have been the best he could hope for).

"If they don't volunteer information that's probably because there isn't much worth telling," he lied straight-faced. "Or because what they remember isn't something they feel like sharing. They were closer than I knew at the time." There, that might be a nice spot of misdirection. If Susan suspected something hidden and secret in their collective Hampden past, he'd offer up something she already knew about, leaving the subject of Bunny entirely untouched.

"I don't really see how it would sound interesting. I guess it looked glamorous from the outside -- to people like Richard. That's just because they're fooled by the surface of things. Francis likes to dress up, and Henry looks like an undertaker, and Camilla's ... Camilla. So it's picturesque." Notably he left himself out of this description, though he was as much a part of the picture as the rest of them: the handsomest of the lot, the golden boy, carelessly debonair in his white tennis sweaters, like something out of F. Scott Fitzgerald. "But that's all surface. Just like I was telling you earlier -- it makes people feel provincial but it's all show. There wasn't anything special about us. We were just a little clique like any other clique of kids. Our classes were fascinating to us, but let's face it, Julian Morrow wasn't exactly Richmond Lattimore. He hardly published at all. I doubt he was particularly well known in the international academic community. The only one of us who went on to grad school was Richard, and he did his PhD in English lit, nothing to do with the classes we took together at all."

Charles shrugged. "It was college, that's all. I bet that's what really interests you about it -- the general framework of it, because it's different from school where you come from. There's lots of novels and stuff about the American college experience. Maybe you should read some of those."