Isabella Morgana Zabini (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} black_widow) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} rent_asunder,@ 2008-03-27 22:53:00 |
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WHO: Isabella Zabini, Eleanor Branstone
WHAT: Isabella wants a whole new wardrobe, and the selection at Twiflitt and Tattlings just isn’t good enough anymore.
WHEN: 27 March, midafternoon
WHERE: Madam Malkin’s
RATING: PG - very tame
Complete
~ ~ ~
Isabella strolled down Diagon Alley, knowing herself to be the quintessential portrait of elegance. She didn’t often go out and about these days, what with the climate change, political and otherwise. The Alley had changed, and she wasn’t entirely certain that she liked it. Certainly it was good and proper that the Mudbloods were being ousted from the business world. The shops were the realm of the halfblooded. This was the way of things. Still, it was worrisome that so many shops were closing down so quickly. It was nigh impossible to just simply change the economy like this, and she knew that they would pay the price for it. For the first time ever there were beggars in the street; Mudbloods disenfranchised by the new laws, hoping for a scrap of charity from the higher ups. Isabella passed each of these by, of course, disdaining to even look upon them. She was a daughter of one of the most powerful families in all of Europe; she would not be touched by the filthy hands of Mudbloods. The Ministry ought to be finding something useful for them to do, not just casting them out to die on the curb.
As she passed by the storefronts, she felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. Someone was watching her. Someone not a Mudblood. She very carefully stopped and looked about her. No one in immediate view was looking her way, so it must be someone hiding. How dare they spy upon her? Did they think she wouldn’t know, that she wouldn’t find out who they were and hunt them down? She would not tolerate this kind of subterfuge.
“Where are you?” she muttered under her breath, narrowing her eyes and looking for every possible hiding place. The problem with places like Diagon Alley is that there are little nooks and crannies all over the place, and whoever it was that was following her could be anywhere. “Very well, then.” They wanted something from her, they all did. What could it be? She smoothed her hands over her elegant black robes, looking down at the embroidery on the skirts. They felt wrong to her, felt as though they were what was drawing the attention her way. She stood out. Perhaps there was a curse laid upon her dress, allowing them to track her? Stranger things had happened. That, at least, she could combat. Likely someone at Twiflitt and Tattlings had been bought. A change of tactics was in order.
Resuming a brick pace, she stalked down the Alley and came to Madam Malkin’s store. She’d never shopped here, so it would be an unexpected move on her part. The store was somewhat common, but she’d heard some good things about them and perhaps with the right application of money they could create a wardrobe worth wearing. Gently she pushed the door open and strode into the shop.
WHAT: Isabella wants a whole new wardrobe, and the selection at Twiflitt and Tattlings just isn’t good enough anymore.
WHEN: 27 March, midafternoon
WHERE: Madam Malkin’s
RATING: PG - very tame
Complete
Isabella strolled down Diagon Alley, knowing herself to be the quintessential portrait of elegance. She didn’t often go out and about these days, what with the climate change, political and otherwise. The Alley had changed, and she wasn’t entirely certain that she liked it. Certainly it was good and proper that the Mudbloods were being ousted from the business world. The shops were the realm of the halfblooded. This was the way of things. Still, it was worrisome that so many shops were closing down so quickly. It was nigh impossible to just simply change the economy like this, and she knew that they would pay the price for it. For the first time ever there were beggars in the street; Mudbloods disenfranchised by the new laws, hoping for a scrap of charity from the higher ups. Isabella passed each of these by, of course, disdaining to even look upon them. She was a daughter of one of the most powerful families in all of Europe; she would not be touched by the filthy hands of Mudbloods. The Ministry ought to be finding something useful for them to do, not just casting them out to die on the curb.
As she passed by the storefronts, she felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. Someone was watching her. Someone not a Mudblood. She very carefully stopped and looked about her. No one in immediate view was looking her way, so it must be someone hiding. How dare they spy upon her? Did they think she wouldn’t know, that she wouldn’t find out who they were and hunt them down? She would not tolerate this kind of subterfuge.
“Where are you?” she muttered under her breath, narrowing her eyes and looking for every possible hiding place. The problem with places like Diagon Alley is that there are little nooks and crannies all over the place, and whoever it was that was following her could be anywhere. “Very well, then.” They wanted something from her, they all did. What could it be? She smoothed her hands over her elegant black robes, looking down at the embroidery on the skirts. They felt wrong to her, felt as though they were what was drawing the attention her way. She stood out. Perhaps there was a curse laid upon her dress, allowing them to track her? Stranger things had happened. That, at least, she could combat. Likely someone at Twiflitt and Tattlings had been bought. A change of tactics was in order.
Resuming a brick pace, she stalked down the Alley and came to Madam Malkin’s store. She’d never shopped here, so it would be an unexpected move on her part. The store was somewhat common, but she’d heard some good things about them and perhaps with the right application of money they could create a wardrobe worth wearing. Gently she pushed the door open and strode into the shop.