Patricia Stimpson (hg_patricia) wrote in hallowed_ground, @ 2009-03-14 17:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | 1997: november, patricia stimpson, place: diagon alley, place: private residence |
Date: November 6, 1997 Backdated
Characters: Patricia Stimpson, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet
Location: Pet's Flat
Private/Semi-private/Public: Private
Summary: The little bird shows up just in time for the other little birds to peck her
Status: Beginning
Patricia had been looking forward to lunch all day, the sort where you watch the clock and wonder how on earth the hands were managing to move so very slowly around the face. There had been less than half a dozen customers all morning, so once she had done a careful restocking of the store, Pet had been relegated to the position of a shopgirl with nothing to do; leaning her elbows on the counter with her chin in her hands, staring blankly into her thoughts to keep herself from falling asleep.
Some of the thoughts were to do with Kenneth and how they had spent Pet's birthday, some were of Alicia and how she might be faring wherever she was hidden now - even Patricia didn't know, a choice she had made so that if tortured, she wouldn't have any information to offer - and some was a nagging worry about whatever crisis Angelina had been facing. Pet kept telling herself that not everyone was in the same shoes she had been wearing, writing letters to her father that she couldn't send for fear it would lead him to be found out. She tried to reason that less than a year ago, the word crisis had been used by any of the three of them to describe a mysteriously missing running shoe or a complete lack of junk food when the shops were closed for the night.
It was a relief when Mr. Shingleton came out from the back office to give Patricia her lunchbreak, agreeing that if anyone should stop by to see her - though it was clear he suspected the presence of a sheepishly awkward, dark haired young man who would not be coming around anymore - he would direct them upstairs. Pet opened the window enough to wedge a boot between the latch, preferring to let in a little chill rather than have one of her friends blasted from not remembering a password, and set about making sandwiches for three.