Who: Drystan Fawcett and Bess Zeller
What: He needs some advice on some baby momma drama
Where: Law offices
Drystan Fawcett wasn't your typical Quidditch player. He attended the parties, he was subject to several stories in the rags, he was fairly confident that he had a fair number of fans, and he was, as most of them were, a bit of an ass to the public.
But Drystan didn't sleep around with women, he was a very private person, as kind as he could be to his fans, and hardly ever engaged in public drunkenness. Which was why he was stunned when a woman whom he could only vaguely place at one of the many parties he had attended over the year began harassing him with the claim that he was the father of her unborn child.
That was only a bit impossible, being that Drystan hadn't had sex in over a year, much less had sex with
her. But, rather than just ignore it and wait for the story to get blown out of proportion for when this crazed woman reported it to one of the rag mags, or something equally horrible, he went to the Ministry's law offices with the intent to find out what it was that he could do in such a situation.
"Hi," he said, nodding to the blonde woman greeting him with an expectant look, "who exactly do I see about paternity issues?"
Bess couldn't describe how much she enjoyed working in the law offices. She was only a secretary, for now (those were the key words in her daily thought processes), but every day she was learning and
observing. She'd gotten the N.E.W.T.s necessary for a legitimate internship in the offices, where she'd been looking to go after Hogwarts, so it wasn't as if she just found herself daydreaming about one day running these offices instead of taking memos; it was
possible.
She just had to, you know. Get there.
This was a start though, much better than the waitressing she'd been doing for the past two years. Bess had never been happy at any of her positions, and while she had
fun at Sirius' pub (it did bring her and Fabian together), she always felt like she wasn't living up to her potential. She had to
remind herself that she was the one that had gotten pregnant before she'd even finished school and was kicked out of her house and all that
great stuff, so the fact that she wasn't homeless on the street was a definite
plus, but. Bess was used to being the best, and it still pained her that she was such a---she was a failure, not living up to her potential.
Augh. Who was this, disrupting her mental anguish?
She couldn't stop her eyebrow from rising in question. Paternity issues? Boring. "You see me, for now. Name?"
"Drystan Fawcett."
He looked at her with a raised eyebrow of his own. Not that he was one to judge based on first impressions (which was a lie, because he was), but it seemed to him that the woman was more than a little prickly in her reception of him. Which was all fine (except that it wasn't, because this was a very trying time for him and a bit of support would have been nice), but his aim was to be in and out of this office, and if the woman (
Bess Zeller, the name plate told him) was going to be difficult about this, Drystan would be hard-pressed to be nice about it.
Not to mention that the last thing he needed was for anyone besides himself, this woman, and whatever solicitor he would hopefully be able to see to know about this, which really did mean that the less time he spent in here, the better.
"Is my name all you need before I can be granted access to those mystical doors behind you?"
"Cute," she said with a disgusted scrunch of her nose, a completely unamused smile stretching across her features. This was a
law office, there were no mystical doors, there was only serious business and complete professionalism. Except---Brady was at lunch, so there wasn't anyone to
be professional and serious for Mr. Fawcett. He looked awfully familiar, it felt kind of odd calling him that, but Bess couldn't place his face, or name. Maybe from school, but he was nothing memorable---well, not to say that he wasn't
handsome, but Bess had a flawless memory (for things she cared about), and this fellow obviously hadn't managed to make it into her mental lexicon of faces and names.
Anyway. Normally, she would just tell him to set up an appointment, or to wait in the sitting area for Brady to return, but she
had just overlooked a paternity case a few weeks ago, surely she could give him some advice?
"Mr. Higgs isn't here right now, but I'm quite capable of giving you any advice you might be seeking," she said with a straightening of her shoulders. Bess was rather good at bullshit, so she was sure she could pull off an easy question and answer until Brady could take over. And maybe he would even appreciate it, her getting the basics and having less work to do.
Or he'd fire her.
Hrm. "You can take a chair, if you'd like; or you could stand there and hover, I'm not sure if you're a fan of lurking." Bess sent him a tight smile, folding her hands ontop of one another, "Now, what exactly is the problem?"
He scratched his head and looked at her with a thoughtful frown, figuring that she most likely wasn't the Brady Higgs from whom he was seeking advice. She did seem sure of herself, though, which he could appreciate, and which did inspire some confidence.
She ended up costing him a lot of money and/or a few stakes in his reputation, though, and he would have to destroy her. But--positive thinking, for now!
"Paternity," he repeated, remaining standing and crossing his arms. "Some woman who I have seen perhaps... twice, if that, in my life, is claiming that I am, in fact, the father of her unborn child. There might be something to lend credence to the theory, had there been any reason for her to think this. But there isn't. She seems to mean serious business" He paused. "Advice?"
"Is there a reason why this woman would be so keen to bear your child?"
Bess blinked, unsure of why this was honestly an issue. He didn't have a wedding band (it was something she just naturally looked for, all right?), so he wasn't married. She supposed that if he had a girlfriend, that would be rather annoying (just the
thought of Fabian having some--
whore after him made her blood boil), but if he really didn't know the woman and she was just some crazy
stalker, then he should probably head over to the hitwizard offices and figure out some restraining order issues. The Ministry couldn't handle muggleborns, but she was quite sure they still managed these sort of conflicts well enough.
She thought to summon over a chair and
make him sit because it was becoming rather awkward, having him hover over this way, but seeing as she was sure the hitwizards would just send someone over from the psych ward of Mungo's, there was no need for this Fawcett character to get comfortable with her.
Raising his eyebrows, Drystan shrugged. "Er, I dunno. I guess the fame would be nice--everyone loves a tabloid baby--particularly the crazed, fan-fanatic mother."
He said, even more consideringly, "And everyone has a bit too much fun at post-game victory parties. I wouldn't be surprised if she thought I were some other player, despite the very
magical night we apparently spent together."
Truthfully, Drystan was only annoyed at this point. This could certainly spiral out of control, given the right circumstances, but he wanted to nip this in the bud before it could escalate at all. To make his third point, he said, "Also, my publicist insists I'm good-looking, but that's the main reason I pay her."
O-oh.
Bess felt her ears begin to burn as she put together his words. Fanatic, post-game victories, his
publicist. He was a quidditch player? He had to be a quidditch player, there weren't famous
gobstone tossers that got stalked by women pretending to be carrying their child. Crap. Crap! And here she was, talking to him like he was some regular goofball that didn't know how to handle his own business.
Crap! If Fabian ever had an issue like this (if he EVER had an ISSUE LIKE THIS---) she would want to cover it up as quickly as possible (EVEN THOUGH HE'D BE DEAD IF THIS
EVER----).
"Well, yes she's right, but I mean---" Bess immediately felt the burn in her ears flush across her face, down her neck, and--great. There went
all credibility she had, straight out the fake window! Bess lowered her gaze to her desk, hands fiddling with the papers in front of her to try and look busy, but it was an awful failure. Great, great! She had a quidditch player thinking she was a moron, when
he was probably an airhead jock like her boyfriend (yes, well. She did know Fabian rather well). "You should hire a solicitor immediately---Mr. Higgs, when he----if you
haven't slept with her then---I mean, he should be able to---scare her with legal jargon and get her to stop harrassing you. And---if all else fails you could always do a paternity test, they've got--really early...ones."
Absolute failure.
Drystan wasn't quite sure what he had said, or even what had happened, in the past minute to make this Bess Zeller's eyes go large the way they did, or the faint pink that was creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks. Was there something more serious than he realized, about mistaken paternity? He knew that being in his situation, things might have been a bit different than the standard case, but was it really so terrible?
Well, now he was alarmed.
Really alarmed, as a matter of fact, and considering the possibility that they hadn't progressed further in the play-offs a blessing in disguise for him.
"Is this something you think Mr. Higgs would legitimately be able to handle? I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to give him more information than her name now, but I haven't wanted to even consider getting... involved." Oh, but that was an alarming thought. "I just want to get this resolved and quickly and quietly as possible, and if you could relay that to Mr. Higgs when he returns, I would appreciate it greatly."
Pausing, Drystan gave her a mildly worried look. "Er--miss... are you all right? You're not going to--faint, or anything, are you?"
"I'm fine! Fine, just," she stood quickly, shuffling papers and trying to look busy and just---stupid, stupid, stupid. He was a quidditch player! Of course this was important! This
wasn't some idiot who impregnated a one night stand and was now trying to make sure she couldn't take his money. Oh, oh! Bloody hell, what if someone was listening? This could be in those rags
tomorrow! She completely fucked up, Brady was going to
kill her and she was going to lose her job and have to beg Sirius to let her waitress again and then she would
kill herself.
After Brady had already killed her.
She was going to die
twice!
"I'll set up an appointment for you with Mr. Higgs," Bess said hurriedly, pulling out her scheduler and--what was his name again? She didn't want to talk to him again, she didn't want to look him in the
eye, but---Bess lifted her head, pressing her lips together as she caught his gaze again. Bloody hell, he was gorgeous. No wonder he had random woman wanting to be the mother of his children.
She certainly wouldn't mind it, if she was single, of course.
"When would you like to schedule it for, Mr. Fawcett?"
His eyes widened slightly as he took in the sudden change of pace from Miss Zeller, eyebrows crinkling minutely in confusion. Of course, if Drystan knew that he was causing this woman massive panic, it wouldn't be so far-fetched to say he would have enjoyed it--slightly--before persuading her that she was doing her job just fine, and she wouldn't have to die twice, but alas. Being pretty in no way meant he had the ability to be a mindreader.
On the other hand, he
was certain that there was something panicking the woman, which was making him uneasy, because it might be able how awful this process was going to be. The thought never occurred to him, however, that she might be acting this way because he had just announced his profession as a Quidditch player, but--well, he just assumed people knew who he was.
"Would tomorrow afternoon be possible? I've practice resuming in a short while, and I'm afraid that has my schedule for a good part of tonight and tomorrow morning." He looked at her cautiously, not believing that she was fine but not willing to hover about her until she was going to faint. Luckily for her, though he was just the sort who looked pretty even when she was trying not to flush dark red.
"Here you go!"
She nearly threw the appointment slip at him, and Bess flinched greatly as it fluttered to the floor. Brady was going to kill her, Brady was going to
kill her. It was all she could think as she came around the desk to pick up the small piece of parchment for him. Might as well do her bloody job while she
could, because Bess was sure that there was a spy in the offices, she was
sure that the bloody Tattler was going to pick up on this within the week, and she was
sure that every one of his teammates and---
fans were going to come and banish her into whatever dimension magic sent banished objects.
She was going to live in an alternate dimension!
"Sorry about all that," she muttered, bending down, "but Mr. Higgs is free for Monday afternoon at two? That's the earliest I can give you."
Bess was bending down.
He couldn't help it. If an attractive girl felt it appropriate to, at any point, reveal that side of her in a conversation, a healthy, hearty wizard was bound to ogle. And Drystan would normally have done it in a calmly flirtatious, and somewhat charming manner. He was politely lecherous. But this woman was very, very frazzled and he felt that just one small thing that irritated her could push her off some sort of edge, so he hastened to tear his eyes away from the voluptuous girl in front of him. This was--terribly awkward--and not good.
Trying to move his head and his stare away from her, he muttered, "Yes, yes, Tues--Monday, at twelve, that's fine-- or two. But--" Closing his eyes, Drystan jerked himself in the opposite direction, hands knocking over something on the desk in the process. Hearing a gentle rustle, he looked up and saw various papers flying about the desk area, courtesy of his hurried shuffle.
"Oh, bloody--!"
She shot up, watching the parchment go flying. Well! Well. This was at least going to give her something to do. Oy, Bess was never one to think on the positive side of things, but right
now, she would definitely take some bloody busy work over having to tell Brady that she attempted to advise a famous quidditch player right out in the public of his office area for
everyone to hear.
She was definitely going to have a panic attack. Brilliant. Juuuuust brilliant.
"That's all right!" Bess let out quickly, grabbing at his sleeve. He didn't need to even think for a second about helping, if he was even---maybe thinking about it. Oy, no sense, she made no sense, but
she was going to get the parchment and
he was going to go.
Keeping a hold of the fabric, Bess' expression took on a look of professionalism. Now that she was done freaking out and into the acceptance of her impending death phase of this new depression, she was rather calm and relaxed. She even smiled, a real and true one, because she was probably never going to have a reason to smile again. "Monday at
two. I'll even owl you or---your publicist as a reminder."
Drystan froze in the midst of trying to gather a stack of paper, the tug on his sleeve sending them over the edge. He was fairly certain her panic was contagious, because he felt himself starting to get a bit antsy for the first time since walking into the office--nay, since this whole unborn-child drama began-- and he didn't know why! Hastily backing away from the paper blizzard--if she wasn't going to ask him to help, he definitely wasn't going to.
Picking up his appointment parchment slip, Drystan nodded in as business-mannerlike a nod as he could muster. That smile, while very nice to look at, was also scaring him just the tiniest bit. Prying her fingers off his sleeve gently, he returned a somewhat placating and confused smile, as he said, "That--will be fine. Monday. At two. I--you can tell Mr. Higgs I will be here."
He walked out of the door, hazarding a glance over his shoulder at the blonde woman, resisting the urge to scratch his head.
What sort of bizarre-zone had he walked into there? With a shake of his head, Drystan continued his way out of the Ministry, wondering what Monday, at two o'clock, would bring.
