April 2nd, 2007
|12:16 am - open post, we are trend followers here at Tonks' House of Infrequent Entries|
Sometimes, Tonks has found, it's easier to keep yourself to yourself; sometimes, it's just easier if you stay away from it all, keep entirely out of all the nonsense and mess happening around you, and let the world go on without you. Sometimes that's the safest plan.
Sometimes, though, as she has also found, you get lonely, and just sick and tired of isolation.
--which explains why she's come downstairs in the Mansion, now, and may be found in the kitchen, one of the Mansion's more inhabited areas, perched on the counter with a half-eaten ham sandwich on a plate upon her knee, and something of a mess around her - the result of her spirited attempts at culinary art, and probably a tragedy to anyone who fancies themselves a proper cook. Or, for that matter, housekeeper.
Draco strides into the kitchen and looks at the mess with some distaste. Then he glances up at Tonks and again looks less than impressed.
"Care for a bite?" she says, holding out the plate - perfectly aware of what Draco's opinion of her, and the mess, is, and, really, perfectly content with that opinion.
"No...," he says coldly. "Just what do you think you are doing?"
"Having lunch," she says, as though it should be obvious. "Eating a sandwich. ... It's ham and cheese. ...With a bit of tomato."
"Did I ask for a list of ingredients?"
"You weren't nearly that specific," she answers mildly. "So I filled in the blanks myself."
"Do you have to make everywhere you go a disaster-zone though?"
Her expression remains mildly, blandly polite, and her tone the same. "Not at all," she says evenly. "I walked through two or three corridors, down a staircase, and across a whole living room to get here, and all of those remain completely disaster-free. I'll clean it up -- when I'm done eating."
Miz Deliverance eyes the carnage with something like amusement. The kitchen has, for the most part, been spotless since she began using it, after all. "Well, well. I'm almost tempted to call this an accomplishment."
She takes a companiable bite of her sandwich, grinning sheepishly around it at Miz Deliverance. "I'll clean it up," through the mouthful of food, "later. I've just never been much good at cleaning as I go."
Deliverance just shakes her head and smiles. "I was going to have to clear a work space anyway," she says, beginning to tidy things away. "You should have waited a little longer. I have more venison to get rid of than you'd believe."
Tonks grimaces, but hides it quickly, schooling her face into an expression of bland interest. "I don't really care for venison," she deadpans. "Sorry about the mess, though. I really will tidy up, honest..."
"You eat your sandwich," Deliverance says, continuing her cleaning with grandmotherly efficiency. "I don't mind."
Tonks grins. "There's got to be house-elves, or something like, to do the tidying up for you, if you'd like a rest - the Mansion's too clean all the time for the tiddly bit of work no one manages to do. Well, and how could they - spend all their time getting killed, haven't got time to clean up after themselves."
"I've noticed," she says dryly, wiping a counter down. "Bad habit to get into, dying all the time."
"One I've tried my whole life to avoid," she laughs, watching Miz Deliverance work.
"Some people seem to make a career of it, though."
"So I've noticed. And some seem to be trying without success."
"That's stupid," she says vehemently, suddenly serious. "I've never understood people like that. People with a death wish."
"Sometimes they don't see what they've got that they should be hangin' onto," Deliverance says, mildly. She's known people like that, and understood them, too, though she could never agree. It's hard to find something either Miz Deliverance or her grandson can't understand. Understanding is in their nature.
"I don't get it," she says, frowning. "Not feeling hopeless - everyone's felt that. But feeling it so much that you'd rather not exist at all--"
"Never been there, myself. But things get real bad for some people."
"So bad as that," obstinately, "it's all still got to end sometime, hasn't it? Better the evil you can expect than the -- the whatever you know nothing about."
"I don't think they think of it that way, when it gets to that point," she says, very gently.
"Lunch, of course," she says, indicating the plate on her knee. "Got a bit hungry, made myself a sandwich. Would y'like some? I left the bread out, I think, and... and most everything else, too."
"It looks more like a war zone." He wanders to the bread, shaking his head, and starts making his own sandwich.
"Meat and cheese are just there," she says cheerfully, pointing them out. "Oh - those, I really should've put away, shouldn't I? Perishable, and all that-- a war zone? Oh, hardly. This is quite neat for me, really..."
"I'd hate to be your maid, Tonks."
She laughs a bit at that. "Then it's a good thing you aren't, now isn't it? Don't mind the mess, there's got to be house-elves or something here, haven't there? Or - or if not, something like."
He scratches his chin thoughtfully. "I think it cleans itself eventually."
"I wonder," she muses, picking at the sandwich crust. "Is it the things, the objects, themselves, flying about and putting themselves away? Brooms sweeping on their own, and so on? Or some sort of other beings, little imps or spirits of the Mansion or something, actually going about cleaning up? Interesting to find out, but as no one has yet--"
"No one's ever seen anything. I've wondered, too."
"Someone ought to do an investigation into it." --and a bite.
"If I have time." He grins because he's always curious about such things.
She laughs. "Doesn't have to be just you, if you're strapped for time. You could always delegate - give Harry Potter and his friends something to do with their days."
"You could just learn to clean it up yourself..." Then he realizes who he's talking to... "Maybe we can talk a few house elves into moving in here."