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Pandora Montgomery (pandacharms) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

"Yes, well, darling, doesn't mean you should spend that kind of money on me," she drawled, playing up the bored upper class Scots accent she'd been born into. She didn't say that her father wouldn't have sponsored her in such a manner, even if he'd been alive, around, or whatever had happened to him. "Yeah, never did buy that 'bunch of duffers' fodderall some people were selling in school," she said.

"Yeah, sucks, doesn't it," she said in the same soft voice. She felt both sympathy and a hard, sudden aversion to adding to the conversation with more than her dueling background, at least at the moment. She liked Richard; she felt a great affinity and kindred quality with him. But some things, talking about came incredibly hard to her, when she even remembered everything to do with them or not.

She sat up and then rose to her feet, feeling a few pangs through the not quite as distant haze. "Definitely fun," she agreed. She'd needed that, actually, more than she'd thought. She stretched, arms going up above her head and back arching. "I'll do my best, Richard. I've not been in the Muggle world but maybe ten times in my life, not counting managing to get here today," she said bluntly. "I've never in my life really had to hide my magic." Her parents had never taken them into the Muggle world, even though she knew her mother's job often brought her in contact there. They hadn't been blood purists, but they sure hadn't let her out in it.

Her arm curled protectively against her chest, hiding the tattoo and covering up the inner flutter of panic she felt at the unexpected suggestion. "True," she said. Then, truthfully, "I've considered getting another tattoo. I'll think on it." There was a vast and infinitely complicated morass of emotions associated with the Mark and then with tattoos, one she had yet to really delve into.