Post by Callum McGregor on Sept 8, 2013 14:19:29 GMT -6
((ooc: Alright so this is the start of the Callum birthday surprise party for Amelia at her parent's house thing, which I assumed was in Paris still?? Thought I'd leave it open for anyone who is a colleague/friend of Amelia or Callum to have come along because I don't think they had an anniversary party so it could sort of be both? If you want me to change anything Cara, lemme know!))
Callum was on edge. Mainly because he’d been planning Amelia’s birthday surprise for weeks now and it could all go spectacularly wrong if she didn’t just go along with his ‘hey let’s go somewhere’ vague suggestion when she returned home that day.
After a kind of crappy 2013 thus far, starting with his father being hospitalised with suspected heart complications and it spiralling downwards from there, Cal had needed the distraction of planning a birthday party for his fiancée. Because they were still engaged, put on hold as the wedding had been due to the family illness, but Cal had been more grateful than he could ever express for Amelia still sticking by him. He still found it a little bit miraculous that she’d ever seen anything in him at all, all those years ago, because he had not been at his best in Paris. Barely functioning, near constantly drunk and pissing away inheritance and little bits of his soul (metaphorically speaking) with every game of poker he’d played. And yet she’d seen something and for that he could never thank her enough, or stop marvelling at it. So he’d try to express his gratitude by being a responsible, together, stable human being and a wee bit romantic (‘without being wanky’ he often affixed to that sentiment) on occasions.
Now was one such occasion and he sat in their home, anxiously tapping fingers against the top of his closed piano lid whilst he awaited his beautiful fiancée. As soon as he heard keys in the front door he bolted upright and practically raced out into the hallway to meet her. Damn, he was no good at subtle. But to hell with subtlety. “Joyeux anniversaire mon amour. Good day?” he asked conversationally as he curled a hand about her waist, drawing her in for a kiss before he murmured, “Okay so I’m going to cut to the chase, aye? This year, I’m not doing the ‘I forgot your birthday routine’. I know, I know, what a shame, it was really cute-slash-annoying… but I thought I could start a new tradition. So why don’t you humour me, go upstairs and change into that frankly illegally-gorgeous dress you bought last weekend and let me take you to your present. Hmm?” he put on what he hoped was an approximation of a cute, puppy-dog face as he looked at her.
Because they were already late for their (or really rather just her) own party, and he’d already had to communicate via Floo Powder with Monsieur et Madame Le’Beau to assure them he would be bringing their precious daughter to this beautifully organised party complete with all her relatives and colleagues and friends (though how he’d managed to get so many people to Portkey it over to Paris he’d never know) soon and the plan was working out just fine. If Amelia didn’t ask too many questions of him then, that is.
Callum was on edge. Mainly because he’d been planning Amelia’s birthday surprise for weeks now and it could all go spectacularly wrong if she didn’t just go along with his ‘hey let’s go somewhere’ vague suggestion when she returned home that day.
After a kind of crappy 2013 thus far, starting with his father being hospitalised with suspected heart complications and it spiralling downwards from there, Cal had needed the distraction of planning a birthday party for his fiancée. Because they were still engaged, put on hold as the wedding had been due to the family illness, but Cal had been more grateful than he could ever express for Amelia still sticking by him. He still found it a little bit miraculous that she’d ever seen anything in him at all, all those years ago, because he had not been at his best in Paris. Barely functioning, near constantly drunk and pissing away inheritance and little bits of his soul (metaphorically speaking) with every game of poker he’d played. And yet she’d seen something and for that he could never thank her enough, or stop marvelling at it. So he’d try to express his gratitude by being a responsible, together, stable human being and a wee bit romantic (‘without being wanky’ he often affixed to that sentiment) on occasions.
Now was one such occasion and he sat in their home, anxiously tapping fingers against the top of his closed piano lid whilst he awaited his beautiful fiancée. As soon as he heard keys in the front door he bolted upright and practically raced out into the hallway to meet her. Damn, he was no good at subtle. But to hell with subtlety. “Joyeux anniversaire mon amour. Good day?” he asked conversationally as he curled a hand about her waist, drawing her in for a kiss before he murmured, “Okay so I’m going to cut to the chase, aye? This year, I’m not doing the ‘I forgot your birthday routine’. I know, I know, what a shame, it was really cute-slash-annoying… but I thought I could start a new tradition. So why don’t you humour me, go upstairs and change into that frankly illegally-gorgeous dress you bought last weekend and let me take you to your present. Hmm?” he put on what he hoped was an approximation of a cute, puppy-dog face as he looked at her.
Because they were already late for their (or really rather just her) own party, and he’d already had to communicate via Floo Powder with Monsieur et Madame Le’Beau to assure them he would be bringing their precious daughter to this beautifully organised party complete with all her relatives and colleagues and friends (though how he’d managed to get so many people to Portkey it over to Paris he’d never know) soon and the plan was working out just fine. If Amelia didn’t ask too many questions of him then, that is.
