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Eric Silvershore

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Eric Silvershore last won the day on November 8 2018

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About Eric Silvershore

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    Aan elke kust zit een zilveren randje.

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  • IC Burgerlijke Staat
    My marriage is much better now that my wife is in a coma
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    An in-depth analysis of the law from both sides

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  1. [1837/1838][EN] These feelings, they come and go fast

    She looked so tragically funny, tears and grapes mingling in action, that Eric could barely stop himself from laughing: as it was, a small snort did in fact erupt. It wasn’t that he was glad that she was having such a hard time of it, of course not, but, you know... to someone not riddled with hormones at the moment, it was all a little bit of a laugh. Because none of it did in fact make any sense, and it was just so bizarre to innocent bystanders - insofar as that word could ever apply to Eric Silvershore. Even here, you know, he was the dad, so far from innocent in the scenario. Yeah, bad luck. Or not. Innocence also wasn’t really one of his ambitions. That was why he’d always preferred tragicomedy over comedy alone, wasn’t it. “Oh, honey,” he said, taking her into his arms - but cautiously, because she had a wicked jinx and that might have followed as easily from this contact as might anything else, which meant that he also let her go again quite quickly - “don’t be silly... you’re not the most awful person in the world, not by a long shot, and I’m definitely in the list above you. Also, you’re always, always, going to be my favourite wife?” Low blow at the woman in a coma, check. He actually felt bad. It was more than even the smallest bit true, it was completely true, but even so, he probably shouldn’t have said it. Well, you know, it wasn’t like Vasilisa would be able to really take offence, or even get her feelings hurt. Ugh. “Can I do anything for you? Um, besides yelling at you?”
  2. [1837/1838][EN] These feelings, they come and go fast

    Of course, it was true. Guys had it easy. Or at the very least, they had it much, much easier. Because everything Eric was dealing with, (dealing with quietly, by the way, for voicing his fears and concerns was still, even with the love of his life and the person he was sharing that life with a couple of burnt bridges too far) the worries about being a parent, the worries about the birth, the stresses of the pregnancy and of the constant mood changes, the worries about whether he’d be any good at being a dad and to what extent he’d approximate the dad his father had been to him (and to what extent he wanted to), the worries about whether he would constantly pose a danger to his sort of wife, to his children, the worries about how he would be able to talk to three year olds when this was the kind of debacle that befell the sentences in his mind… Yeah, you see, Felicia was dealing with all of those too and then she had two humans growing in her tummy to boot. So he got it. He did. And so he went to get her all possible sorts of fruit and set them in front of her. “Here you go. I can ask the elf to get something else, if…” If you don’t want this mountain of assorted fruits but would prefer another mountain of assorted fruits, essentially. “If you want. It’s no trouble.”
  3. IC Buitenwereld Mededelingen

    Eric en Vasilisa Silvershore kondigen de geboorte aan van hun zoon Robert Thomas Silvershore en hun dochter Natalia Marina Silvershore, geboren op 21 maart 1838. Moeder en kinderen maken het goed; de hele familie is blij eindelijk te hebben voldaan aan de huwelijkse verwachtingen.
  4. [1837/1838][EN] These feelings, they come and go fast

    Right. Perfect. She didn’t want tea, and she didn’t want to sit down, and she certainly did not want to inform him of what in fact she wanted, from him or the world in general. How delightful. She had started the comparison with Lissa and he abhorred it, but he had to admit that in the way she’d put it and the way she was acting now it was almost forced upon him, because she was being as petulantly unreasonable as his nearly-late wife could be. There was still a world of difference, though. Because Felicia he loved. Even when she was being petty and unreasonable. A part of him could appreciate the courage that took, the stubborn sense of self, and another part of it could just chuckle about it because, well, it was kind of funny. With Lissa he’d had neither of those reactions. Nor had he had the one, at least not until the end, where he had wanted to console her. Where he had wanted her to be happy and okay. With Felicia, there was nothing he wanted more in this world, which made the entire context completely different. Yes, most decidedly, his life had improved for the better. Even if there was still the off chance that this time Felicia would make him sleep on the couch tonight. She hadn’t wanted to sit down, but she did so anyway, and in line with that logic Eric quickly and magically made her a cup of tea. What? The principle was sound. “Let me know when you figure that out, yes, dear?” He asked with a small smile. And then he got out his newspaper and immersed himself in an article on the market for kettles.
  5. [1837/1838][EN] These feelings, they come and go fast

    The whole being a serial killer thing, together with being a lawyer and combined with being a Legilimens, meant that Eric Silvershore was, as things went, pretty good at picking up moods. It simply paid to be attuned to the things people were leaving unsaid, the emotions they were reluctant to express. It was necessary to ensure that you could work with them, because to work with anyone you needed to basically always know a little bit more than they did, than anyone did, because in no job could you afford to be surprised. It meant that you could work them, too, because knowing what mattered to them, knowing the words unspoken meant that you could play them like a fiddle. Or better than a fiddle. Eric had zero musical talent and would never have mastered that as well. Anyway. It was also a requirement, pivotal, vital, haha, to survival. Theirs - because if they knew more, if they were hiding something, if you could not be assured of what they would do they became threats and unpredictable ones at that and those you had to deal with straightaway - but most crucially your own. Not noticing a mood change was how you got yourself dissected. Post mortem if you were lucky. And Eric was a perceptive, but not habitually lucky guy. So Felicia’s little tantrum didn’t come entirely out of the blue... but it came as much out of the blue as it could. Because while he had noticed that she was growing steadily more annoyed with him, that she was boiling over, that she was uncomfortable and unhappy and everything basically ‘un’... he had no honest idea as to what he’d done. He hadn’t been trying to piss her off. He’d been actively trying to not piss her off. Because, you know, she was going through a lot, in the body of his half dead wife in the relationship with her erstwhile stepbrother slash torture tutor and oh yeah carrying his twins, at his suggestion, to escape his father’s wrath. And that was pretty heavy and so he was willing to accommodate the fact that she occasionally didn’t feel that brilliant. But then, if you didn’t feel that brilliant, why come to a redundant party in your so manieth month of pregnancy anyway? He’d told her she needn’t! And he should respond with understanding. And he should try and get the edge off. And he should just let this go because he wasn’t working on two other living beings right now. But the way she mentioned Lissa kind of hurt. Because that was the worst mistake he’d ever made. “I’m aware of who you are, Felicia,” he therefore said quietly. “Why don’t you sit down, I’ll get some tea.”
  6. [1837/1838]Still a better bonding activity than golf

    Ja, Zaira, waarom moest je dat nou vragen als je het antwoord niet wilde weten – hoe meer details ze hier vroeg, hoe minder antwoorden hij kon gaan geven. Niet omdat hij haar niet vertrouwde, want dat deed hij, deze ontmoeting tussen haar en de nieuwe opnieuw gestyleerde Felixia was daar bewijs van als van niets anders. Maar omdat hij wist dat zijn vader niets even erg zou vinden, niets, dan dat Zaira van dit soort dingen zou horen en hij wilde haar niet opzadelen met zo’n doelwit. Dat zou dan ook weer zijn verantwoordelijkheid zijn, en hij had er al genoeg. Daarenboven... ja, goh... daarenboven wilde hij het ook niet. Wilde hij aan niemand anders toegeven dat het Thomas was, die hem opdracht had gegeven om Felicia te doden. Zijn eigen vader. Van wie hij hield. Maar wat hij steeds minder goed kon uitleggen. Want hij kon zichzelf wel vertellen dat zijn vader niet had geweten in hoeverre hij om Felicia gaf, maar feitelijk wist hij ook wel dat dat het alleen maar erger gemaakt zou hebben. Dan was ze nog eens een bedreiging geweest ook. Daarom had hij het altijd verborgen... Hij zuchtte. “Ik bewaarde het voor iemand anders. Was het aan het onderzoeken.” Dat was geheel waar, zij het niet de gehele waarheid. Hij grinnikte, maar liet het commentaar over zijn semi-wijlen vrouw verder passeren. Nu ze eenmaal op een bedje in zijn kelder lag kon hij de neiging om kritiek te geven wel laten gaan. Wat je al niet mee moest maken om een klein beetje minder kinderachtig te worden. Hij Sommeerde met een glimlachje zijn slotenwand, een soort van kamerscherm dat steeds verder uit kon klappen met elk geopend slot. “Het wordt een schilderij. Spannend, he.” Nam nog een slokje. “Enfin, zussie, hoe gaat het met Scott?”
  7. [1837/1838][EN] I want champagne and power

    Felicia looked tired, and he wondered if she felt that way, too. And why it was. Was it because of the twins growing inside her, or everything that was changing, the life she had suddenly had to settle into, everything she’d had to learn? A combination? That would’ve been a lot for anyone. He was tired of it all, and nothing as much had changed for him. Still, it was better than the alternative, because at least she was alive, at least they were together... “No, I chatted with all the usual suspects,” he said with a smile, and he looked round the room, making sure that that was in fact true, but really the most important thin at these events was that you showed your face and spent your time talking to people, so you looked sociable. Certainly no one would mind, given ‘Lissa’s’ conditions, if they left a little early. That was the benefit of her being pregnant, that people were just happy that they’d shown up at all. The pregnancy was a great excuse for this, as well as for all the other reasons why they had decided to get pregnant in the first place: Lissa’s family and his own, making travel to Russia impossible for them and infiltrating her mind too risky for his father. “The opposite of this... we can manage that. Maybe one of my southern safehouses? We could swim...” he smiled at her, cautiously, his eyes nor his expression revealing how sincere he was, how much he cared, both rather targeted towards his relationship with Lissa than his relationship with Felicia and therefore not allowed to be too warm. There was no danger, incidentally, in discussing this here. No one was listening closely. There were ways to be sure. “Or the couch... that sounds good, too. Lady’s choice.” He ran a hand through his hair. “We still have all those books to read.” Then he grinned. “And you’ve all those pillows to embroider.”
  8. [1837/1838][EN] I want champagne and power

    The rescue seemed to have come in just in time; Felicia looked more than happy at the prospect of getting off her feet, or possibly at the notion of no longer having to watch Kid One, Kid Two, Kid Three and Kid Four, in Corresponding Hats. It was one of the difficulties of their present situation when they were in public: often enough, it was also hard enough for him to tell what she was thinking, what she was acting, and what she actually needed. Of course, he could look into her mind – to a certain extent, Legilimency was quite showy usually, not really something one ought to do in public, much more of a private thing, especially when you didn’t want your work buddies knowing that you were slightly whoppingly evil – but he never did that. First of all, it would be dangerous. Second of all, it would be cheating. Third, it would invade her privacy and he was as careful with her as he could possibly be. He chuckled when, after having helped her to her seat, she ordered him to get drinks and cake in a perfectly Lissa fashion. However, from Felicia he found it endearing, kind of funny, ironic. Amusing. Even if he was vaguely certain that to some extent she enjoyed it a little. Enjoyed not getting up, in any case. But then again she enjoyed not getting up because she was pregnant with his children, so, you know, yeah, he could get her a slice of cake. He got both those things from a nearby waiter and sat with her again, at a slight distance and employing a body language that suggested, only ever so subtly, that he did not really like the woman he was sharing his life with. “Maybe we shouldn’t leave too late, should we? Mm. What would you like to do tomorrow?”
  9. [1837/1838]Still a better bonding activity than golf

    Nee, Occlumentie werd niet geholpen door het nuttigen van sterke drank, maar als Zaira er zo expliciet om vroeg, zou Eric het haar ook niet snel weigeren; immers, Occlumentie oefenen ging ook niet uitzonderlijk goed gepaard met sterke emoties, dus waarschijnlijk was de les sowieso al een verloren of semi verloren zaak. Daarenboven was het niet Erics gewoonte om dat te weigeren waarom hij heel nadrukkelijk werd gevraagd. Doorgaans betekende dat dat men zelf al zorgvuldig was nagegaan of ze het echt wilden en of het een goed idee was, of toch zo zorgvuldig als ze van plan waren te doen, en afgezien van een lesje verantwoordelijkheid zou je ze daar niet vanaf brengen. En lessen waren niet Erics natuurlijke stijl. Hij deed ze wel, had ze wel moeten doen, maar zocht het zelf niet echt op. Zeker bij Zaira had het geen zin. Die leerde heel secuur alles wel wat ze nodig had en niets waar ze geen zin in had. Hij glimlachte, knikte, sommeerde glazen whisky voor hen, en schudde minuscuul en haast alleen voor Felicia merkbaar zijn hoofd, want nee, hij was niet van plan Zaira te vertellen over wiens bevelen hij hier in de wind geslagen. Het was hun vader, en het was een lang verhaal, een lang verhaal vol met extreem grijze gebieden... met rauwe, dikke zwarte randen die hij niet langer zou kunnen ontkennen wanneer hij het verhaal uit de doeken moest doen aan een ander, zeker niet iemand die Thomas kende, die bij hem in huis woonde zelfs nog. “Vasilisa is overigens ook niet vermoord. Ze had het gif gedronken, om me een streek te leveren.” Hij nam een slok whisky, keek naar de goudkleurige vloeistof. Vreemd, hij was nooit sentimenteel geweest maar die gedachte, die fout, kon hij maar niet achter zich laten. Ook al wist hij hoe nutteloos dat was, en hoe vitaal zijn concentratie. Hij begon te denken dat dit gewoon weer een van die dingen was die hij voor eeuwig mee zou dragen. Het werden er met de jaren meer en meer. “Enfin! Dit leek gezellig... dan kunnen jullie het allebei eens hebben over iets anders dan jurken... misschien nog een wedstrijdje sloten openbreken.” Hij grijnsde. “Ik heb een heel scala liggen.”
  10. Alle sterren op Merlijns punthoed, wat kon Scott Evergreen toch gladjes kletsen. Eric nipte van zijn eigen wijn en weerstond de neiging om zijn voet onhandig en totaal per ongeluk bovenop die van de minnaar van zijn zusje te planten - net, en alleen omdat hij zichzelf eraan hielp herinneren wat het desbetreffende zusje daarvan zou zeggen. Oke, en omdat hij vanzelfsprekend ook niet bepaald een beginneling was als het op zelfbeheersing aan moest komen. Felicia bracht het er beter van af: die had een scherpe opmerking klaar, die heel onschuldig leek en ook nog eens perfect in Vasilisa’s voormalige stijl paste. Hij was trots op haar, maar liet dat niet blijken, negeerde haar eerder voornamelijk, zoals Eric nu eenmaal deed met Vasilisa in de aanwezigheid van zijn ouders: een subtiele, voorzichtige afstandelijkheid, die liet merken dat hij zijn best deed, maar niet veel verder kwam omdat hij het meisje waarmee zijn vader hem had willen straffen en afleiden gewoon niet echt mocht. Het deed zijn moeder verdriet, dat wist hij en dat was nu eigenlijk jammer: maar er was niets aan te doen. Wat dat betrof moest hij misschien niet zo neerkijken op Scott. Die had Zaira tenminste zelf uitgezocht, en vond ze echt leuk, en daar ging ze nu haar leven mee delen zonder dat er een comapatiënt in de kelder bij moest komen kijken. Ergens erg netjes, dus. En toch... Slijmerige zijderups. Zijn moeder leek tevreden genoeg, al was dat niet zo vleiend als Scott misschien zou denken, Maria zag er immers altijd tevreden uit. “Oh, het wordt gewaardeerd, professor,” lachte ze naar hem. “En ik mag opmaken dat u van plan bent uw eigen bloemen voor het huwelijk te groeien? Hoe origineel. Zaira, zijn er dingen die jij graag zou willen? Kleuren... sieraden...ik heb wat erg mooie stukken, ik geef je er graag een die je trekt...” ”Hoe valt april eigenlijk met oog op de verkiezingen, vader?” vroeg hij vervolgens, want ging zijn ma hier nu echt zo makkelijk in mee? Eric, expres afgeleid, glimlachte vervolgens naar Harold, die donker zat te kijken zoals alleen kinderen dat konden, helemaal in hun eigen wereld nog. “Misschien kunnen we eens een eindje gaan varen? Wat van de zomerhuis kinderen meenemen?” Je moest toch iets van de zomervakantie maken. “Of skiën in de winter. Dan kan de professor wel mee.” En gooien we hem van een berg.
  11. [1837|EN] Keep your enemies closer

    He suspected him. Of course he suspected him. Not only of the moment of hesitation, which had been imperceptible to anyone but Eric himself, which had actually never truly manifested, he had expected it but in the end he had blasted through, acted instead of thought. The hesitation had made room for doubt, for something awfully close to regret, for something in the past, because it hadn’t influenced his actions in the present and it would not now. His father was still his father: whatever else they were, Eric still loved him, still was, if it came down to it, loyal to him. A loyalty which Thomas Silvershore did not reciprocate, nor credit. For he suspected him also of setting this up. Eric could see it in his father’s eyes, his look a little too searching for comfort, and braced himself with a sigh for the invasion of his mind. He wouldn’t be bothered by his father looking into his memories and thoughts on this matter. It hadn’t been him. Of course, he’d have to shield quite a lot of other flagrant violations of his father’s trust, but well. He was reasonably confident he could in fact manage that. The searching look however did not gain a magical layer of depth, and Eric wondered why, then decided that it was presumably for reasons of fatigue and prudence – his father had had a shock after a long day, and wouldn’t want to break either his own mind or his son’s in a present rash attempt to figure out if Eric had manufactured said shock. Taking the logical approach that it wouldn’t matter at all if he outright denied his involvement verbally, he ignored this point of their non-conversation altogether and focused on the bullet in his shoulder, aware in the meantime that that was absolutely the least of his concerns. His father suspecting him was all over the course of expectations. But if it crystallized into more, he would have to be very careful. His dad finding out this hadn’t been him only after he’d killed him and disposed of the body would be such small consolation. Besides, it had been ages since Thomas himself had disposed of a body. Eric wouldn’t be able to say with a hundred percent certainty that he still had it in him. And yeah, if he was dead that wouldn’t be his problem but that didn’t mean he’d want his dad arrested for it. The bullet came floating out, and he cleaned it and pocketed it, then cleaned the wound. “No, he was never caught,” he responded as he worked, then paused. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, if we call Nicholas in on this, he’s going to want to look around the crime scene. Your office.” Where indubitably you have some things lying around you don’t want a quizzical Auror to dig into. Oh, yes, and Eric was on a firstname basis with the Head Auror. This was always handy. “And also, we’d have to call him now. The longer we wait, the clearer it becomes that we didn’t take that as a given.” He grimaced at his ruined shoulder. "Of course, we can play it as political no matter what it was. Might give you a bit of a sympathy bump."
  12. [1837|EN] Keep your enemies closer

    His father’s voice was as brusque and matter-of-fact as his own, his actions perhaps not as crisp and decisive but quite close and getting closer with every syllable. They were father and son so clearly in their every move, Silvershores, always in control of whatever situation, always in control of themselves. They were both acting as though this assassination attempt truly had been naught but a minor inconvenience to their day. As though it had been a rude interference in their well-mannered lives, this uncouth fiend with his unworthy choice of weaponry. And Eric wondered, for a second, to what extent they were both pretending. Whether they were indeed as unbothered as they were making themselves out to be. For yes... a Muggle the attacker might be, inferior gun it certainly was, but if he had been seconds later... Or if he had not acted. And for a second there, he had thought he might not. He had recalled Abenthy’s little face as Seth cleared his memories, Seth’s face as he did the same. George, his best friend’s father, tied to a chair in his office. The ghosts in the graveyard, Lissa in the cellar, suffering the fate that had been intended for his beloved. His father’s piercing eyes as he gave him the order to give the poison to Felicia so that she would die on David’s wedding day and the feeling as he hid his reaction and promised to do so. His father, as he informed him of his decision regarding his brother... His feelings, as he moved to comply. But in that same second he had jumped in front of the gun, choosing his father over everything. Over himself. Over his memories. Over his personal gain, his chance at leading, but also over his grief, over the idea that he might do better, over anything that might happen in the future because of what he had chosen now. And he wasn’t even sure if his father would be all that happy about it. It was not the Silvershore choice to make. “Clever,” he said, clearing his blood soaked and torn blouse away from his shoulder. “I suppose, to get in here, he’d have to be. I will look into his personal effects, make some inquiries... I remember distinctly that this is not the first attempted shooting of a prominent wizard. Mr. Eversly - the elder - your erstwhile partner - he was hospitalised a few years back.” He winced. The bullet was still in. “Have you stayed in touch?”
  13. [1837/1838][EN] I want champagne and power

    Fjeld laughed appreciatively, which was a relief to Eric, because he had thought that perhaps his colleague would start to make a fuss about how Russians and Swedish were two completely different things and how Russians had more in common with their beloved bears than they did with Swedes. That might sound ridiculous, but something much like that instance had in fact occurred over a business lunch a while back, when they had sadly found themselves at the Russian table. From a pretty woman, however, being recognised as a semi-kindred spirit seemed flattering or entertaining or harmless enough. Or possibly he liked Eric well enough to forego anything his wife said. “Yes, I’m looking forward to the snow. And to nobody whining about the snow. Or being unable to come to work because of the snow.” He chuckled. “The British always go into such a flurry of excitement when the skies turn white. Cute.” Eric laughed. “Ouch. Hey. Clarence, what are we going to do about this?” “Admit it head on?” “Such an undiplomatic response. I like it.” He smiled. “And no, I had no travel plans… Just an easy couple of weeks at home might be nice, with how busy it’s been.” Fjeld chuckled again. “And how busy it is going to be. You two are in for something, with the little one coming.” Clarence smiled. “Careful, here come the kid pictures…. There we go.” And there they did, and Fjeld spent a while showing Felicia pictures of his four small children in very warm hats while Eric and Clarence picked up a conversation on work again. After a while, it seemed incumbent on him to rescue her. “D’you want to go sit down?”
  14. 18 november Eric was niet iemand die gauw geheimen deelde. Dat hij dat naliet lag niet aan de personen met wie hij de geheimen niet deelde – over het geheel genomen niet, in ieder geval – maar voornamelijk aan zichzelf. Hij had in al die jaren dat hij leefde nog nooit meegemaakt dat er iets goeds van was gekomen en hij had zelf kunnen aanschouwen hoe vaak er iets slechts van was gekomen, bij anderen weliswaar en niet bij zichzelf, omdat hij het zoals gezegd simelweg niet deed. Echter, de laatste maanden had hij daarin een subtiele verandering ondervonden, wat voor hem minstens zo verrassend was als voor wie dan ook anders. Of zoals het voor wie dan ook anders zou zijn: want ook dit had hij niet gedeeld. Terwijl hij dat toch eigenlijk wel had moeten doen. Want de personen met wie hij, heel voorzichtig, alsof hij koud water betrad behalve dat Eric dat dan weer altijd met een snoekduik deed, was begonnen wat meer te delen, zouden dat misschien wel kunnen waarderen. Maar hij had er nog niet het lef voor gehad. Laten blijken dat je een ander waardeerde was goed en wel, maar het uitspreken... Van het niet doen zou hij waarschijnlijk meer spijt krijgen dan van het wel doen. Daar had hij dan ook wel weer ervaring mee. En toch was het hem nog niet gelukt. Wat hem wel was gelukt, in hogere en hogere mate, was om het overtuigend te laten zien. Hoopte hij. Dacht hij ook wel. Met Felicia, in elk gestolen momentje dat ze met zijn tweeën thuis waren en er niemand anders was, en soms in een opmerking met een dubbele interpretatie wanneer ze als Lissa en Eric in publiek waren. Door naar haar te luisteren en er oprecht voor haar te zijn. En sinds hij dat voor Felicia was gaan doen, sinds hij niets liever had gewild dan dat voor haar te doen, was het ook automatischer gegaan bij zijn zusje. Zaira en hij spraken elkaar meer, nu en hij sprak haar openlijker, vertelde haar niet alles maar meer dan hij ooit eerder aan een familielid had gedaan. Het was ook meer dan ooit eerder bij een familielid nodig was geweest. Zijn broer, zijn vader en hij waren namelijk in deze werkelijkheid opgegroeid, en die hoefde je weinig meer te vertellen. Maar hey, hij had nu al vier vrienden die hij vertrouwde zoals Silvershores dat oprecht niet hoorden te doen. Zijn vader zou het verschrikkelijk vinden. Elk individueel, ja, maar ook gewoon zo. En hij was er blij mee. Vandaag stond er weer een Occlumentieles op het programma. Maar dat was niet het enige. Hij was ook van plan om toch maar eens aan die snoekduik te beginnen. Hij liet Zaira binnen, glimlachte haar toe. “Hoe gaat ie? Kom, we zitten in de salon...” En hij leidde haar naar waar Felicia op de bank zat, pakte toen voor hen beiden een kopje koffie. “Mm. Verrassing.”
  15. Ergens juli 1837, na de verloving van Scott en Zaira Ah dit achterlopen gaat me zo irriteren xD Scott had het dan toch, na maanden, gewaagd om Zaira ten huwelijk te vragen en zij had daar ja op gezegd, wat Eric eerlijk gezegd niet verbaasde, want nu hij wat meer met Zaira optrok was het hem opgevallen dat ze heus niet zo onnadenkend en onvoorzichtig was als ze bij haar laatste encounter met Scott had geleken. Misschien had dat vooral aan hem gelegen, de dronken idioot met coördinatieproblemen. Enfin. Zij had hem eerder toegeschenen als iemand die wist wat ze wilde en niet al te domme al te cliché fouten zou begaan, iemand bij wie je echt niet zo makkelijk zo dichtbij kwam, wat een hoop van haar gevoelens vis a vis zijn voormalig Kruidenkundedocent en afdelingshoofd had prijsgegeven ondanks hun beider stilzwijgen op dat punt. Daarom ook had hij gedacht dat mocht Scott nog het lef hebben, zij hem niet af zou wijzen. Dus vond hij het ergens een beetje jammer dat Scott het lef had gehad. Als schoonbroer kon hij hem kort en goed missen als kiespijn. Maar hij was wel blij voor Zaira, hoor. Het grappige was dat alle Silvershore mannen voor een keer verenigd leken in hun minachting voor de man die zich bij hun gelederen wensten te voegen. Eric had niet gedacht dat zijn vader een gat in de lucht zou springen bij hun plannen om te verloven, maar dat hij Scott eerder in een gat in de grond zou boren had hij ook niet geheel voorzien: Eric vond hem, zoals gezegd, een idioot met of zonder alcohol in zijn bloed en zelfs Harold had om niet geheel navolgbare redenen tegenwoordig zo zijn problematiek met de beste man. Stiekem was Eric daar best wel trots op. De jongen was tenminste niet snel geïmponeerd. En een beetje mensenkennis had hij misschien ook al wel. Het zaadje ervan. Zijn vader, Erics broer, was daar altijd heel goed in geweest, mensen inschatten... Nu was er een dinertje, waar Scott het dus vast gezellig ging hebben. Want Maria vond het allemaal wel prima en gezellig en was zelfs een beetje onder de indruk, maar Maria zou nooit tegen haar echtgenoot ingaan. Felicia was Lissa aan het zijn en had het daar vast druk genoeg mee. En Eric speelde half en half met de gedachte hoe hij Scott subtiel zou kunnen doorzagen over dames in de steek laten in het holst van de nacht. Gemeen, maar... Het eten was echter lekker. “Hoe gaat het met het Zomerhuis, eigenlijk, Zaira?” vroeg Eric, heel expres niet naar haar trouwen want, yuck. “Is vast een drukke tijd nu?” Maria lachte zachtjes. “Ah, Eric, nu al werk? Wanneer wilden jullie gaan trouwen? Dat is momenteel toch een veel interessantere vraag.”