Title: Like Father, Like Daughter (IC)
Characters: Emmanuelle Leroy and Tyrone Faraday
Rating: PG (for slight language and themes).
Status: Complete (pending editing based on flights of fancy)
Emmanuelle was glad of the weekend away from the school. Beauxbatons, despite being very pretty, had a very ugly side to it that Emmanuelle liked to steer clear of. Of course, she was immune to most of the hardships the school could throw her way. After all, she was part-Veela, and kept herself to herself. She did not meddle in other people's business, and they did not meddle in hers. She had the nice protection of her blood, for most who knew what was good for them did not mess with the 'beautiful people' of Beauxbatons. Nonetheless, Emmanuelle was a bit of a loner, and seeing the cliques within the school, and what some of the girls did to the others...well, she liked to keep as far away from it as possible.
And so it was that Emmanuelle was sitting, alone, in the pub. She was only fifteen, but she was remarkably responsible for her age - despite the appearance of a spacey, airy girl, one with her head in the clouds. She was intelligent and mature, and it was thanks to her mother that she was. For Evangeline Leroy was perhaps the most immature and irresponsible forty year old anyone could ever meet. And to think that she had two children...well, she only looked after one (the term 'looked after' being used quite loosely). Antoinette had been dumped on her father's doorstep as soon as she was born. Emmanuelle...well, Evangeline had dumped her father and kicked him out of her house. And she'd insisted she could raise a child by herself - ha! It was lucky that Emmanuelle had been born so intelligent. From the time she was about two, she was able to amuse herself while Evangeline went out to use her Veela powers to seduce unfortunate men. She could go to the shops and buy food at about five or six. And she was extremely grateful for the day she was accepted to Beauxbatons - it meant she could worry less about keeping herself occupied, and instead set to sharpening her mind. It was good for Evangeline, too - she didn't have to pretend to be worried about Emmanuelle at all.
At another table of the well furnished pub sat the thirty-nine year old Tyrone Faraday. He appeared to be carefully studying a menu, but if one were to look at him, you could see him sneaking glances at the pretty young girl who was quietly drinking a butterbeer all alone. Though one could also tell that despite the attempt at curiosity, Tyrone had found exactly what, or rather, who, he was looking for.
Tyrone had been married only once, and only for six months - to Evangeline Leroy, no less. What he had assumed was a one-night stand had turned in to something more when he stumbled across the half-Veela once again, and she confessed that she was pregnant. Well. Tyrone may not have been the perfect gentleman, but he had been raised well (even if that was in a home with his brother and a few other orphaned children). He did the right thing by her and proposed. After all, once he saw her again he was convinced he was in love with her. And Evangeline, while hesitant, thought it was appropriate and accepted. But a leopard could not change its spots, and Evangeline did not like being tied down. Even while heavily pregnant. At eight months, she filed for divorce and kicked Tyrone out of the house. He was never able to find her again, although he tried desperately. Even if he did not love Evangeline anymore, he was desperate to find his child, his baby girl (for they'd found that it was a girl). Emma Faraday, that's what her name was supposed to be. He didn't even know his own daughter's name, but he sure hoped that Evangeline had at least respected his wishes and named the little girl the name they'd picked together.
Well, no time like the present, he thought, as he drained the last of his butterbeer and walked over to her. It had to be her. She looked so much like her mother - yet at the same time, so much like her father. Himself. Clearing his throat, he put his hands on the chair opposite her.
"Oui, monsieur?" she asked, looking up blankly in to his eyes. Obviously, she had no idea who he was.
"...sorry. I don't speak much French, mademoiselle." Tyrone stated, calmly - or, as calmly as he could, given the gravity of the situation.
"Oh! I am sorry," Emmanuelle responded, blushing slightly. Her accent was truly terrible, but she hoped she was improving. Especially since she had mostly taught herself all the English she knew. "Eez there something I can 'elp you with, monsieur?"
Tyrone swallowed. How was he supposed to say this? Fifteen years, he'd been waiting, and now? But Tyrone was always the confident one. It was Adrian who was shy. Tyrone was the bold leader, always unafraid, always knew exactly what to do in any situation. He nodded slowly, before swallowing again and opening his mouth.
"...well. There's...there's just one thing," he said, slowly. "...is your name Emma? Emma Faraday?" At this, Emmanuelle shook her head.
"Non, monsieur, I theenk you are mistaken. Zat eez not my name." So that b!tch didn't even use the name we picked, thought Tyrone to himself, bitterly. Figured as much.
"...it has to be. You look exactly how she's meant to look. ...tell me. What's your name, sweetheart?" Emmanuelle was frightened - it showed, quite obviously, in her eyes - but she merely swallowed and shook her head.
"I believe it eez rude to not give your name first, non?" she said, her eyes innocent. Tyrone merely chuckled to herself.
"Hah, you're right. My name's Tyrone." At this, Tyrone held out his hand to the girl, who took it with a smile.
"It eez a pleasure to meet you, monsieur Tyrone. My name eez Emmanuelle."
Emmanuelle, huh? Well, it's close enough to Emma... She certainly looked enough like his daughter was supposed to look. He had to be right. There was no doubt in his mind. "Wouldn't happen to be Emmanuelle Leroy...by any chance?"
Emmanuelle was completely shocked. How does he know my name? Is he stalking me? No, he can't be, he called me Emma Faraday...but still! Maybe he knows my mother...oh. I suppose he's yet another one night stand. He probably remembers seeing me at home or something.
"Oh," she began, disappointed. "I suppose you are looking for my mother, zen. I am sorry, she eez not here, and most likely, she is with another man, so I would not search for her if I were you." Emmanuelle spoke in a monotone, sighing at the end of her sentance. It was all so well practiced, so rehearsed. The number of times Emmanuelle had to send men away from the house, because her mother was too cowardly to do it herself...
"...no," Tyrone quickly clarified, shaking his head. "I am looking for you, Emma...Emmanuelle. Did your mother ever tell you about when she was married to your father?" Emmanuelle had an idea of where this was going, but she attributed that to reading too many books. She merely shook her head, wondering what he'd say next.
"Did you know that your mother used to be married, when she was pregnant with you...married...to me?" If Emmanuelle had been any less shocked by this statement, she would have possibly rolled her eyes. But nonetheless, she was quite shocked. It wasn't every day that a man came up to you and told you that they were your father.
"Do...do you mean to tell me...zat...zat...you are my father?" Emmanuelle looked up, tears in her eyes. She hoped he wasn't joking. She really, really hoped. For the one thing Emmanuelle had always wanted was a father. Someone to look after her and care about her. But not just any man. Her real, true father. Even if he'd been nonexistant for fifteen years.
In an instant, Tyrone had pulled his chair around next to where Emmanuelle was sitting, and had stretched his arms around the girl. He was a fairly affectionate sort - only to people who deserved it, however.
"Honey, don't cry," he whispered, holding the girl close. His daughter. The girl he'd wanted to hold for the past fifteen years. "It's alright, Emma...sorry, Emmanuelle. I...I just always thought of you as little Emma Faraday. That's...that's what your mother and I were going to call you. Emma...I'm so sorry. I always wanted to be there for you. I looked so hard for fifteen years, but your mother seemed insistant...but...I'm really, really sorry. Could...could you ever forgive me?"
Emmanuelle nodded in to his chest, but didn't say anything. Tyrone didn't expect her to. Besides, they had to get to know each other better as it was. They had fifteen years to catch up on. And slowly, they'd get to be the proper father and daughter they were always meant to be.
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