[My French is SO rusty, but I think it says what it should. Apparently Phae isn't taking this as badly as we thought she would. (Also, spot the pun!
)]
It should have alarmed her, Phaedra supposed, that Keiran was evidently feeling just as skeptical about this whole thing as she was. But actually, it was a small consolation that one of the three men at least had retained some sanity, and she wasn't alone in her misgivings. She wasn't at all assured by Frank's rather too flippant manner. But she trusted Keiran's judgement and he was still calm enough, so she just studied the younger man quietly for a chip in his confidence, or some telling sign of uncertainty. She found none.
"Yes, I'm familiar with the DWN. Like most of Wizarding Britain, I'd imagine." The tone wasn't at all sharp- a little stiff, if anything. If she'd been at all invested in his opinion it might have been offended. It wasn't that Phaedra wasn't used to being patronised- the sort of society she'd been brought up in dictated that she was more familiar with being talked down to by arrogant, assured men than she'd have liked- but she didn't want to be written off as nothing more than a pretty face in this endeavour. Too much was at stake for her to simply sit back and act the clueless damsel while Longbottom ran around taking risks like he was the only one with any semblance of intelligence in the room.
Obviously, this was another of the curveballs life had gotten so fond of throwing at her recently. But instead of dodging it, or furiously trying to deflect it as she usually did, this time she just stood there and meekly accepted it.
No, of course she didn’t.
She wasn't going to stubbornly deny reality and it seemed to her that she had little choice in the matter, given Longbottom’s pig-headed confidence and assuming that their host would back his friend over herself, considering how spectacularly she’d failed to endear herself to him on the last two occasions. She'd have to put up or shut up, as it were. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t do it on her own terms.
The muggle's accent, when he spoke, suddenly struck a note of familiarity. She froze. It was a belated realisation, not having heard that particular lilt in years, and his was masked with a less refined English than Martine's- but there it was all the same.
French.It was a split-second decision but she turned to Barnaby, ignoring their company and addressing him directly. And yes- part of it was the urge to have them feel just as thrown as she did. Not that she’d ever actually admit to such a petty impulse.
“Vous etes francais, oui? Alors, vous avez de bon sens, bien sur, contrairement a cet imbecile. Vous etes au mauvais endroit. Ce n'est pas votre monde et vous ne devriez pas être ici. Mais si voulez-vous rester, vous devez vous ressaisir et faire ce qu'on vous dit. Pas de théâtralité et de discrétion totale. Si vous ne pouvez pas, quittez maintenant et vous ne vous souviendrez de rien. Dans les deux cas, il n'y a pas de retour en arrière. Comprenez vous?"*
She spoke brusquely but concisely, her tone brooking no argument. But despite herself, even though she had no reason to offer a foolish muggle any reassurance, she added a little more gently:
"Pensez à nous comme... les fae, si vous voulez. Vous connaissez les contes, oui?
La Bête du Gévaudan, La Gargouille, La Dame Blanche... Tous réels. La règle est la même. Si vous êtes sage, vous serez en sécurité."**
That was as much as he was going to get from her. A little familiarisation, perhaps bringing their world closer to home. There was no use leaving him to flounder at the mercy of Frank and Keiran, who were a lot worse at this Introduction to Magic thing than they ought to have been, all things considered. It really was saying a lot, if a Rosier had been more help so far than two so-called muggle-loving heroes. Even to herself, it was strange.
He was a muggle, sure. But she’d thought Bridget Hayes was one for the better part of six years and she’d still been perfectly civil. The muggle was out of place, no doubt, completely undesirable company. And there were so many risks and problems with his involvement they couldn’t even all be broached at once. But if he proved to have backbone, and if indeed he could be as helpful as Frank alleged… she supposed she could deal with it.
Hoping that would keep the muggle satisfied and quiet enough for now (and not without a small dose of satisfaction herself), she leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, arms folding beneath her chest, fixing Frank with a scrutinising gaze. This time, she tried to keep her tone lighter than before, certain nothing else he had up his sleeve would be as harebrained as what had just passed.
"Any other surprises you'd like to spring on us, Mr. Longbottom? Or can we finish the magic act and get down to business?"
- Translation:
*“You’re French, yes? So you must have common sense, unlike this imbecile. You’re in the wrong place. It’s not your world and you shouldn’t be here. It is a foolish mistake. But if you want to stay, you must pull yourself together and do as you’re told. No theatrics and total discretion. If you can’t, leave now and you'll remember nothing. Either way, there’s no going back. Do you understand?”
**"Think of us as... the fae, if you will. You know the tales, yes? La Bête du Gévaudan, La Gargouille, La Dame Blanche... All real. The rule is the same. If you're wise, you will be safe."