act two: main comm

Hello my lovelies! I hope you are all having a splendid summer. Mine has been, of course, wonderful. I visited Paris and it was beautiful. Admittedly I skipped most of the cultural things and went straight for the shopping but that is perfectly acceptable; the clothes were, of course, beautiful so. But it is almost time for Hogwarts! This year will be especially exciting with all the foreigners; I am sure you are all lovely and delightful, and I cannot wait to properly meet you all.

Now, my darlings. How has your summer been? I want stories and details, please and thank you. One word answers are not acceptable.

AVERY.

I finally asked Amaury out.


He said yes.
/PRIVATE

It feels really nice to finally do something you've been scared to do for years. I'm just throwing that out there.

Private to Amaury.

Look, I've been trying to work up the courage to do this for a couple of years now. And I've just sort of decided to get on with it.

So. Would you like to go out some time? As in...a date?

Roald, love, I have your wand. No, that is not an euphemism. You must have left it by mistake. You also seemed to have taken my hairbrush. Now, I know you love me but I do not expect you to create some sort of shrine in your closet with my hair as the centerpiece. That's just taking it a little too far, and I don't like my men creepy, no matter how attractive they may be. Just return it and I promise I will forget all about your stalkerish behavior. I am forgiving like that. I will even supply you with coffee to help your hangover.

I, surprisingly, feel fine, but I don't generally get hangovers. Maybe because I don't usually drink that much, but I like to think that it has something to do with my superior genes. Unfortunately, said superior genes don't give me the ability to cut hair. My mother wanted me to spend the other afternoon with the daughter of one of her friends, and she was just the most unfortunate little thing. Really, I felt depressed just looking at her. I do not do depression, so I had to try to fix her up. While a little make-up and a dress that fit did do wonders, the haircut I attempted was not especially well done. But it was an improvement. And she can always get it fixed. The moral of the story is that I should stick with designing fabulous clothes and leave the hair styling to the professionals. I am quite alright with that.

WHO: Lucy and Roald
WHAT: Flying!
WHEN: idk, sometime after the journal entry in which they discussed it
WHERE: Starting at Lucy's house and then...some forest? somewhere?

( Lucy really should not be putting on makeup by herself... )

( private to Avery )

I am not meant for customer service. Not in an 'I'm meant for something greater!' way, but in a 'if this continues, I'm meant for a life term in Azkaban' sort of way.

Technically, I should not tell off the customers. Especially when half of them are rich tourists and the other half are people I've known since I was born. Even when the tourists are obnoxious and ask me to "say things in an Irish accent" (oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize I wasn't already speaking in my native accent) and the natives pat me on the head and tell me going to boarding school was a lovely attempt at escaping this tiny town but, you know, something about Ireland always calls you back. Yeah, it's called the lack of money, you daft bastards.

It doesn't help that when I slip and say something I shouldn't, I get stared at for a few moments, and that's all. The behavior resumes as normal the next day. (I suspect it is because of my stature; if they could not actually pat me in the head god I am going to break someone's wrist they would perhaps actually listen to what I am saying. I need backup.)

And don't even get me started on the chauvinism, male and otherwise. Then I will probably break my quill and upset Katherine, neither of which we want.





They're all Muggles. I have my wand tucked into my belt. Somebody give me a very good reason not take it out.

Things I have come to realize: working at the Prophet is more difficult than I anticipated. The work itself is fine; I've been ready for that for as long as I can remember. Obviously I'm not doing anything of any importance yet, but I have no doubt that I'll work my way up sooner rather than later. But the Prophet is still very much a boy's club- save for, of course, the fluffier sections because clearly it is a woman's job to write about fashion and gossip and relationship advice- and I've already had people telling me that I'm trying to write for the wrong section. And if one more man calls me by some ridiculous pet name as he asks me to get him his coffee before trying to hit on me, I will knee him repeatedly in the balls. Good to know that sexism is alive and well.

On a semi-related note, my hair is now dark. Cal and I decided to dye our hair together in some weird parody of a female bonding experience. His hair is far more exciting than mine though; I'm not sure I can take him seriously anymore. Not that it was always easy to take him seriously before but.

I don't think I have ever been more sore in my entire life. You pansies thought I ran a tough practice...try four days in a row of eight hour HARD practices. The reason they give us three day weekends is because that time is necessary for recuperation. That said, the thrill of pulling on a Falcons shirt has not worn off yet. Living the dream, that's all.

And it is SO NICE not to have to put up with bullshit assignments from school, can I just say?

Also, Lo. Clear out your schedule next Saturday. You and I have a date.

vince and dom time!

---

( la dee da )

( la la la aubrey and booker are special )

Who: Bren and Elva
When: Saturday morning
What: THE MORNING AFTER DUN DUN DUN DUN
Where: his flat

( I think that it'd be nice to go down like a plane in flames tonight )

Who: Carter and Katherine
Where: Their flat
When: Last Monday the whatever. Like I remember dates
What: Puppy for the win

( I hate cut text so much )

Would it have been worth losing my job if I could have hexed these two really annoying boys that came in today? I was minding my own business, and these two kids come in- I think they were still Hogwarts students- and upon seeing my nametag, they were filled with an overwhelming desire to serenade me. Badly. And whenever I brought them something else, they'd go at it again. It was this huge running joke with them. It was awful. I don't understand why you'd make fun of your waitress. Especially when it is so, so easy to do something to their drinks. Which was extremely tempting, let me tell you. I didn't though because I have morals. Sometimes though, I think life would be easier without them.

In short, it really wasn't the most enjoyable experience of my life. That's how it goes, I suppose. Actually, I'm sure I have worse stories.

Anyway. No more thinking about it. It's the weekend. Which, okay, doesn't mean too much as I'm working for part of tomorrow but still. One isn't supposed to dwell on stupid things that happened during the week on the weekend. It's a rule.

Lucy, how are your final performances going? Did you get my care package?

Someone abandoned a litter of kittens on the steps of my complex last night. Poor things were all wet and shivering when I went out to get groceries this morning. I felt so terrible for them, but I only could take one. Five would have just demolished my flat, and I do enough of that as it is!

So now I have a kitten! His name is Tabasco, and he's precious and sweet and an absolute terror.



And in other news, I baked a few dozen cupcakes and I don't want them anymore. So. If you want cupcakes, you should come get them before they go stale or Tabasco topples them over. I put them up high on the countertop but apparently he's learning how to jump.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah oh my god oh my god OH MY GOD.

I have a date with Vince a boy tonight. Well. He doesn't know it's a date, but I heard from Annabel who heard from her cousin who just happens to be a trainer on his team that they're all headed to the same pub we're frequenting. Because, clearly, that is what Quidditch teams do after games in foreign (or home) countries: get properly sloshed and forget our aches and pains in bottomless glasses of our favorite liquors. Mine's whiskey, for the record.

And I still don't know what to wear. He did say last time, after he took my picture, that I could probably stop traffic in a jersey alone...

WHO: Camille Smith & Derek Brennan
WHAT: A visit.
WHERE: St. Mungo's.
WHEN: Today. Clearly.
WHY: Because I like drama.

On the bright side, we got the man responsible for a series of home robberies.

On the downside, he sent two of us to St. Mungo's. Myself included.

It's not the end of the world though; I'll be out in a few days. It's just rather embarrassing that despite the fact that I've dealt with people who should be far more dangerous than this guy, this is what sends me to the hospital. Yeah. Not cool.

So I went out with this boy last night, right? And he was sweet and all and everything, and he bought dinner even though I had offered to at least pay for half of it, and then he got one of those big hansom carriages to take us back. But then I guess the cabbie (or whatever you call them-- what do you call the driver of a big horse-drawn thing anyway?) got lost or distracted or thirsty or maybe he died because we wound up circling the park a few times and then the horse got all in a tizzy over a mouse or a cat or some other animal because it started freaking out and almost ran us into a wall!

But then we got out of the carriage and started walking because death just wasn't on the agenda. And besides, it was nice out last night. So we're walking, and talking, and he's telling me about this new thing that he's doing at his job-- I don't remember what it is he does; it's something with some kind of magical thing-- and I'm kind of listening, kind of daydreaming, kind of ignoring him completely because he was nice enough but he reminded me a little bit of my Aunt Stella's little dog that's always yipping, right? And then we're standing in front of my flat and I'm fishing my keys out of my purse and he's just kind of grinning at me expectantly. Like he wants an answer! But he didn't even ask a question yet, right? So I kind of looked at him, like, what?

And he just grinned at me like I knew what was going on-- but I didn't-- and leans against my door, which is still locked because I'm so confused. And this boy, he just grins at me, and he goes, "So does the carpet match the drapes?"

I don't even have drapes in my flat.