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Pandora Montgomery (pandacharms) wrote in finnigans_rpg, @ 2014-11-03 08:45:00

RP: Beating the hell out
Who: Pandora and OPEN

What: Hitting the hell out of some bludgers

Where: The Park

When: Afternoon Monday November 3 [backdated]

Rating: NSFW Language


Her rage was entirely disproportional to what was going on right now. It simmered under her skin and slipped out on and off all day, making her glad of her wards in her workrooms and the closed door at the back of the shop, so no one could see when accidental magic spilled out of her when she thought too much about her brother. Sometimes it slipped out in sparks of magic. Sometimes it slipped out in hot, scalding tears, just a couple, before she’d wipe them savagely away. She’d always hated that she sometimes cried when incredibly angry.

There was so much good going on right now that she didn’t entirely understand why she was so upset. She was so genuinely thrilled to have Tristan home, to have him with her even part of the time. Perhaps it was that happiness that made her irrationally upset over Hyperion’s words in her journal, over his blatant refusal to get upset with her in return. The tastes of jealousy and envy were incredibly bitter on her tongue, and she hated those emotions with a passion. She’d always struggled with them on a low level, but seeing Hyperion achieve all the goals she’d once set for herself all the way back before her first year tore at the scabbed wounds in her still there from the war. Perhaps if she could have a proper cry, it could help, but she patently resisted it. She’d always been told tears were a sign of weakness, and she hated being weak.

She hated a lot of things, it felt like sometimes.

Especially that her rational mind was perfectly aware she was drastically overreacting. She scrabbled for anything to keep her above water and sliding into doing something she’d always regret.

So she grabbed her Beater’s bat and her broom, a model that had been top of the line back when she played at Hogwarts but was old now, and headed to the park. Hitting things helped, and she’d rather they be inanimate things. Safer that way. She didn’t need more guilt on top of what she carried constantly. She made sure to carefully ward the Bludgers to keep from hitting anyone too low, and checked the area for kids and warded it with an age line that would quickly wear off, just enough to alert her if kids did arrive.

With that, she kicked off and released the bludgers, and swung the bat in a resounding crack as it beat first one and then the other away from her.