|Morag MacDougal (morag_way) wrote in witchway,|
@ 2008-06-12 00:07:00
Who: Morag MacDougal
When: Very late on June 11th.
Where: her flat on Roy Alley
What: A short trip into her head.
Spotting the MacDougal family owl perched on her kitchen window sill as she stumbled into the room, one heel on her left foot while the other remained in the centre of the living room floor, after a long night out was almost enough to sober Morag right up as she eyed it. She kicked off the other shoe and made her way over to the owl, patiently untying the letter undoubtedly from her father and sighed, wondering for a moment if she could have been lucky enough to just get an owl checking up on her, rather than some condescending list she'd burn before she got to the second paragraph. With a shrug, she figured she'd never find out if she didn't open it, and did so, scanning the parchment.
It was the usual, of course. A brief mention of having seen her recent appearance in Witch Weekly, which Morag rolled her eyes at because it was only Witch Weekly, and had been published more than two weeks ago, and they'd called her a lush and made more out of a gift she was sent than there was (maybe). Dunmore MacDougal then went on to list all the ways in which "this" was becoming too much and how she should show more respect to the family name and stop acting out in the way she was and all those things about family tradition that she really didn't give two hippogriffs about, before he mentioned her nephew Ros and his party. As in, the one she'd missed and had instead "chosen" to get pissed drunk and arrested instead of attending. Which, apparently made her a disappointment, because he'd really been counting on her to show up.
Even more, he went on to mention how it had affected Sorcha, as if Morag had hurt her feelings by not making an appearance, and then went on to mention how he was expecting her to come to Scotland for the weekend. Apparently, there wasn't anything in her life that could possibly keep her away.
It was at that point that Morag decided she was done, though there was certainly more to be read, and she tossed the letter onto the counter. Ainsley, the owl, seemed to give her a look and she paused, raising an eyebrow at the animal.
"What? I'm not answering it."
As if she knew exactly what Morag said, the owl gave a reproachful hoot, to which Morag rolled her eyes, and said, "Just go."
The owl gave another hoot before taking off through the open window. When she was sure Ainsley was gone, Morag closed the window, before looking down at the parchment. She glared for a moment before picking it up and holding it over the sink. With a flick of her wand and a muttered Incendio, the letter was no more, but the wheels had already started turning.
One thing was certain as she reached for the almost full bottle of firewhiskey she spotted out of the corner of her eye; she was officially bothered.