Date: 18 March 2021
Time: 1:00 pm
Word Count: 486
Interacting With: @Jaime Doon

When you come from a social circle of blood-status-snobs you learn quickly that everyone you interact with from your friends to your doctors needs to be as pureblooded as possible. Non-compliance with this rule results in you being the hot topic of the gossip circle. And Tristan's mother, who was already quite the pariah for having a child with a half-blood, didn't need another target on her back so she was more than happy to comply with this social rule.

There are certain exceptions to this rule. With so many wizards pursuing magic-based careers, it's quite hard to find a good wizard in a less magic-centric job like law. So when Tristan's mother needed help with her finances due to being a single parent, recently disowned by her parents, and not getting child support from Tristan's absentee father, she got a muggle lawyer.

Still trying to push as much heat away from this endeavor as possible, Tristan's mother sought help from across the Isles, an Irish lawyer named Christopher Doon. That meant an overnight trip to sort everything out, which also meant bringing Tristan along.

Tristan was rather excited at first, this would be his first time visiting Ireland after all. He wasn't going to be exploring Ireland, instead, he would be sitting in the corner of a stuffy office wearing an itchy button-down and slacks because they were in a "professional work environment" or whatever. Plus, he couldn't talk which was starting to bother him because his mother said they would go grab lunch after this but she's been talking for ages and he is starving.

As Tristan's head started to lull to the side from boredom, a movement behind him caught his eye. Turning around in his chair, he peered out the windowed wall that led into the hallway and saw
a small girl around his age on the other side. She was quite thin with long black hair that seemed to shine in the light. He waved at her, his chin resting on the head of the chair.

Tristan's mother's hand on his shoulder forcing him forward brought him back to reality, "Tristan, can you sit like a proper gentleman, please?" It was always curious to Tristan how his mother always phrased her commands like questions. If she wanted him to do something, just tell him straight.

He looked back once more before turning to his mother, "Mum, can I um... go to the bathroom?" Tristan's mother pursed her lips, questioning his intentions for a moment before sighing and nodding, "Yes, just be right back, ok?"

Tristan nodded quickly and hopped off his chair, darting out of the room. Luckily, the girl was in the hall and not just some boredom-induced hallucination. He waved at her again, though more bashfully this time since he never usually talked to girls and now he was alone in a random hall with one, "Hi... I'm Tristan."

01:01 ━⬤────────────────── 26:00
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ft. @Tristan Isolde

The Doon family revolved around law. Not the up keeping or belief of the thing, but the practise of it. From Grandma'am to Jaime's dad to her mom to her siblings, nearly the whole family was either a lawyer, a judge, or something of the sort. Which also meant that because they had such an awful amount of places to be, they often did not remember each other's schedules as well as their own.

In fact, just this morning, Jaime had overheard a conversation between her parents about the matter. Her mother had been bustling to get out the door, while her father had been making coffee in the kitchen. Her sister, Maisie, was at her friend's, Zack was on his way to detention, Spencer was already at work (probably slept there) and Dave was flying to the Netherlands.

"I've got to go for the hearing, and Maisie's at Julie's, but you've got Jaime, right?" her mother had called from the door, keys between her teeth and shoes in hand. Jaime was hiding behind the railing, not bothering to make her presence known.

"What? I thought you were clear today," was her father's slow reply. He, most of all, was the worst with dates.

Jaime's mother was much quicker in her answer: "No, it's the Preston Case, didn't I mention that?"

"If you did, I certainly don't recall. I have a meeting with a client in 4."

"Can't you take a rain check?"

"The woman and her son came all the way from Scotland, it'd be unprofessional to cancel now." Jaime's father dismissed, coming out from the kitchen. Scotland? She'd never been there before.

"Grandma'am?"

Please no.

"No, she's been called back in to oversee an embezzlement case short term."

Thank goodness.

Jaime's mother checked her watch, before opening the door to leave. "I have to go. Just bring her to work or something."

"Honey--" Jaime's father started, but his wife was gone, already off to handle 'Preston Case', and he was left to deal with Jaime alone.

After an agonizing hour of calling every babysitting service he could think of, Jaime's father gave in. He only had one choice: to bring Jaime to work with him, despite her protests. "It'll be a learning opportunity," he insisted as he started the car, but Jaime wasn't convinced. He probably wouldn't even let her into his office, instead forcing her to wander the halls aimlessly until it was time to go home. If it were up to her, she'd just stay home alone, but for some reason, leaving an 10-year-old to fend for themselves wouldn't be 'appropriate'. Bah.

Once they arrived, Jaime's father (as predicted) shooed her away the second his clients arrived. As she strolled up and down the hallway outside his office, Jaime spotted a boy her age waving at her from inside. Was this the son her father had mentioned? She'd thought he'd be older. Or younger. Or anything but her own age. Lifting her hand to wave back, Jaime travelled closer to the door to get a better look. Unfortunately, he'd just turned to talk to his mother, so she had to a wait a second. Soon, he turned back, immediately hopping from his chair and running into the hallway.

"Hi... I'm Tristan," he said, waving bashfully. Jaime brighened.

"I'm Jaime. Is that your mom in there?" she babbled, a bit taken a back by how talkative she was being. Usually, she barely spoke at all if she didn't have to. "Is it true that you're from Scotland?"

Lyrics: 590 words in #CD7F32

Word Count: 397
Interacting With: @Jaime Doon

Tristan was starting to realize how little he had thought this through. Sure he was bored in there, but now he was alone in this random hallway with a girl. He was still too young for intergender mingling to be the norm. At school, guys would be friends with other guys and girls would be friends with other girls. Only a select few who didn't fit in too well or were way more sociable than Tristan is would ever cross those lines.

What was worse was he was also old enough to start noticing that some of his peers weren't that hard to look at and made him flustered when he talked to them. And this girl definitely fell into that group of people. Whether it was because she was a pretty girl or it was a symptom of him not talking to many girls, he found his cheeks flushing redder than they normally would when he was embarrassed or shy.

"Is it true that you're from Scotland?"

Jaime was clearly handling this interaction a lot better than he was, which honestly made him more flustered. It doesn't exactly take a lot for a crush to form at this age so with a pretty girl who was casually talking to him, Tristan felt like he was crushing hard. He nervously stuffed his hands in his back pockets as he swayed back and forth.

"Aye, my mum's in there, we're both from Scotland," Tristan shyly muttered. Though there wasn't much place to take that bit of dialogue so he mustered up some confidence to add, "It's my first time in Ireland, actually."

But as Tristan looked around, it didn't feel like he was in Ireland. They were in a sterile hall dotted with offices and the occasional boring house plant or drab painting. They were on a completely different island and this is how they were spending their time? Milling about in this boring office building?

Tristan looked back towards Jaime with a sheepish smile on his face. He wanted to compliment the office since he wanted to be nice, but he couldn't find it in himself to find any kind of lie that would make sense for this dreary office. What would he even say? 'This shade of grey matches the black carpet so well'? Yuck. So instead he asked, "Is Ireland a cool place to live?"