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[info]rottendane

22 November, 1998

Padma,

Im fine, the hospitals here are luckily used to such things, which I find strange. Even just a few hours as a patient though does confirm my non interest in the medical profession. Far too much pressure, having peoples lives - and arms - in your hands.

Will you tell me the stories of these people you meet, or will I have to buy the book, as they say? I feel impartial for both courses of this same fight - having just been born during the first, and finding myself disagreeable to both sides for the second. It is hard to form a conclusive opinion when you cant form your own name, and hard to commit to a viewpoint that is fundamentally based in prejudice. Im glad you enjoy the work, and Zelma. Surely, she would keep you on if only for the fun of teasing, but I think you are likely more qualified and well suited to the position than simply that. Have you told her with whom you correspond?

You may have as many late mornings and as much coffee as you like, Im happy to oblige on both of those fronts, as well as whatever else you would enjoy by way of reunions, merry outings, and familiar tongues.

Theodore


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Posted on May. 6th, 2009 | | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend

[info]soeffectual


21 November 1998

Dear Theodore,

I shall spare you my wild exclamations on the state of your arms, though be assured that they were heard throughout my little garret by whatever spiders and scrabbling creatures inhabit it with me. This is a grim guessing game indeed.

You are quite alright, though?

Exclamations for breakfasting at lunchtime, too, were had, and I was much amused at the idea. I have never been an early riser when given a choice on the matter, though am guilty of excess in other things. I shall not rule it out. Might I still have coffee, though? I have a terrible weakness for it.

Zelma and I paid a visit this morning to an elderly wizard living in Troyes, France. He has been fifteen years retired from the Ministry, and offered us along with harrowing stories the very best ginger biscuits I have had in ages. They were the only sweet thing of our visit, and I did my very best to take detailed notes - Zelma's sight is going, and is her main reason for having agreed to take me on - and to keep my responses quite to myself. I must say his experiences with the Imperius curse do make me feel shameful for how undone I was by our limited implementation. Still, I should hope never to grow accustomed to cruelty, nor to take for granted the liberties of having charge of my own person. I am most frightened, I think, of growing complacent.

I enjoy working with Zelma for her writing, I feel, is objective. So much it seems literature on this subject must fall decidedly on one side of things or another, bemoan the lowest depths of loss or crow the loudest of victories. There is hurt and perspective and patience and hope to be had in a well documented history, and I do hope I will be of assistance to her in this, and not prove myself too dreamy or useless for such work. It is not like poetry, mine least of all, but there is a sense and angle to it I find I am comforted by.

Dreamy I am, however, in thinking forward a few scant weeks. It will be a greater comfort to speak in a fluent tongue with friends, hours crowded with reunions and merry outings. When shall you shake the sand out of your shoes and join me? My foolishness may lose its charm, if what you say is true, if it is not very soon.

Padma

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Posted on May. 6th, 2009 | | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend

[info]rottendane

20 November

Dear Padma,

I dont know what this tiny blue spot is, but in a month, if we can see it from Scotland, I will do my best to figure it out. It sounds like an interesting place, with interesting not-people. With air that fizzes in my lungs, I cant imagine a long stay. Well have to invent some charmwork to help our lungs - there is no human failing in the need of oxygen, I think. Our bodies were not of our own design, and keeping them alive is something that we cannot be fairly faulted for, the same as our modesties or want for language. What do they speak about, in their seashore tongues, if there are not names for anything at all?

If you give up sleep entirely, youll be saddled with a head overfull with dreams of the other worlds youve been imagining in the night skies. Coffee is well and good, but in Portugal, I found breakfasting at lunchtime to be the answer.

I have always found any foolishness in you to be charming, your blush to be well worth the cursing, and moderate daintiness in a woman is always endearing, surely at least when drinking is the question. Then again, I also am fond of Morag when shes boozy. What this says about me, you, or Morag, Im not entirely sure, but clearly shell have to join us for an evening with the stars as well. Once Ive returned to Scotland Ill work on securing a weekend holiday for us all in Paris.

Perhaps I am too ungrateful for the opportunities made open to me here, but this line of work - and lifestyle - is not for me. I spent yesterday in hospital after brushing away a bit of dirt from an inscription with my hand rather than a brush. Youll have to guess which arm has been regrown, and which is the original.

Germany, Im sure, wont have the same difficulties for you, and Im looking forward to news about what you and Zelma discover, in your turret and the streets.

Yours,
Theodore


( . )

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[info]soeffectual


19 November 1998

Theodore,

I began a letter for you on the train, though I promised to write first from Berlin. I have settled in as much as I can before I must give in to my wanting to finish the letter, and respond to yours. So I give you what I have composed, and a bit more.

I go by train in a very cozy sleeper car. I remember the wars waged between Parvati and I over who should have which bunk, though their only desirable element lay in depriving each other of whichever bunk the other should lay claim to first. Sometimes I think Parvati draws out the very worst in me, or perhaps that which is twinned most between our personalities and must naturally war. I remember in fondness, however, so it cannot be so very bad.

I want to ask you what is the little blue pinprick in the night sky, faintly shining above the mountains as I travel West, but it will not lie in the same place for you, and I cannot better describe it so as to find it when I am stationary once more. I shall try still in looking over a minutely detailed star chart when I reach Berlin, and hope to recognize it. It seems to me a very fine speck of space indeed, and were I to travel up instead of out, I should go there first.

I will tell you what I imagine: others neither so alike nor unalike live there and have lived there long before any fathoming of Wizard kind, and their voices sound like the splashing of water against a shore. They do not breath as we do, and the air on their planet is drawn in with the feeling of the fizzing prick of butterbeer over hot, a tickle in the nose. They do not have names for themselves or any other thing, and prefer to learn by touch. We will compete with our desires for English modesty and the bureaucratic drive to categorize all that we see and understand. I should like to think we will persevere against the confines of our own glaring human natures.

Each of their hours is twice over as long as what it is on Earth, but we do not grow tired until they do, and sleep hard, restful sleeps. We dream about other worlds among which our own is now counted.

I think I may give up sleep alltogether to have such days as these in Scotland. The dawn shall not best me. There is always coffee.

As for Berlin, I have no taste for beer, but am pressed at meals to take a wheat ale or a stout lager, and I cannot decline without seeming rude. I take it in sips and endeavor not to seem a foolish, dainty English woman, for all I may in truth be very foolish and moderately dainty.

Zelma has the spirit of a woman perhaps a quarter of her age, and she curses more than a pack of Gryffindors on the Quidditch pitch. It makes me blush, and she curses then over my blushing, and I am resolved to wear a mask or a hood to accomplish anything in the course of an afternoon. Two days, only, have I had to adjust, and am bound to adapt eventually. I like my situation very much despite, and am tucked away in a little garret which has great charm. You would, I think, have to stoop partway through as the ceiling is angled, but it is quite perfect for me. In the mornings I sit at a low desk before the only window, eyes roaming from the pages I am editing to the bustle on the streets below. Zelma lives in a lovely little district that has been fortunate to remain mostly untouched by the Muggle wars that have stricken this city, and what changes the years have wrought have been undone again by an effort to reclaim the original charm of the place.

I will save writing of my work for the next letter, as I have gone on already long enough.

Padma

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[info]rottendane

17 November, 1998

Padma,

I admit, I am relieved to hear that you know me to be separate from my family, but not severed. It seems that for those who advocate keeping magic within magical bloodlines, families become something whole, a tapestry with one name, not separate people woven with a common thread. For all that I appreciate the traditions and values of my heritage, and dont want to watch the richness of my culture morph and fade into something that no longer acknowledges the rarity of our gifts, I cannot bring myself to judge the value of a person based wholly on their parentage.

By this time, I will be showing you Andromeda, chained bare to her rock for Cetus to have, and Perseus, her rescuer. Orion, the Hunter, sent to the heavens by Artemis pleading. Gemini - twins even more separate than yourself and Parvati, though brothers even in death. We still might spot Vega, depending on how long you choose to look for her, but I think the dawn might best you, as Lyras seen most easily in the latest months of summer, and early fall. Robinswood is a comfortable host, Im sure youll be able to look as long as you can keep your eyes open. Ive been scorning the house since it gave me up to Dumbledores Order, and kept me from writing you, that morning. Now, it seems only fitting that it should serve to let me see you again.

How is Berlin? Do you drink steins of beer bigger than your arm, and eat lots of sausages? Better, I think, than my most recent meal, which included goat. I consider myself smart to not have asked what parts.

Theodore

( . )

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[info]soeffectual


15 November 1998

Theodore,

Please believe me when I write that nothing I hear of what your father has done, from you or from anyone else, can change my opinion of you based on the things that you have done. You are your own man, and I think are like always to have been and to be. In the same breath I assure you that I neither anticipate you to exchange one cruelty for another, namely, severing yourself from your family. We have grown so used to attitudes about blood that have as much to do with magic as they do with biology, and I find in this I prefer a Muggle attitude. We are pieced and made whole from the bodies of our mothers and fathers, raised in hope and likeness and, even in seeming misguided cases, love. Loyalty to one's family could never for me be something to admonish, even if the attitudes and traditions were not in accord with my own.

I hope I have not made you think otherwise.

What I wish is to carry our friendship off of the page. I would like very much to see your house if you regard it as yours, and as I am eighteen and a woman, feel entirely within my right to determine what is gentlemanly and ungentlemanly.

Let us look at Vega, side by side?

I am writing you but a moment before I kiss Ammamma on both cheeks and bid her a tearful farewell. My next from Berlin.

p.p.

( . )

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[info]rottendane

14 November, 1998

Padma,

I shall take my cues from the timing of your own letters, for the time being, if its alright? Content, however, is not to be censored from me. I know no ladies - nor, as you are correct in assuming, do I really aspire to - who would write of banality. I can only hope there are moments in your days that are better and more entertaining than these, and that you share them with me. By pen, for now, at least.

Do not feel shamed, for poems. Its impossible for me to judge you as author when I cannot even completely comprehend content. Arent they intended mysterious, anyhow? If not, I must be thicker than I imagine. It must be the case, as I havent the foggiest who Zelma Bieke is. Likely either because I didnt continue on after O.W.L.s, or because I was in a state of stupor induced by Binns monotonous drones. Needless to say, the information is rather more interesting coming from you.

As I imagine you will find mention of my father, I will tell you what I know now, so you dont feel uncomfortable in trying to think of how to broach the topic with me.

He was as flawed then as he is now, in opinions and judgments, though he showed enough cunning - and enough well placed funds - to stay out of Azkaban. I know him to have been a murderer. I know my mother may be considered accomplice. I know my family to have had a longstanding history of intolerance and prejudice stretching far before Joseph, myself, my father, beyond Grandfather - back to France even. My own mistrust of Muggles was born from something much more recent, but was happily cultivated by my parents, all the same. I know you must, as any historian is bound to do, judge him for his actions, but I hope that you can have some understanding why, no matter my distaste for what he has done, Im not looking to defect from my family. There are centuries of history and tradition that follow my name, and despite all of the parts I find unsavory, it is mine to own.

If you will still have me, after all that you learn, Id like to ask you what you would like to do, while in Britain. It sounds as though your family would be equally as keen on a visit by me as mine would from you, and our names feel heavy burdens in this case. I am wary to spend very much time in Hogsmeade, or Diagon, but if you wish it, I will. I have a house though, outside of Burnham-on-Crouch, if its not too ungentlemanly to invite you. My family had meant for me to start there, so youre welcome to see in person what I suppose are my imaginings.

Ever yours,
Theodore
( . )

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[info]soeffectual


13 November 1998

My dear Theodore,

I am heartily shamed now both for what you must be thinking, that I am not a lady, and for wanting to have my poem back as I loathed the ending as soon as I had sent it off. How shall I amend? I am afraid there is little hope for the former, as a lady's letter would require such formality and utter lack of content that I do not think I can manage, nor - though you are welcome to correct me - do I think you would enjoy such a letter. Do tell me, and I shall henceforth write only of the linens, the tedious hours with the house elves only for company, and planning large, exhausting dinners for ungrateful relatives.

As for the poem, well. I do not know the young woman as well as I thought I did.

I cannot thank you over much for delaying your letter, though I must. For all I wanted news the discretion was most welcome. If Parvati's opinions of you are half as glaring as I suspect my mother's would be I am better off not giving her leave to voice them. She is not unkind nor entirely unreasonable, but we do not always see eye to eye, nor even from the corners of our eyes in the same way.

I would not miss Scotland for any thing. But, I am traveling again. Though I am certain mother does not approve of my using her Ministry contacts in this way, I have secured a brief residence for myself in Berlin, just until I am to depart for a few days in Kent with my family before next I see you. There is an historian and linguist who lives there, Zelma Bieke, do you remember her from History of Magic? Admittedly, it it easy to forget anything upon which Professor Binns lectures. She is working on a revision of her earlier text concerning the first war in regards to what has happened now, and I am pleased that she has little interest, as yet, in the stories of students. I am to assist her in editing and gathering first hand accounts in exchange for the opportunity to revisit my German and, though not to her own knowledge, improve my own perspective. It seems strange to have avoided these waters for so long only to dive headfirst into them, but I feel pulled along by many currents in this course, and so, I follow it.

Perhaps if I enjoy the work and she does not despise me, unladylike as I am, she will invite me to return after the holidays.

You write of homesickness in a fashion that makes me think I must take it up, even where crisp winds and winter are concerned. I have always lived so much in fancy, and I suspect, regrettably, taking far too much for granted, it is difficult to fathom what sort of home I shall have that I haven't now. With a lagoon, perhaps?

Perhaps I should draw from you your imaginings so as to inspire my own.

Fondly,

Padma

( . )

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[info]rottendane

12 November 1998

Dear Padma,

Scandal indeed. I, however, am a gentleman, and have no intention of tarnishing your reputation to your sister, or your Ammamma who, if you are her reflection as it sounds from your letters, is a very winning woman. Also, I have no hope of uncovering the sentiment of your poem, no matter whom I try to play in its part. Despite - or perhaps because of - the mystery, I find it compelling.

In case it is better for you, or your family, Ive delayed my own response as long as I can manage. Unfortunately, Cairo has little for me by way of entertainment, so I am actually beginning to look forward to what home will hold for me. Crisp winds, my friends, a lack of sand, my mother, with both good and bad, just as youve written about your own, I imagine, and - if this other plan of yours does not keep you away - you. There are many more unappealing things waiting along with the good, I know, but four months have finally wrung a drop of homesickness from me. I feel though, for the first time in maybe even a year, that I am longing not for a remembered time of happiness at home, but for those yet to come, in a home I havent made.

Your good friend,
Theodore
( . )

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[info]soeffectual


9 November 1998

Dear Theodore,

Shall I write to your employer and assure him of your most gentlemanly manner? I think I will not, and instead scandalize you further with vague, poetic sentiment.

You thought, first, such rhythms required more than the elementary
operations of hands and feet, irregular breath and clouded eyes. How
you did unwind yourself like a spool of silk thread in your haste,
the assumption on your lips a seal of wounding prejudice.

Next, you recited all of the familiar sentiments in reverse, admitting
with each sorry cadence your want, your heart, your want, your heart. You
might well have grown a double head to express what you desired and could
not, what you discovered in your own depths and like a coward left there.

Long at last you let go, shedding eyelashes and daydreams.

Better the uncanny, this way.

So you do not mistake my meaning, or discover it and think me cruel, 'you' is not you at all. What I have for you I have not finished yet. This I wrote for a young woman I once knew.

It seems so strange to have delayed in writing to you. It has become quite natural for me to receive your letters and muse over a response in the evenings, settled on a couch on the curtained patio near the house. Ammamma seems always to know when I have finished, and comes out with bhelpuri and tea, and we sit together and talk, though rarely about what you have written me, or I you. She says she knows volumes of you already if my habits in writing you are to be taken under concern. I have not decided yet if she is teasing me.

But, I have been a few days delayed because Parvati has come, with mother and father, also. It is very strange to have them here; how accustomed I have grown to doing always as I please! We are going to the coast tomorrow for a few days, and then they shall all be gone again with pleas and demands and stern looks from each - I shall let you guess which from whom - that I come with them. I will not, I know. I have another plan, and should be assured of its success or failure when next I write. Not the stars, just yet, but somewhere new. I have no intention of traveling there without a seasoned astronomer.

Enjoy your world of men, Theodore, and do endeavor to contain your heathen tendencies, at least until you are returned to the land of their origins.

Dodging my sister's watchful eye,

Padma

( . )

Posted on Apr. 29th, 2009 | | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend

[info]rottendane

6 November, 1998

Padma,

Youve only spoiled your appetite because youve muddied the two. Salted and battered fish is a marvelously delicious food, with a little vinegar, a little lemon. So, in its own fashion, is a sweet girl, rolled in a little earth. Combination of such distinctive delicacies is not advised, at least, not without a palette cleanser between.

My industry does not currently pay, Padma, no more than a few Galleons a week. I work for those who house and feed me, and keep me in stock of clean clothes. Were I to demand a fitting wage, and they to charge a fair price for their hospitality, I would owe them far more than gratitude. My host, Ishaq Sawalha, who works for a branch of the Egyptian Ministry that focuses entirely on the preservation and recovery of magical artifacts from ancient burial sites, supervises my translations as well as my extracurriculars. He keeps a strict house - I have only briefly upon my arrival seen his wife, and never the three daughters he tells me he has. I can only imagine what he thinks I, as a heathen Scot, would do to them, but Im sure its fairly awful as his disapproval over you not being my mother, sister, or cousin, was more than evident. Im not at all sure what would happen if he properly read the familiar letters we write, but I can tell you they all stay locked in my trunk.

So I keep mostly to my room, or before the house is locked at night, out in the streets. There is a little bar very near, where Ive written this. Theyre Muggles, and serve tea and juices and coffee, not alcohol, but everyone draws apple flavoured smoke through hookah. I like it, even though I have yet to find camaraderie with any of the three men - only men, no women - near my age who all share the same pipe, telling what I imagine are boastful stories and ignoring the strange European bloke who sits and writes, or reads.

Perhaps, if your Japanese improves to the standard of your poetry - as Im sure thats the true order of things - you can become a Japanese-Indian-Englishwoman poet. Id wager you the first. If you aim to visit other stars too, add intergalactic, and I know youd be the first.

Very Happily Yours,
Theodore

( . )

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[info]soeffectual


6 November 1998

Dear Theodore,

Shall I be grateful you have not yet discovered slant rhyme?

Your industry puts me to shame. I cannot regard my writing as work, for though I do a great deal of it, I receive no payment or formal training, and am in service to absolutely no one but my self. I did say that I was selfish, and am proving it daily. I am not entirely without hope, of course, as Vijay remarked during my stay with him that I did very well in communicating and adapting to a language I had previously exceedingly limited experience with. Perhaps my capacity for words extends beyond the page? I can only hope my Japanese is better than my poetry sometimes is.

When you go to study the stars close up I could serve as your translator for other worldly beings.

I must admit that underground and suffocating heat cannot completely quell my romantic notions where the translation of hieroglyphs is concerned. Are your clients treasure seekers, historians, or tourists? This seems exactly the sort of work we were not prepared for in Ancient Runes... perhaps we should encourage a more practical curriculum? I'd live in a library for a handful of sickles, but it would not be truly living.

I have gone and done nothing whatsoever! Who is to say I should end up on your plate, and not someone else's? I suspect I would taste of sugar and earth.

With a spoiled appetite,

Padma

( . )

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[info]rottendane

5 November

Padma,

You are, I suspect, equally happy not to be subjected to my rhyming verses about your adventures. Little do you know, I intend to make a habit of it, poetic nature or not. Sadly - or perhaps fortunately, depending upon your opinions - there is nothing I can think of that rhymes with India. Perhaps Kottayam...

I am employed as a translator here in Cairo, though luckily not the sole one, as my knack for hieroglyphs is not so great as Scandinavian runes. Truth be told, I had thought the job would be more to do with translations on paper, in an office somewhere, or at least field office. But as it turns out Im just as often being led through tunnels and chambers by excavators who - and here is where my assumption turns embarrassingly naive, given this is of course, common knowledge - need assistance deciphering something written on a wall, not parchment.

Having a shivering, sorry thing at my side would be more welcome than you know, and while my beard - if it remains by then- would do little to keep you warm, my cloak should do a great deal.

I confess that I find some strange sort of pride in getting your photographs, which I do enjoy, very much. Im happy that the camera is being put to good use, and that it makes you happy. Your bazaars look a little similar to ones Ive seen here, though, I have yet to linger in them. Vijay can take solace in this - for all her charms, I am sure that Lekah would have no greater - and most likely considerably less - luck with our Morag.

Silver scaled fish may have a better time swimming the waters, but they have highly increased odds of winding up as my dinner. While Im sure you would taste fine with salt and pepper and a little lemon, I prefer you as a girl with your own skin and your head attached, however far apart that must keep you.

Now youve gone and made me hungry,
Theodore

( . )

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[info]soeffectual


4 November 1998

Dear Theodore,

Be as happy as I am that you are not meant for poetry. At least one of us should make sense, or our letters would be impossible to navigate. Besides, I rather enjoy the companionship of a scratchy, displaced scholar, as opposed to a poet, with whom I would no doubt squabble endlessly over craft. They would always be going on and on that I have none, you see.

Are you investigating in Cairo, then? Console yourself with the knowledge that it is almost as though you are moving within the depths of an Earth-pinned constellation. I suspect it might get just as stuffy within a star. The beard might aid you in insulating against the bottomless cold of space, or, at the very least, render you very sporting indeed for the Scottish winter. And there I will be, a shivering, sorry thing beside you, utterly spoiling the picture of heart and health you shall be. Is this really what you want?

I have some photographs for you. What idle enjoyment you have given me in this gift, as I am quite delighted looking just so at things so that I might offer some of their character with the image for you.



I buy nothing and look at everything.





This is Vijay's sister, Lekah. She has twice over as much charm as her brother and delights in telling him so, which I suppose may unravel some of that social grace?

When Parvati comes we are going to the coast. I promise to remain steadfastly a girl, though a fish would have a better time of navigating the Arabian and Red seas to Egypt.

Padma

( . )

Posted on Apr. 28th, 2009 | | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend

[info]flickknife

02/20/98


Ed,

As long as it doesn't involve your candied ass, I'm game.

Sul.

PS. No chocolate-coated bollocks either. Sorry to disappoint.

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[info]rottendane

3 November 1998

Dear Padma,

This heat feels a drier, desert heat, by comparison to your photographs and talk of humidity so thick it blankets the sky. All the same, Ive shorn my hair close again, and am, out of some urge to fit in better with locals, continuing on with my planned - yet unfortunately itchy - attempt at a beard.

So far, I have yet to be happy with my position, as a significant number of hours each day are spent underground in muggy stale air. After a month of the sky as my friend, no matter how interesting the artifacts, hieroglyphs, tombs, and curses are, I find myself tugging open my shirt collar, rolling up my sleeves, ultimately wishing for that which Id pledged, even as a Scot, to loathe - the rain, on my upturned face, getting in my eyes. It would suit me better to close my eyes and try to imagine the smell of my wet wool cloak to be lighter, a softer copper cowl beside me instead.

You are a fish, and a bird, and haunted by questions of imagined ghosts. I am only a scratchy, displaced scholar who wants to be outdoors. Its clear which of us was meant for poetry, I can tell.

Yours,
Theodore

( . )

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[info]soeffectual


2 November 1998

Dear Theodore,

I think if your photograph could move the corners of your mouth would twitch ever upwards, which I would like very much, but you might also topple out of your chair. And so, I am happy for your novel gift, and hope that so still are you.

If you close your eyes, I suspect the heat in Cairo might be near enough to a South Indian clime that we could be standing just next to each other, the shadow passing over your closed eyelids the swipe of my hand as I tempt them to open, and neither a cloud, nor a swooping bird, nor a passing stranger. That is a bit more like living on the same planet than this. Your letters do make me smile, but so would your countenance.

I admit I am not sorry to hear that you are not entertaining girls, eels or otherwise. They are troublesome all, as you should know.

All Hallow's found me lying on the veranda, shoulders pressed against the cool stone, eyes drinking up what sky the humidity permits. The ghosts I saw were of my own devising, some of them night terrors of the finest breed, and others easily banished. A few are lingering still, like questions unanswered. I am writing something I hope you will like. When I am finished I will show it to you.

Devoted in turn,

Padma

( . )

Posted on Apr. 28th, 2009 | | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend

[info]rottendane

31 October

I found something Muggle we can all like - its called a polarized camera! The photos dont move, but they come out of the camera! Right away. Mauricio gave it to me for my goodbye, he says I can buy films in corner shops. Clearly Ive been drinking, do you mind now? If you were here, I wouldnt let go of you.

What star are you going to? You cant live on Saturn, youll die, there isnt any air to breath. Ill live on whatever planet you live on though, because Im sick of wanting to see you and having to settle for looking at my photograph and reading your letters.

I had fun at my party, but didnt bring Sylvias friend up here, and she wasnt an eel. I hope you had fun without the speckters! I hope my letters funny, I like you making you smile.

Your devoted tandem partner,
Theodore

Enclosed is a polaroid, of a patently drunk Theodore

( . )

Posted on Apr. 27th, 2009 | | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend

[info]soeffectual


29 October 1998

Dear Theodore,

I would never have you act in a fashion that would cause you embarrassment or regret, and so, if you would like to hide your quills and inks, or better still, give them to Sylvia to hide, I would not fault you. I shall find my amusements in novels and the bazaar - I sat under a striped canopy and had my fill of crowds and conjuring today.

Do thank Sylvia for me.

And if you should live in the sky, where should you fancy? I would like to see a photograph of that, next. Surely a Wizarding lens has more to offer of the heavens than the Muggles do? The rings of Saturn should turn, blazing, throwing off celestial debris like an animal throws off water after a heavy rain. I am only rambling, you know. I remember enough of my lone year in Astronomy to recall, at least, that Saturn is the one with rings.

I am shameful for a Ravenclaw at times.

Do celebrate All Hallow's twice as much over as you would, for I am missing the spectres myself in India.

Your friend,

Padma

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[info]rottendane

28 October, 1998

Padma,

Your character far outstrips my own, I am as sure of it as I am that lying in this heavy heat of yours will make me a lazy irritable Scottish git who pleads for cooling charms to be aimed at his undoubtedly shorn-for-the-wont-of-a-breeze head. All the same, I heartily look forward to it.

Sylvia asks me to tell you that you are as idealistic as you are lovely, but that she still intends a bit of fun for me before I leave. I think I will miss Portugal. It has been a comfortable home for me these weeks, and Sylvia an entertaining host. Sadly, there isnt any sort of permanent position for another Astronomer here, though she suggests I look elsewhere for one if resolved, and insists that - as I have shown you - the skies look the same from wherever you are. Its true, but I hardly live in the sky.

Should you fancy a ridiculous letter from an inebriated friend, give us a prompting, otherwise I shall confiscate my own quills and paper to spare you - and perhaps myself - the experience.

Theodore

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