susan bones (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} saintbones) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} amortentiarpg,@ 2008-10-13 19:55:00 |
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Who: Eddie and Susan
When: Monday, October 13
Where: Eddie's place.
What: Susan is upset over Rita Skeeter's Prophet Article
Rating: PG/PG-13
Status: Inomplete
When: Monday, October 13
Where: Eddie's place.
What: Susan is upset over Rita Skeeter's Prophet Article
Rating: PG/PG-13
Status: Inomplete
After the stress of the past couple of weeks, planning a festival, running it, and pulling it off, Susan was looking forward to finally having a day off. And so far, it had gone great. She had woken up late, soaked in a bubble bath, finished the book she had started two months earlier, and had gotten through half a gallon of double-chocolate ice cream. She was just settling down for a nice, hot cup of tea when she noted that the Prophet had been delivered.
That was when things went wrong.
She was used to seeing her picture on the cover -- none of them were ever as nice as the ones Eddie took, though, she noted -- but this...this was different. It was the headline that accompanied the picture that made her feel ill. The actual article only made her feel worse. How could anyone write that about her? How could anyone even think -- and then she noticed that that -- that -- that -- witch! of a woman Rita Skeeter had had a hand in it.
Anger soon overtook her initial feeling of shock, followed soon by a rush of sadness. She felt tears prick at her eyes, which made her even angrier. She was not going to cry. She just wasn't. Not over a stupid article that a dreadful person had come up with.
Telling herself she wasn't going to cry didn't seem to be working. So she did the first thing that came to mind. She ran into her bedroom, pulled on an old pair of jean and a loose sweater in place of her house robe, her still damp hair falling in messy waves around her face. Wiping at a few of the tears that had managed to escape, she didn't even bother to put on shoes before she apparated to right outside Eddie's door. She seemed to be running to him a lot recently. Though she supposed it wasn't just recently. It had been since her Aunt's funeral, when he had been the sweet but strange and creepy boy who had asked if he could take her picture, because she looked so pretty and sad sitting there alone. Though she had refused to let him photograph her at that time, she was glad she hadn't refused to have anything further to do with him. He had been her saving grace at more than one point.
Prophet clenched in one shaking hand, she knocked on his door, her voice coming out choked as she called his name.
"Eddie! Eddie! Please be home..." Lower lip trembling and visibly distressed, she knocked again, louder. "Eddie?"
That was when things went wrong.
She was used to seeing her picture on the cover -- none of them were ever as nice as the ones Eddie took, though, she noted -- but this...this was different. It was the headline that accompanied the picture that made her feel ill. The actual article only made her feel worse. How could anyone write that about her? How could anyone even think -- and then she noticed that that -- that -- that -- witch! of a woman Rita Skeeter had had a hand in it.
Anger soon overtook her initial feeling of shock, followed soon by a rush of sadness. She felt tears prick at her eyes, which made her even angrier. She was not going to cry. She just wasn't. Not over a stupid article that a dreadful person had come up with.
Telling herself she wasn't going to cry didn't seem to be working. So she did the first thing that came to mind. She ran into her bedroom, pulled on an old pair of jean and a loose sweater in place of her house robe, her still damp hair falling in messy waves around her face. Wiping at a few of the tears that had managed to escape, she didn't even bother to put on shoes before she apparated to right outside Eddie's door. She seemed to be running to him a lot recently. Though she supposed it wasn't just recently. It had been since her Aunt's funeral, when he had been the sweet but strange and creepy boy who had asked if he could take her picture, because she looked so pretty and sad sitting there alone. Though she had refused to let him photograph her at that time, she was glad she hadn't refused to have anything further to do with him. He had been her saving grace at more than one point.
Prophet clenched in one shaking hand, she knocked on his door, her voice coming out choked as she called his name.
"Eddie! Eddie! Please be home..." Lower lip trembling and visibly distressed, she knocked again, louder. "Eddie?"