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last online Mar 28, 2024 2:55:12 GMT -7
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Feb 11, 2019 10:19:53 GMT -7
Post by Deleted on Feb 11, 2019 10:19:53 GMT -7
Beatrice knew she had aggravated Elliot in a way he would never admit out loud, so she silently relished in her triumph. He can pick as many petty fights as he wanted; she knew she could make him suffer if she wanted to. She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly as he commented on how he wasn’t so bad after all. “Please,” she said with a scoff, taking another sip of her drink. “You were the only one left in the office, and I figured it’d be nice to show you what real people do outside of work instead of hide from the nightlife all the time.” She finished her sentence with a smirk, flipping her hair behind her shoulders. The bartender brought over a mini pie from the menu, and she flashed her trademark smile. She had been coming to this pub long enough for them to know what she’d like to eat before she had a chance to order it. He mentioned it was on the house and Beatrice thanked him, before turning back to Elliot. “What? These mini pies are to die for, plus they’re less heart attack inducing than the larger ones,” she said innocently, sliding her knife through the center of the pie to allow it some time to cool down.
“So Nader, if you’re not what I think you are, which is someone who cares way too much about his job to have some actual fun in life, what do you do in your free time?” she questioned, taking another sip of her drink while waiting for him to answer. She really didn’t know why she was asking, or why she was curious. Perhaps it had to do with him being so...mysteriously private recently. It wasn’t like him to keep whatever he was doing so secret; he usually was a bit of a braggart with his accomplishments. So what assignment had their editor put him on that he couldn’t tell anyone? The curiosity was killing her.
@elliot
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last online Mar 28, 2024 2:55:12 GMT -7
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Feb 12, 2019 15:18:26 GMT -7
Post by Deleted on Feb 12, 2019 15:18:26 GMT -7
HER WORDS MIGHT HAVE STUNG IF HE WAS A weaker man, but Elliot had built up a thick skin around Bea. Otherwise, some might take it the wrong way. He simply grinned, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he lifted his brows lazily. "Does that make you feel better about liking me?" He asked her boldly, taking a drink from his ale as he waited for her to reply, his gaze pinned to hers. "'Cause, I can play ball."
But, for a second, Elliot was rewarded by the sight of Beatrice helping herself to a pie. She hadn't ordered it, but by the fond smile on the bartenders face it wasn't a shock either. Glass in hand, Elliot's smile was somewhat amazed as she snacked on it, consumed by the job for a minute, before looking back at him self consciously. "Sorry, am I interrupting something?" He teased, but leaned forward as she cut it in two. "You're not going to share?!" He asked, his brow creasing as he watched the steam billow out from its meaty contents. His stomach clenched slightly. He hadn't even realised he was hungry.
"Ah," Elliot sighed, sitting back slightly as he pretended to consider her question very carefully. "I'm not that much of a wet wipe, mate." He told her, but in all honesty most of his free time was consumed by work. He didn't socialise much at all, hence the shallowness of his arrangement with Bea. She was probably the closest he'd gotten to a friend at work since he'd been hired. Beyond the odd schmoozing - which he despised with every shred of his being. "I like a drink." He shrugged, toasting his glass at her before he did just that. "A good pub, or cafe with banging pastries."
Clicking his tongue thoughtfully, he wrinkled his brow and turned himself to her more fully. "Actually," He interjected, his expression attempting something close to offence as he turned it back on her. "At least I don't waste my time at repetitive Quidditch games." He tapped his chin and made his voice dull and monotone, "'You'll never guess what,'" He imitated a commentor. "'They've only gone and caught the snitch... again'." He pursed his lips and palmed his glass, giving her a scathing look. "Bloody waste of time and ink."
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last online Mar 28, 2024 2:55:12 GMT -7
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Feb 28, 2019 16:05:38 GMT -7
Post by Deleted on Feb 28, 2019 16:05:38 GMT -7
Beatrice rolled her eyes and shoved some of a pie at him. “Happy you little mooch?” she asked, taking a sip of her drink before answering his retort. “By yourself, because you’re too good to hang out with anyone else that hasn’t made Editor by the time they turn thirty,” she added. They had of course both competed for the position with Elliot getting it. In the end it had made the most sense; Bea was happy with her job covering the Arrows, and she’d rather be writing more than having to read others work. She liked the new interns but they definitely had a way to go before they hit senior reporters.
Beatrice braced herself; she knew he was going to say something biting in response to her insult. But she was certainly was not expecting such a low blow. “Repetitive?” she repeated, as if she wasn’t clear as to what she said. She didn’t want to rise to his bait - it was what he wanted after all - but that was too far. “I’ll have you know Mr. Nader that Quidditch is an exciting and ever changing game. You don’t know going in who is going to win, or even if the team that catches the Snitch is going to be the winning team. I’ll have you remember the 1994 Quidditch World Cup when Viktor Krum captured the snitch but Ireland still won by ten points.” Beatrice seethed, her eyes flashing angrily. “You think you’re such a puffed up elite person well Elliot, maybe you’re not writing anymore because you’re not good enough for the front page. Ever think of that?” Beatrice snatched back the remains of her proffered pie. “I’m not going to share food with someone who insults me so. If it wasn’t for my drink I would storm out of here right now, which I fully intend to do after,” she snapped. Turning her stool to deliberately face away from him, Beatrice took long sips of her drink, stewing in her anger. What a PRICK - how dare he insult Quidditch like that? He had a lot of nerve saying such things.
@elliot
ooc: ooooh you made bea MAD
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last online Mar 28, 2024 2:55:12 GMT -7
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Mar 9, 2019 10:53:45 GMT -7
Post by Deleted on Mar 9, 2019 10:53:45 GMT -7
ELLIOT POPPED THE PIECE OF PIE IN TO HIS mouth and chewed with satisfaction. Bea, he thought, was easier swayed than she looked to be. Though they bickered a lot, he always got the impression that she genuinely wanted to be a good and generous person. Elliot didn't so much care about being liked, he was more concerned about writing something worthwhile than he was about sharing. But, sometimes, Bea's good streak benefited him. Otherwise, she probably wouldn't give him the time of day.
Licking his thumb, Elliot frowned slightly and shook his head. "I mean, if that were the case, I wouldn't be here with you." He tongued his teeth and quirked his brows at her. Bea knew where to hit him with the most accuracy. He didn't have anything he was more proud of than his position at the Daily Prophet. And yes, he wasn't writing as much any more, but he didn't think her job was any more exciting than the mail carriers - and the were made of spelled parchment. But, he'd obviously hit a nerve, because as soon as he'd stopped talking she went for him, teeth bared.
Elliot's face went from a slight smirk, to an all out scowl as Bea's diatribe became more and more personal. He'd obviously hit a nerve, which hadn't been his intention, but Bea was having none of it. Elliot couldn't even chime in as, once she stopped for a heaving breath, she turned her stool away from him. Elliot immediately got up, marched around her, and took the empty seat facing her. "Hey, you can't just decide to have the last word." He snapped, his hands curled in to fists on the bar top. "And you're the one that keeps making this personal," He jabbed a finger at her, his eyes wide. "I never said you weren't a good writer, I just don't get it."
Shifting forward, he dipped his head to catch her eyes. "So, you can sit there and pretend like I'm the puffed up elite, but you're the one that keeps trying to justify yourself by getting pissed and telling me I'm a shite writer." He sat back, gripping the edge of the bar until his knuckles went white. "It's not my fault the only thing you want to write about is a game that was only interesting in 1994!" This time, he was the one to turn around, seething himself as the bartender silently pushed their drinks across the table to them. He grabbed it, drinking down a quarter all at once and wishing he hadn't agreed to come at all, but at the same time, he didn't want her to leave. If she left, he might follow her out.
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last online Mar 28, 2024 2:55:12 GMT -7
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Apr 26, 2019 10:10:59 GMT -7
Post by Deleted on Apr 26, 2019 10:10:59 GMT -7
Beatrice’s face grew hot at his insult. “If the game was only interesting in 1994, then how have matches sold out year after year, with the fandom population growing? Tell that to the millions of fans who spend Galleons each year to see their team play that you piss on their sport, that’ll get you more readers,” she snapped, taking her drink with a sharp nod towards the bartender and gulping it greedily. She needed to have more of this in her system to even try to stick around. Though she really didn’t know why she did; she claimed to not really like Elliot but seemed to want to be around his company rather than not. It was stupid, and he was stupid, this whole situation was stupid. She was nearly thirty years old for Merlins’ sake, maybe it was time to start acting like an adult. But not right this second, she wanted to let him seethe in silence like she was for a few minutes more.
Finally, Beatrice turned to face Elliot again, her face solemn. “I am sorry I called your writing shit, it’s not shit, it’s actually quite good, which is how you made Editor,” she said stiffly, then allowed her facial expression to soften slightly. “Remember that story you covered on the rogue werewolf the first month you had arrived at the Prophet? I must have read it what, ten times, and found some new detail each read through.” She paused, and looked at him pointedly. If she apologized, it was only right he did so as well, as he had thrown some pretty hurtful words her way.
@elliot
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last online Mar 28, 2024 2:55:12 GMT -7
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Jul 23, 2019 7:11:26 GMT -7
Post by Deleted on Jul 23, 2019 7:11:26 GMT -7
THERE WAS A STREAK OF PALE ALE DOWN BOTH sides of Elliot's mouth. He'd slugged a quarter of his pint in sheer frustration, and he swiped at his mouth while side-eyeing Bea from where she sat with her back to him. This is how it often went between the two. Someone would say something insulting - usually Elliot. And someone would call them out on it - usually Bea. Occasionally the scenario was reversed, but every time Elliot felt like and arse and every time he wished he'd never started such a complicated 'thing' with Bea. And yet, he never stopped it, either.
"Wow, Holmes..." Elliot said with sneer. "Maybe you should work for advertising." He flashed her his teeth in humourless smile, but it didn't suit him. "You keep trying to sell me stuff." He was being unnecessarily mean, but she had gotten him so riled up and the ale had gone to his head. Plus, he still smarted from the fact that she had gunned for his career as a writer. Elliot had thrown everything he had in to being the best at what he did. She caught him in his pride, and it didn't suit him. Apparently, such fact was plain on his face as she seemed to cool off as he burned hotter and hotter.
She had to be sweet, Elliot thought dourly. His expression was still stern, his neck hot and hand gripping his pint glass so hard it might break if he flexed a single finger. But, her words penetrated his ego and left him feeling a little guilty. He was silent for far too long, staring at Bea openly in the wake of her confession. She had the guts to admit when she was wrong, but Elliot didn't.
"You do my head in, you know that?" He said out of the blue, his chin jutting out stubbornly as he finished his glass, never quite taking his eyes off of Bea for more than a moment. "And if anyone can make that st-" He stopped himself, eyes hooded at the audacity of having to censor himself, but he did it anyway. "That game interesting..." He strained the word 'game' with a roll of his eyes. "Might as well be you, eh." It was a compliment really, but Elliot could never quite help himself when he felt like he was righteously right. He still agreed with himself, but for some reason, he wanted her to feel better more. It was embarrassingly soppy, he thought. To make himself feel better, Elliot reached over and snagged another piece of pie from her plate, shoving it in to his mouth before she could stop him.
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last online Mar 28, 2024 2:55:12 GMT -7
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Jul 24, 2019 14:16:03 GMT -7
Post by Deleted on Jul 24, 2019 14:16:03 GMT -7
Beatrice flipped her hair over her shoulder and smiled sweetly at him. “I’m fully aware of that, and not just because you said it,” she said, smirking at him smugly. If she didn’t do his head in, she highly doubted their secret trysts would still be a thing after all. The smirk vanished as he stole a bite of pie and shoved it in his mouth. “Hey!” she exclaimed, smacking his hand. “Not fair, I didn’t say you could have some,” she told him indignantly. Finishing off her pint, she lifted the freshly poured one the bartender had put in front of her and took a long swig, feeling a bit lightheaded but overall quite excellent. “You should order one for yourself, so I can steal yours,” she told him, setting down her glass a bit harder than intended and giggled as a little bit of the cider poured out the sides. “Can I get a napkin?” she asked the bartender sweetly, and mopped up her little mess.
Bea was silent for a moment, sipping her cider, unsure of what to say next to Elliot. They had already bantered about their careers, insulted each other, then came around again. “I think my dad is sick,” she said quite suddenly, not sure where on earth that came from. It was true of course; her dad had lost an unusual amount of weight and he seemed to be moving slower. She supposed that was the joy to look forward to when getting old, but she was worried his time was coming to an end much quicker than she would like. “I don’t want him to die,” she added, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. She refused to cry, not in front of Elliot, so she turned away and wiped them from her eyes with her hands quickly.
@elliot
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last online Mar 28, 2024 2:55:12 GMT -7
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Oct 26, 2019 7:41:02 GMT -7
Post by Deleted on Oct 26, 2019 7:41:02 GMT -7
THE POINTLESS BACK AND FORTH BETWEEN BEA and Elliot was familiar. And though he often questioned his own sanity, and morality, at what he kept encouraging between them. And other times, he got a sick little thrill out of it all. It was no strings, of course. Until she was looking at him like he'd wounded her. Or, he felt himself back-tracking because he thought it'd make her feel better. Either way, he refused to acknowledge it.
"Nah, I'll just steal yours." He shrugged, a satisfied tilt to his lips. But at the same time, he lifted a hand and waved the bartender over, pointing at her plate and asking for one of his own. "Don't ask for a single bite." He told her with a warning lift of his brows, but that playful banter between them didn't last very long, it never did. Elliot simply didn't expect for it to go in the direction it did. While his pies cooked in the oven, a dark shadow fell across Bea's simple, sweet face, her chin dropping close to her chest. He stopped with his glass halfway towards his mouth.
"You think...?" He said after a beat, his glass silently placed back in front of him. He watched her look away from him, hiding some terrible, aching wound from him. He felt unbelievably uncomfortable. This was a side of Bea he had never really seen before. He didn't know how to tread. But, Elliot had never shied away from a challenge before. His stool squeaked as he pulled it closer to Bea. "Hey..." He sighed, going against his better instincts and slinging an arm around her shoulder. He pulled her towards him, her silhouette familiar and yet entirely different in such a tender scenario. He did not tell her that her father was going to be fine, because that would have been a lie. "You're going to be alright, eh." He told her instead, his lips brushing against the top of her head.
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last online Mar 28, 2024 2:55:12 GMT -7
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Dec 19, 2019 15:43:23 GMT -7
Post by Deleted on Dec 19, 2019 15:43:23 GMT -7
Beatrice hadn’t expected to be so vulnerably honest with Elliot of all people. He was...Elliot after all. So she was incredibly surprised when he responded by pulling her into an embrace, in public, while she was trying not to cry. That didn’t help, and when Bea blinked she felt the tears escape the corners of her eyes and onto Elliots’ shoulder. Bollocks, she thought to herself, but didn’t let go. Instead she let herself go for just a few seconds before trying to regain her composure. She probably looked like a right bloody mess and she was sure there were a few curious stares coming their way.
“Sorry,” she said quietly, disentangling herself from him and dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. “It’s just been building up for some time now, and I suppose it was demanding for a release,” she told him with a watery chuckle. She sat back, slightly unsteady from the drinks but still in control. She let the conversation lapse for a minute, rubbing her forefinger on her frosty glass. “Thanks though,” she finally said, looking up to meet his eyes.
@elliot
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