Blacker than a moonless night...

He looked positively surprised at the hug. He was about to hug her back when she pulled away. His face was that imperceptable shade redder again.

"It's.. no problem." he said. "So, do you have any firewhiskey? I'd like a small glass." he added.

He looked at the cieling. This was a new experience for him. Having a girl hug him wasn't new, but having it mean something to him was. He rubbed his stubble covered chin. First day in New Zealand and girls were hugging him. Him of all people.
 
"Yeah, I do," she muttered, returning to the cupboard and pulling out the bottle. She was now convinced she needed one, too. Pulling out a couple of glasses, she poured them each a small amount and gave one glass to Damien, with an awkward yet sweet smile, before looking away and moving over to the lounge room.
"Um...come and sit down," she suggested, before throwing back some of her drink. "So," she stated, before giving a small cough. "What's America like? I've never been there." Smooth. Real classy, she thought, mentally kicking herself.
 
He grinned back and followed her. His grin wasn't quite as awkward or sweet, but it was convincingly relaxed to, he hoped, break the tension.

"Well, what have you heard about America?" he asked.
 
"Most likely, nothing but lies," Martine retorted, innocently. "From what I have heard, America is a place filled with nothing but stuck up pricks who think they can perform magic better than anyone else in the world," she said, sweetly. "I hope that you can prove me wrong on that." She thought for a moment, before shrugging. "Oh, and there's nice shopping, though not as nice as Paris, and the whole American dream thing," she said, not sounding particuarly coherent, but shrugging and smiling nonetheless. Even at her age, she knew little about the world outside Europe - excepting for New Zealand and Australia, of course.
 
"Well, MOSTLY lies." Damien admitted. "A lot of Americans are stuck up pricks." he said. "Shopping is decent in Minnesotta..." He thought for a moment. "Most of our Ministers were educated elsewhere though. So, we aren't taught we can cast magic better, if anything, we're taught that everyone else has been DOING it longer." Damien explained.

"The American dream? That's all it is, is a dream. Yeah there are some people lucky enough to get the white picket fence, but most people get a thick window overlooking city streets or chain linked fence. America isn't all rich people and big houses." He grinned. "We do do SPORTS well though. And not just muggle sports. Americans tend to lean away from Quidditch, but we do have one great team, the Boston Basilisks." He chuckled.
 
Throwing back the rest of her firewhiskey (it gave her courage, so she told herself), Martine chuckled at Damien's explanation. "Hah, I'm sure it's not that bad. If it makes you feel better, France and Belgium do actually live up to the stereotypes. Pretty, fairly boring - in Belgium's case, anyway - full of nice things but very arrogant people," she winked, before settling back on to the couch.

"Ah, indeed," she nodded. Belgium didn't have any big name Quidditch teams, and France was alright, but there were better teams in Europe. "Wow, I haven't seen a Quidditch game in a long time. Haven't played since seventh year." Amazingly enough, Martine used to be a beater, of all positions. She would be completely out of practice, but back then, she had incredibly strong arms, yet constant bruising to match.
 
"You were a beater?" he asked, an amused smile on his face. "I imagined you a seeker." He sipped the whiskey. "I always wanted to be a seeker, like the famous Harry Potter." He smiled. "In fact I always wanted to be like him. He was an inspiration for me. I know it sounds juvenile but I can't help but admire the man." He looked at her. "Along with my father, he's why I became an Auror. If a kid can fight the Darklord himself, I can sure as hell fight his followers as an adult." He looked at her. "What about you? Why did you decide to become an Auror?"
 
Martine grinned. "People are always full of surprises, are they not?" she stated, almost flirtatiously. "And you do not sound juvenile. He's an inspiration to a lot of people, and what he did was very impressive. They are big footsteps to follow, but very much worth following. After all, it's nice to see people taking after Harry Potter. Much better than following the Dark Lord." She paused at Damien's next question, leaning back with a thoughtful look. "Why did I become an Auror?" she repeated, more to herself than anything else. "I guess I just wanted to prove that I could do it, really." Realising how stupid that sounded, she quickly waved a hand in dismissal and continued. "I mean, I was an only child, I never had to compete or prove anything, but I guess I wanted to do it partially to show that not all Beauxbatons girls are airheads, and partially because I want to destroy the Dark Lord's legacy and make the world a better place, and this is the best way, I think." Martine realised that she had been rambling, and quickly looked down at her hands. "Sorry, I sound like I'm accepting an award, don't I?"
 
"Not really, you sound like you're answering a question." he said. "Beauxbuxtons does have a reputation..." He looked up at her. "Although my father seems intent to prove it wrong as well... just the wrong way." He sighed. "And besides, proving yourself is as good a reason as any." He downed the rest of his whiskey. "So, Beauxbuxton girls are stupid, huh?"
 
"Vapid, stupid airheads, all of them," Martine muttered, shaking her head, before clearing her throat in order to clarify. "Well, not all of them, I had a couple of close friends who were lovely girls, quite smart and friendly. Of course, there's a bunch of Veelas and part-Veelas, and while they're not all horrid, some of them are very selfish and egotistical. And the girls who aren't Veelas are most likely just as self-absorbed." She looked up at Damien, smiling gently. "I am very sorry that you should have to have a father like that," she said, realising she probably hadn't phrased herself well, but at least she tried.
 
Damien nodded. "The feeling's mutual," he said, getting the remains of his Firewhiskey, "I can honestly say I hate him." he added, his voice flat. His expression flashed to one of intensity... And held back anger. It changed quickly. "Though you bring up a valuable question... What the hell is a Veela exactly?"
 
She looked down at her hands again, unsure of what to say to that. Undoubtedly Damien had a lot of personal demons, thanks to his father. Martine was fortunate that the dark side of her family was her aunt's side - even then, her aunt had been unquestionably sweet, according to her mother. As had her uncle. The rest of that family...well. Martine preferred not to associate with them, if she could help it. Gretchen was nice enough, but she was in Sweden. It was Clara and Mark who were here, and it was those two who were the dangerous ones.

"Oh, well, they're a magical creature. Human form, they are very, very beautiful people. But when they get mad, they change in to these grotesque birds. Part-Veelas can't always do that, so they're just extremely pretty." Martine shrugged. "Beauxbatons is seemingly well known for them."
 
"Oh, I call them Harpies." he explained. He grinned. "Well it's getting late, I should head home." he said, rising...
 
Of course, Martine had never had the best alcohol tolerance. In fact, despite all the drinks she had in the cupboard, she usually stayed sober, unless she was depressed. And while she could handle drinking anything, Firewhiskey was always a problem, for it was pretty much the strongest thing she had.

"Yeah, probably," she said, remarkably coherently, considering that her head was feeling a little fuzzy. "I mean, you can stay longer if you want, but..." she started, before her foot caught on the leg of the sofa and she tumbled to the floor. Swearing to herself, her face crumpled and she felt her eyes start to well up. It wasn't that she was hurt, it was just everything was getting to her and making her upset. It looked appalling to be so upset in front of a near perfect stranger, but Martine just couldn't help it. Sighing, she struggled to her feet, looking completely disheartened.
 
Damien helped her to her feet. "Are you okay, Martine?" he asked. He was a little taken aback as well. She had to be a lightweight to get this upset over falling... But it couldn't just be that. It must've been everything... All that he'd brought up in her mind. He also couldn't help but feel a pit in his stomache looking at her. She looked so lonely like this. He kept his hands on her shoulder and arm.
 
"Y-yeah, I'm fine," Martine insisted, brushing herself off. "I...I've never been much of a drinker. I usually stick to coffee," she admitted, looking up at Damien with an innocent, yet hazy look. Before she knew it, she'd stretched up and had placed her lips to Damien's, closing her eyes. For a brief moment, she enjoyed the feeling, until she broke apart, horrified. What did I do? Oh God, oh God... she thought, staring at Damien, shocked, before looking away, her face burning in shame. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just...you'd better go. Please." She needed to straighten herself out, to get out of this slump in her life. For her sake, and for the sake of those around her.
 
Damien... Had kissed her back.

"No, I'M sorry. I-I-I took advantage, I-I-I...." He looked at her. "I'm sorry... if you want me to go I'll go..." He turned but then he turned back. "But honestly... I... It wouldn't feel right leaving you alone like this." he said. He stood there for a moment, waiting for a response. Was this really his place? He hardly knew this girl. She'd kissed him without provocation... Admittedly she may have been innebriated... but... He scratched his head. "I don't know." he murmured to himself.
 
"N-no, you really didn't. It...it is my fault," She looked down, sighing. "I am a fool. I barely know you, but...I could not resist," she admitted, blushing furiously. "You...you can stay if you would like," she added, silently willing him to do so, despite her appalling behaviour, "but you do not have to. I...my God," she muttered, slapping her palm against her forehead. She really needed to sort herself out.
 
He came back towards her. "You want me to get you some coffee?" he said. "You look like you could use a... well actually you don't... I." He imitated her, slapping his own forhead. "Godamnit." He sat back on the couch. "Do you want to have a drink?"
This wasn't like him, and he knew it. Where was the cynical, cocky Damien he used to be? What the hell was she bringing out in him? Why didn't he hate it?
 
Martine gave a half-hearted laugh at this. "No, I had better not," she said, with a small half-smile. "Do you?" she asked, figuring he might need one - after all, no doubt his tolerance was much better than hers. With a sigh, she sat down on the couch next to him, crossing her legs and resting her chin on her palm, her elbow balancing on the arm of the chair. With another laugh, she shook her head. "Some first day on the job for you, huh."
 
Damien chuckled. "I guess I could." He looked at her. "Well the first day is always the most interesting." he admitted, nodding. He put a hand on her shoulder. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Though it's always good to make a friend I suppose."
 
Martine chuckled, a more genuine laugh than before. "Interesting indeed," she said, blushing as she felt his arm around her, and more so when he kissed her cheek. "I don't know whether to hope you get better days than these, or more dull days," she mused, smiling gently as she moved closer in to him. "But friends are always good."
 
Smiling sweetly to herself, Martine leant her head on Damien's shoulder. "Indeed, to better days and new friends," she echoed, clinking her empty glass against his own. It would be good to finally have a friend here in New Zealand. God knew she'd been waiting an awfully long time.
 
Damien grinned himself and put an arm around her.

"I think maybe I should crash here tonight." he said, gently running his thumb on her back. He felt her breathing slow, and her eyes closed. She gave a soft sigh and was fast asleep. He smiled and leaned his head and closed his own eyes. She pulled her self a little closer, and he didn't fight it. Soon he too was asleep...


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