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Clear Skies
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Saturday, 1:30 PM
For a moment, only the sound of two men's breathing filled the nicely appointed yet narrow office found in the very depth of one of the lesser Rosier estates in Wales. The outside world had long been forbidden of intruding in any meeting held in that room; that feat showing the expertise of the old wizarding family in wards and secrecy spells. As such, in a safe place where no one could condemn him of any impropriety, one Jovian Rosier could freely let loose the hot wrath that had steadily built inside him in response to the words spoken by his own son. He could rage, perhaps, but he did not.
No, Jovian had always been a temperate wizard, bred for diplomacy and shaped by compromises. An overbearing patriarch he was not, and it slowly came to him over the last few years that his hand-off approach to his family's affairs did more harm than good. Not only was his wife steadily taking over the family affairs in regards to politics and business ventures, shaping them to profit more her brothers than the Rosier family, but now his own heir had decided to associate with those odious blood purists that had made so much noise lately.
Closing dove grey eyes and passing a neatly manicured hand over handsome features that had started to line with stress and self-restraint, the patriarch of the cadet branch of the Rosier family let out a slow, deliberately quiet sigh. As he slowly felt his heartbeats even out and could finally think without his temples hurting, Jovian finally deigned to fix his unruly son with a grave look.
"Fergus, do you have any idea of the troubles your actions have brought me tonight?" His voice, while deep and soft-spoken, held the strain of gritted teeth as the wizard glared at the younger man before him.
Said young man frowned sullenly, his stubborn face reminding his father of his own youth for a moment, before the feeling passed. No, now was not the time to be soft; he's been much too lenient lately.
"Trouble? I'd bet that culling mudblood scum would solve much of our problems, not create them!" With a sneer, Fergus leaned forward in his seat before his father's desk with a hand placed flat against the polished rosewood before him. The two men glared at each other for a moment, before Jovian let some of the scorn he felt at the sentiment stated by his offspring leak into his voice.
"Your foolish behaviour made it to the Daily Prophet's front page, Fergus. The Rosier name will be laughing stock for weeks because of your idiocy!" As his tone grew harsh in his frustrated state, the father felt his magic roil under his skin, ready to lash out at a disrespectful son. He would not allow it, but the matter remained that he would have to deal with this…
As Fergus opened his mouth to respond, whole body tense with self-righteous indignation, Jovian sighed again before stopping what would amount to a tantrum from his newly adult son.
"No, we will not speak of this further tonight. Tomorrow, you will accompany me to present the Rosier family's apology to the pub you disturbed this morning. You will go with me, and you will properly apologize, Fergus! Am I clear?"
Startled by his father sudden forceful behaviour, the young man agreed without words and left, still sullen but cowed; for now.
Left alone with his own thoughts, Jovian sighed once more before turning towards his writing implements; he would at least have to send an owl announcing his intention to the owner of the pub trashed by Fergus, and there were more than a fair share of inquiries and even some howlers awaiting his attentions…
"What a wretched day…" He said, to the empty room as he reached for a bottle of firewhiskey hidden in one of his drawers.
Jovian Rosier
b. November 5th 1928
Born of an old and powerful Pureblood wizarding line, Jovian married young and learned early that keeping your head down and your mouth shut was the easiest way to live a peaceful life.
Years passed, and after the emergence of Blood Supremacists in the British Isles, this second son of a second son is starting to think that his peace of mind may not be worth his bruised conscience, after all.
"In countries where innocent people are dying, the leaders are following their blood rather than their brains."
[/dash]b. November 5th 1928
Born of an old and powerful Pureblood wizarding line, Jovian married young and learned early that keeping your head down and your mouth shut was the easiest way to live a peaceful life.
Years passed, and after the emergence of Blood Supremacists in the British Isles, this second son of a second son is starting to think that his peace of mind may not be worth his bruised conscience, after all.
"In countries where innocent people are dying, the leaders are following their blood rather than their brains."
Saturday, 1:30 PM
For a moment, only the sound of two men's breathing filled the nicely appointed yet narrow office found in the very depth of one of the lesser Rosier estates in Wales. The outside world had long been forbidden of intruding in any meeting held in that room; that feat showing the expertise of the old wizarding family in wards and secrecy spells. As such, in a safe place where no one could condemn him of any impropriety, one Jovian Rosier could freely let loose the hot wrath that had steadily built inside him in response to the words spoken by his own son. He could rage, perhaps, but he did not.
No, Jovian had always been a temperate wizard, bred for diplomacy and shaped by compromises. An overbearing patriarch he was not, and it slowly came to him over the last few years that his hand-off approach to his family's affairs did more harm than good. Not only was his wife steadily taking over the family affairs in regards to politics and business ventures, shaping them to profit more her brothers than the Rosier family, but now his own heir had decided to associate with those odious blood purists that had made so much noise lately.
Closing dove grey eyes and passing a neatly manicured hand over handsome features that had started to line with stress and self-restraint, the patriarch of the cadet branch of the Rosier family let out a slow, deliberately quiet sigh. As he slowly felt his heartbeats even out and could finally think without his temples hurting, Jovian finally deigned to fix his unruly son with a grave look.
"Fergus, do you have any idea of the troubles your actions have brought me tonight?" His voice, while deep and soft-spoken, held the strain of gritted teeth as the wizard glared at the younger man before him.
Said young man frowned sullenly, his stubborn face reminding his father of his own youth for a moment, before the feeling passed. No, now was not the time to be soft; he's been much too lenient lately.
"Trouble? I'd bet that culling mudblood scum would solve much of our problems, not create them!" With a sneer, Fergus leaned forward in his seat before his father's desk with a hand placed flat against the polished rosewood before him. The two men glared at each other for a moment, before Jovian let some of the scorn he felt at the sentiment stated by his offspring leak into his voice.
"Your foolish behaviour made it to the Daily Prophet's front page, Fergus. The Rosier name will be laughing stock for weeks because of your idiocy!" As his tone grew harsh in his frustrated state, the father felt his magic roil under his skin, ready to lash out at a disrespectful son. He would not allow it, but the matter remained that he would have to deal with this…
As Fergus opened his mouth to respond, whole body tense with self-righteous indignation, Jovian sighed again before stopping what would amount to a tantrum from his newly adult son.
"No, we will not speak of this further tonight. Tomorrow, you will accompany me to present the Rosier family's apology to the pub you disturbed this morning. You will go with me, and you will properly apologize, Fergus! Am I clear?"
Startled by his father sudden forceful behaviour, the young man agreed without words and left, still sullen but cowed; for now.
Left alone with his own thoughts, Jovian sighed once more before turning towards his writing implements; he would at least have to send an owl announcing his intention to the owner of the pub trashed by Fergus, and there were more than a fair share of inquiries and even some howlers awaiting his attentions…
"What a wretched day…" He said, to the empty room as he reached for a bottle of firewhiskey hidden in one of his drawers.
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