open rp post #002

[albuquerque]

THE OPEN "WE WERE GOING TO RP THAT, REMEMBER?" POST

SO, BASICALLY. If we have ever discussed plotting a PSL or doing a thread but haven't gotten around to doing it,
WELL, NOW WE CAN.

Either comment with a rundown of said plot we'd talked about, or post a starting thread to said plot.

ALSO OPEN TO ANYONE WHO JUST WANTS TO THROW THEIR MUSE AT SNAPE (or Remus, if you'd prefer Remus).
Just leave either a prompt, a thread suggestion, or a thread starter.

Comments

OOPS SORRY FOR MULTIPLE POSTS GOSH

[substandard]

With the mention of Draco's journey being "touching", Draco scowled and his nostrils flared somewhat, a bit embarrassed by the accusation—and miffed at the sarcasm, not positive how to feel about Snape's words overall.

He obediently followed his former professor, unsure where this was going, but his guard mounted increasingly; though it had been a couple of years since the war, Draco still greatly operates in the realm of fight-or-flight. It was easier, now, because it was safer, but sometimes even simple things put him on a sort of irritable, jittery edge.

Once inside, Draco again did as he was told, dropping himself on Snape's chair, glowering across the table at his object of irritation as petulant teenagers often do. He barely acknowledged the tea as it came together, having barely seemed to notice its initial assembly—though he did have a derisive little laugh about it to himself in his mind, how Snape at least had such modest comforts.

He supposed that Snape's skepticism is natural, given their history—and it was true that Draco had nothing else to offer by ways of his motivation. Something as vague as "a feeling" or "a calling" sounded like absolute rubbish, almost even to himself.

Were it not for the horrible agony it entailed, as he is a coward, Draco would have offered for Snape to just have a forceful look right into his damn mind to find his own convincing.

Draco tilted his head somewhat, retaining his mild scowl.

"If you really thought I was here to kill you, would you really be offering me tea?" Draco's eyes momentarily dipped to glance at the glossy, steaming surface of the tea, then back to Snape. "You no longer have any reason to be so polite with your enemies," Draco spat indignantly, "if that is indeed how you perceive me."

IT'S OK, BB <333

[albuquerque]

"I've never perceived you as my enemy," Severus replied matter-of-factually.

The teas poured, Severus unclasped his hands to reach for the cup nearest to him. He took up his wand with his other hand and conjured a small jug of milk onto the table. He didn't take milk in his tea, but perhaps Draco did. He gave his tea a quick stir, put the spoon down and took a careful sip.

"I'd be unsurprised if you still considered me to be your enemy, though after everything that's happened, this life I now have to live... I frankly can't bring myself to care. You're either here to finish the job or you're not."

He paused to take another sip. He pondered for a moment just how candid he ought to be with Draco, then decided it no longer really mattered. All was said and done. He was now a fugitive with nothing left to live for except survival itself. Severus no longer deemed it terribly necessary to be so clandestine about his thoughts and motives anymore.

"Is that a legacy you're still trying to uphold? Being a Death Eater to make your father proud? Or has Lucius finally learned to find pride in more dignifying things? How is your father, by the way?"

[substandard]

"Well," Draco spat tensely, his shoulders reflecting his irritability. "Thank you. But I didn't come here to tell you about how my father is doing."

"Well" meant that Lucius was staggering with his name, trying to cover his ass—again. Watching his family struggle with the shame was difficult, and it was also Draco's burden to share.

Snape's behavior wasn't a surprise; Snape had a special talent for finding one's sore spots, but it wasn't usually Draco subjected to this. Indeed, Draco normally got to have a laugh at Harry and his friends as Snape turned his dull-toned wit unto them.

But that was years ago. Draco didn't like the feeling that this fact evoked within him.

"Further," Draco began again, "there is no bloody being a Death Eater with the Dark Lord dead, is there? What's more—"

Draco's lip lifted, glancing at the corner of the table for a moment, his brows furrowing as he shook his head. His hands knotted anxiously, and he ignored the tea for now, chilly though he was.

"—I've got no interest in murder."

He couldn't say he'd made his father proud. Draco found Snape's eyes again, not wholly positive how to convince him.

"I am not here to finish any damn—job."

[albuquerque]

Severus listened to Draco's vitriolically spoken remarks with little more than a display of mild interest. Oh, he was very interested in what Draco had to say - but, being typical to himself, Severus only showed the barest hints of interest, while the cogs turned sharply over in his mind.

"I know," Severus replied simply to Draco saying he had no interest in murder. "I always knew you weren't cut out to be a Death Eater. Even despite your father's desperate attempts to groom you in his image, I could always tell, even when you were a young boy, that it wasn't in you.

"Still. Doesn't mean someone hasn't put you up to it. The Dark Lord being dead and his reign fallen doesn't mean someone with an unhealthy appetite for power isn't thinking of keeping the Death Eater regime going."

Severus waved his hand at Draco's untouched tea. "Drink your tea. It'll warm you up."

[substandard]

Draco fidgeted with irritation, lifting his upper lip to reveal a bit of teeth. He was irritated with Snape's insinuation that he hadn't what it took to be a Death Eater—the others had said so as well. But at the same time, Draco didn't want that sort of life—still, it felt like a jab at his competence. His lack of bravery.

Draco picked up the cup, but didn't drink; he didn't know how weak Snape has become since fleeing (he looks a bit badly off), but surely he wouldn't resort to petty poison to off a haggard, tired teenaged boy. Draco knew he was being paranoid, but with the politics of everything, the trauma of the war wearing on him heavily, he couldn't help but be that way.

"Nothing like that has yet come to my attention; likely that if it's true, my mother would try to keep me out of it." Draco's father, however, was another story, which is why Draco fails to mention. "If anyone's put me up to this, it's Potter," he spat.

Then, Draco decided to sip his tea, but he continued glowering across the table at Snape.

"At first I thought that he was giving me the run-around, but I could feel it—I knew he wasn't."