Vanilla Sky [Sybil]

[renard walt goyle]

@susanvictoria

12.28.2024

Something terrible had possessed Renard Goyle: he willingly signed up for the blind date scam that was always being advertised in the Daily Prophet. That had been months ago though, and he had almost forgotten about it until a letter arrived one day from Blishwick himself, indicating that a time and location had been set up for the date. He knew he didn’t actually have to go – the poor, unsuspecting girl would never know who he was and probably wouldn’t anyways. But the date Blishwick had set him up on was for a cooking class, and Merlin knew he needed one of those. For being a back page newspaper advertisement, giving him a free cooking class was actually a pretty good deal. All he had to do was deal with the date part of it. Putting on niceties for a few hours wouldn’t kill him. The last week had been spent doing that anyways, keeping up the ‘Christmas Cheer’, as his dolt of a father called it. There were times where Renard wondered exactly what his parents had going through their heads, and then he remembered that they didn’t have anything. After this date, there would be no more cheer or Christmas anything from him until next year.

Arriving at the spot the Blishwick letter had indicated fifteen minutes early, Renard stuck a cigarette in his mouth and waited. He didn’t really care about making a good first impression, he was only here to enlighten himself and hopefully learn how to cook a meal that wasn’t microwavable or pre-made. He hated admitting that all of his meals growing up were made by house elves, both at home and school. The rare occasion that anyone had tried making anything home-cooked for him usually turned out terrible too. It wasn’t like spending less money on restaurants or delivery was going to save his bank account, but doing something for himself once in a while wouldn’t kill him. Glancing at his watch briefly to check how close it was to the actual arrival time, Renard let out a puff of smoke before starting his typical pace to kill time.

[Deleted]

Ever the romantic at heart, Susan had decided to sign up for Blishwick's dating service. It had been months since Lysander had left, and she would always love him. But, it was time to move on, at least go on a date with someone new. She had been quite excited when she received the letter from Blishwick, with instructions and a date and time.  Being a blind date, she would have no idea who she was meeting until she arrived.  She was intrigued by the idea of a cooking class; having grown up with her own cook, Susan wasn't exactly the best chef in town.  She had always wanted to learn however, so this would provide the perfect opportunity to do so.  

She had carefully selected her outfit; a grey long sleeved dress with black tights, and black ankle boots on her feet.  She had kept it minimal with the jewelery; she had the New Years Ball to attend in a few days time, where she'd be adorned in jewels.  A silver necklace and diamond earrings completed her ensemble.  She studied herself in the mirror, then sighed.  "This shouldn't be to difficult, right Dashiel?" she cooed to the greyhound currently curled up on her bed.  Dash had made himself right at home the day Susan had brought him home from the shelter.  He lifted his head and whined softly.  "Don't worry, William will be by soon to take you to the dog park," she told him, pressing a kiss to his narrow head.  He licked her hand and she scratched behind his ears before she left her apartment.

Susan arrived to the cooking class about five minutes before it was began, and stared in incredulation at who else was sitting outside the building.  Renard Goyle, her 'mentor' at the Ministry.  It wasn't like she didn't like him per se, but it would probably kill any vibe she'd get connecting with her date.  "What are you doing here, Renard?" she asked, walking over to him.  She wrinkled her nose.  "Shouldn't you not do that before cooking food?" she added, then paled slightly.  Wait, if Renard was here, and she was here....no, that wasn't possible.  Renard Goyle was too good, in his own opinion, to sign up for a blind date.  Right?

renard walt goyle

[renard walt goyle]

@susanvictoria

12.28.2024

Ten minutes had ticked by, according to his watch, by the time another soul decided to stroll up to the building the cooking class was supposed to be taking place in. At this rate, the only other person aside from himself and his date would be the instructor. Maybe not even. He was so utterly bored by the pacing that he puffed through the first cigarette in no time and had a second replacing it almost instantly; there was nothing to do but walk, smoke, and antagonize over whether or not this thing was going to be a waste of his time. If he came to a decision before the date showed up, it wasn’t like she was ever going to figure out who he was. Blishwick stated that there was anonymity up until they met.

Though apparently that didn’t count for the fact that the new arrival seemed to know his name already. Renard recognized the voice before he turned around to face her: Susan Windsor. She made a remark about him not smoking before cooking, and Renard was seconds away from asking her why she was playing muggle today when he realized what her question actually meant. Fate was fucking evil, and he dealt with a lot of evil things during the work week, so he knew how to call it. Susan was here for the Blishwick thing, and that was the only rationale that made sense. She certainly hadn’t come across as the type to suddenly get a hankering for a muggle cooking class, especially spur of the moment, and the odds of her picking one that was being attended by other magical folk? No, those sorts of chances didn’t actually exist, except when under the effects of felix felicis. And unless his sister slipped a vial into his coffee that morning, he was pretty sure he wasn’t feeling lucky. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Renard lied, staring at her blankly.

[Deleted]

It took Susan every restraint possible not to roll her eyes at Renard. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about Goyle,” she snapped, then sighed, running her hands through her curly hair. “It appears that fate, otherwise known as Jimbo Blishwick, has decided to pair us up in this Matchmaking service of his,” she said primly. She’d have a word or several to write to the Matchmaking service after this. Why of all people would he have put her with Renard Goyle after all? He was just so….not her type. Plus he was her superior at work, as he liked to remind her, but at least now she’d be in the Beings division instead of his division. She had gotten the official notice of her post hiring the day before, and had felt a pang of disappointment. It had been her dream to work in the beasts division, to help the creatures of the magical world be understood. But at least within the beings division she would be able to help house elves and vampires and even werewolves, though the last one was split between the two divisions. Still, she could at least not feel like she was being merely tolerated at her post now, hopefully.

“Well, we might as well get on with it. It’s a free meal and maybe we can meet nice other people. They would be Muggles though so I hardly doubt they’re your type,” Susan quipped, hopping up the steps and striding through the doors, back straight and head held high. She was a Muggleborn and proud of it, and this was more her territory than his, so it would be a nice change of dominance. She knocked on the kitchen door before entering, a bright smile on her face. “Pardon me? We’re here for the cooking class,” she said, folding her hands in front of her as she waited to be instructed on what to do next. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two girls put their heads together, with one pulling out their cell phone. Normally, she’d be freaking out by now, but she had to show Renard she was made of tougher stuff than that. “We’ll take this station here,” she declared, walking towards an empty station in the back corner. She sat in her seat and placed her hands on the table, waiting for further instruction on what they’d be making.

renard walt goyle

[renard walt goyle]

@susanvictoria

12.28.2024

Renard hated Susan because she was always right, and there was no avoiding today’s event now that they were both there. His chance to duck out and escape had long since passed and he was sure to be grumbling about this for the remainder of the week. This had to go against department policies too, and the more he thought about it the more he liked the idea of slapping Blishwick with the department handbook if that turned out to be true. Fraternizing with a coworker! He would have let out a haughty laugh if it didn’t make him look like he was crazy. Blishwick definitely knew that they worked near each other in the Ministry and set it up on purpose that way. That was the only logical explanation that Renard could come up with. “Fate is called a couple sickles and a twisted idea of fun. Mr. Blishwick seems to be the sort that gets a kick out of doing this to unsuspecting people.” And yet Renard followed through like the good little trained dog he was. He applied to the flashy service and Blishwick did the rest of it.

“I don’t recall ever saying otherwise about them,” Renard shot back at her as he followed her up the steps and into the building. While he would never end up married to a muggle (extenuating circumstances including the amount of the muggle girl’s wealth or because he wanted to stick it to his dear parents one last time), that didn’t mean he hated them. He only hated werewolves. Renard almost made that distinction clear to her but stopped himself short, remembering what happened the last time he got fiery about the dogs.

Susan handled talking to the instructor, giving Renard ample time to look at the rest of the poor schmucks that he was going to have to be dealing with for the next few hours. A couple of them started chatting incessantly the second they came in, and he thought for a second that maybe he had forgotten to put his cigarette out on the way in, but that wasn’t it. “Quite the chatty bunch we have here,” he said out of the side of his mouth as he passed behind Susan and took his jacket off and held his hand out for hers so that he could hang both up.

[Deleted]

Sybil raised her eyebrows at Renard. “A kick out of unsuspecting people like you and I?” she asked dryly, as if to remind him that they both had put a monetary investment into this blind date roulette. Without further ado, she handed her coat to him and stood at their station, taking a moment to people watch. She had tried her best to look as ‘normal’ as possible to not attract attention, and attempted to not catch anyones’ eye. The last thing she needed was people taking out their phones to snap photos of her and Renard to sell to the paparazzi.

Fortunately, the instructor stood in the front of the room and told everyone that no phones are permitted during the class before launching into the purpose of their being here. Sybil was sure Renard loathed this part, and she tried to hide a smile. After he was done, he gestured to the ingredients laid out in front of them - they would be making their own homemade pasta, and would be provided with a lovely bottle of red wine afterwards to enjoy the meal with. Sybil rolled up her sleeves and looked expectantly at Renard. “Well, shall we begin?” she asked him with a jerk of her head towards the recipe in front of them.

renard walt goyle

[renard walt goyle]

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Renard started to hang up both of their jackets after Sybil handed hers over, nodding his head as she repeated what he had just said about Blishwick and his little game that he was clearly playing with his blind dating events. “Come now, he obviously knows we’re colleagues and did this on purpose,” Renard whispered to her over his shoulder. He hadn’t been clueless enough to not be able to read the room. Sybil drew quite the attention when she entered, and Renard could only wonder why. Muggles and their obsession with royalty. He thought the whole thing was preposterous, since as far as he was concerned, she was a normal witch working a normal Ministry job. Her title hadn’t gotten her anywhere yet as far as he knew. And really, his name meant more in the magical world than hers did. If she wanted that sort of preferential treatment because of her lineage, sticking to the muggle world would have been a better option. Instead, she worked in the same department as him and suffered through Blishwick’s sick joke all the same.

Admittedly, Renard did not do a lot of his own cooking. Not because he hated the idea of slaving away over the stove or going grocery shopping for last minute ingredients, but because he didn’t think about eating until he was hungry. At home, the house elves prepped meals. He had decided against bringing any of them with him when he got his apartment a few years back because that seemed so mundane and old-school. There had been times where he actually put the effort in and yet he still hadn’t caught on to the whole cooking for oneself thing. It always ended up being a waste because he would make too much and then forget he had leftovers until a week later. Carry out was just as easy to order, and restaurants had a better ambiance than his kitchen did. “After you. I want to read the recipe over a few times to get an idea on how this is supposed to work,” Renard explained, picking up his copy of the instructions and digging into its contents. Making pasta from scratch was certainly a step up from making a simple meal, but they were already here so making it correct was all he had to do now. “Have you ever done this? Made pasta from scratch?”

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[Deleted]

Sybil tried to ignore the stares, but knew that’d be impossible. It must be weird for Renard, who knew her as his underling at the Ministry - she didn’t believe the Wizarding World actually cared about her royal status, which was why she chose to remain in it instead of returning to the Muggle world. She liked being recognized for her actual accomplishments, and not her lineage. Briefly, she had considered stepping down from all royal duties, but she knew that in the past that hadn’t exactly gone over well, so she’d continue to try and balance both worlds until it became impossible. She knew that eventually, when she’d marry, there would be a big wedding celebration in Windsor, whether her future husband was Muggle or Wizard. That would be part of the deal in marrying her, and she knew she’d have to do that duty to the crown.

Still, this was just a first date, not a marriage proposal, so Sybil turned her attention to the matter at hand; making pasta from scratch. Something the palace had definitely NOT taught her. “Er...no, that wasn’t part of growing up really. We had well...cooks to do that,” she said sheepishly, her voice low so people couldn’t overhear her. “I tried making cookies once without the help of any of our cooks, and let’s just say we’re lucky that I didn’t burn down the entirety of Kensington Palace,” she admitted, stifling a laugh. She looked around and saw the other stations had already started making the pasta, so she turned back to Renard with a determined look. “Well, since we’re on an even footing here, let’s try and make something edible,” she suggested.

renard walt goyle

[renard walt goyle]

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Of course she had cooks to make everything. How silly of him to assume otherwise. Renard held back on his scoff though, only because he was in a similar boat, albeit with house elves instead of human chefs. At least he managed to cook on his own now, when he felt like it. Usually it was carry out or something quick on the way home from work. He didn’t really have time to create a feast on a nightly basis just to toss most of it into the trash. Oh the lonely single life that he desperately cherished and clung onto like an unrelenting cough. Every time something felt like it was creeping up on him, he nipped it off at the bud and returned to his normal life. The only reason he was doing this date thing now was because he felt the pressure from his parents and the weight of his inheritance weighing down on him with each passing year. Most young adults his age were just finishing university, and here he was being pushed into dating for the sake of his financial future. It was completely preposterous.

“Right,” he said after a few moments of silently looking over the recipe book, “Well, homemade pasta is certainly out of the realm of the average home cook anyways. It’s a safe assumption that no one here has done it before.” Except a quick look around the room would have him almost convinced otherwise. Maybe these people were just all exceptional cooks or had done these types of classes before. “Edible is preferable,” Renard agreed as he collected the flour and began to diligently measure out the amount necessary for the recipe. As long as they followed the instructions closely, they wouldn’t come out with a horrendous clump of chewy pasta. “If you want to get cracking on the rest of the ingredients, that should be perfect for when I’m finished with this,” he said as he eyed the level of his flour in the measuring cup. It was almost perfect, just needed a dash more and it would be exact.

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[Deleted]

Sybil raised her brow at him. “Are you seriously judging me right now?” she demanded in a low voice. “You, a pampered pureblood who probably had house elves working for your family since birth. At least we paid our cooks, and very well I might add.” Sybil knew she was probably over exaggerating a little bit, but she was frustrated. Royals were still viewed as very out of touch with reality, when really her parents had both tried their best to give them as normal a life as possible. It had come with a harsh reality check when her father had been assassinated; though they tried to be normal, the simple fact of the matter is they were not. Sybil tried her best to not come off as aloof or vain, but she couldn’t change someones mind once they seemed to be set in their ways.

Determined to get this right, Sybil left Renard to measure the flour. She went to the refrigerator and pulled out three eggs. She had made cakes with her sister and mother before, so she at least could crack and beat eggs. Gently, she tapped the egg along the edge of the bowl before depositing the contents into the bowl, ensuring no shell got into the bowl. Once the eggs contents were in the bowl, she whisked the eggs until they were soundly beaten. She turned to Renard. “Do you want to put the dry ingredients in the big bowl, then we’ll add the eggs, salt and olive oil?” she asked him, trying to give him a sense of leadership she thought he enjoyed.

renard walt goyle

[renard walt goyle]

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Yes, because he had a say in whether or not his parents utilized house elves as labor. It was almost like parents and children could have differing opinions on things. Amazing, really. He used the chance of grabbing one of the ingredients so that he could roll his eyes while his back was turned to her. “If we’re going to argue semantics,” he said back to her in an equally hushed voice, “My mother employs trolls for businesses that require private security. And anyways, I insist on not using house elves in my own home. There’s no need to.” Adding that probably seemed like an afterthought, but at least he was being honest. There really wasn’t a reason to have them lurking around in his flat. His own magic cleaned the place in an instant, and he only used it to sleep. He had contemplated downgrading because he didn’t need all that room, but finding a cheap one-bedroom was proving to be more difficult with each passing year.

Mindlessly measuring out the flour, he almost forgot that Sybil was even working on other parts of the recipe, almost letting the edge of the flour bag to tip too far into the bowl when her voice cracked his miniscule airspace. He mumbled something that sounded like a ‘sure’, to acknowledge that he had heard her, and immediately went to work doing as she instructed. Actually measuring out the dry ingredients was easier than he had thought, having barely done cooking on his own in all the years he had lived alone. Dry ingredients where they needed to be in the largest bowl he could find, Renard slid it across the countertop to see how she would fare with the eggs. He wanted to see how well her personal, well-paid chefs had done when it came to teaching her how to crack an egg. Even he could do that without getting tiny pieces of shell mixed in, but as for the princess? Renard couldn’t hide the smirk on his face as he waited to see how she would fair.

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[Deleted]

Sybil tried to hide the wrinkle her nose automatically made when he mentioned trolls. Ever the creatures activist, she firmly believed that trolls deserved employment whenever they could but they still smelled awful. She assumed that was the point however, when they were hired as security detail. It would certainly deter uninvited guests from getting too close to where they shouldn’t be. She was however, rather pleasantly surprised to learn he did not employ or use his family’s house elves for his own personal use. “Have they ever had the notion of, oh I don’t know, perhaps freeing them?” she asked, brow raised.

Sybil had the feeling Renard was watching her out of the corner of his eye to see how she fared. As if she had never cracked her own egg before! “Watch your ingredients,” she whispered sharply, before deftly cracking an egg with one hand; no shell bits could be found in the yolk that now lay in the bowl. “Those private chefs you seem to think spoon feed me were actually happy to teach me some of the basics, such as cracking an egg with one hand,” she said smugly. Scrambled eggs had been her favorite meal when she was a child; for a time after her father was killed, she had requested them for breakfast, lunch and dinner for days until her mother reminded her she needed more than eggs to survive on. “I think we’re about ready to make this pasta,” she declared, wiping her hands on a rag before placing her hands on her hips. “Would you like to do the honors of mixing the wet and dry ingredients?” she asked a little saucily.

renard walt goyle

[renard walt goyle]

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“Nope.” Renard said stiffly. Why would they do that? They were lazy slobs. The fact that his mother trained trolls should have indicated that. And his father? An over glorified magical janitor. They were dumb as bricks and equally clueless about what their children were always up to. “I only play their games so my sister and I are not removed from the inheritance. Stupid people with a lot of money do idiotic things with it.” He had even gone as far as hiring a financial advisor for them because he was concerned about them completely draining their Gringotts vaults by the time they died. Both he and Bryelle deserved that money after everything they had been put through. Because growing up and having to be the most responsible family members was a lot of bullshit and there had to be recompense for that.

He watched Sybil efficiently crack one of the eggs with one hand, and shrugged. That was more than he could do, and he wasn’t afraid to admit that. He and cooking were in a weird relationship in general. There was no reason for him to spend too much time learning when he was never home to cook in the first place. “Guess that’s what you pay them for,” he commented as he took the wet ingredients bowl from her and dumped it into the one he had worked on. Mixing was easy enough, and he assumed Sybil would get the next part going as he did his. Renard almost reached for his pocket and his wand instead of a mixing spatula, used to tossing it above anything he needed mixed and charming it to finish the task. That was almost a mistake, and he clenched his fists to keep his hands from attempting to sabotage the statute of secrecy. After a moment, he picked up the right object and started mixing.

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[Deleted]

Sybil eyed him warily. “Just because we paid them to cook for us doesn’t mean they were required to teach us anything. I wanted to learn on my own, and because I treat them well, they were happy to oblige.” Though if she thought about it, were they really able to say no? She was royalty after all, and she supposed if she was an awful human being, she could have had them dismissed if they refused. Surely they knew though that she wasn’t that kind of person?

Pushing the thought from her mind, she decided to turn the conversation back on him. “So your mother trains trolls for a living, what about your father? I know the name Goyle of course, he took part in the Battle for Hogwarts, though the history books weren’t exactly clear of the side he chose,” she said, choosing her words carefully. She had of course presumed, from the Slytherin background, and the fact that his grandfather had been a Death Eater, that he had been fighting for Voldemort. But if Draco Malfoy and his mother could switch sides, couldn’t anyone? She suppressed a snort as he paused before picking up the spatula. “Yes, we cannot let anyone know who we truly are, can we?” she commented softly. She moved her bowl closer to his. “We should mix the two in now, then we put them through this….pasta maker,” she said as she read the directions, gesturing vaguely to a strange looking contraption with a crank that the teacher had said was a pasta maker. Why should she doubt a teacher after all.

renard walt goyle

[renard walt goyle]

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He didn’t buy it. Just because she wanted to learn from her personal chefs didn’t mean they weren’t doing it of their own free will. Renard assumed there were politics interwoven throughout the royal family’s hired help, and certain things they were absolutely required to do if asked by the children. The last thing they would want was a prince or princess throwing a tantrum in the middle of their perfect little castle. In a way, that was why he preferred house elves. While he didn’t necessarily agree with how his parents handled theirs, the ones used at Hogwarts, and other appropriately compensated ones out in the world, were more than happy to do anything you wanted them too. He occasionally borrowed one of the family house elves to clean his flat and liked to give him advances for the day he became free. All that had to happen first was for his parents to kick the bucket. Then he, Bryelle, and the house elves would be free of all the Goyle nonsense.

“I’m sure they were,” Renard mumbled under his breath as he started to follow Sybil’s instructions, dropping one of the mixing bowls into the other and quickly giving it a few stirs to add them all together. Her question regarding his parents’ choice of careers was funny, because they didn’t deserve anything they had based on what they did. They were grifters at best, having received most of their money through inheritance and only maintaining the bare necessities with their horrid jobs. “She’s not a very good one either,” Renard threw in quickly, before continuing, “Dad works in the Maintenance Office. He thinks he’s top brass, but really he’s an over glorified janitor. Can’t even make Spell Reversal after twenty years there.” He let out a snort of disgust just thinking about it. His parents were awful human beings and had equally awful jobs. There was nothing interesting about their careers in the slightest.

As for Sybil’s interpretation of history, he scoffed. “They were on the wrong side, as were most of my family members. But I’m sure you know that already.” The ones that the Ministry was able to punish, were, and those that weren’t, like his parents, were let free to their own devices. People remember though, and Renard knew there were reasons why his parents were never able to advance in their careers. In his opinion, they deserved it. If they were actually intelligent, like he and his sister, they could have gotten away scot free. Playing sides was useless when they really should have been more worried about taking what they could for themselves. Unfortunately, forethought wasn’t something his parents possessed.

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