Alice Longbottom (inherownright) wrote in platform_zero, @ 2017-02-27 00:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | alice longbottom, frank longbottom |
Who: Fralice Longbottom
Where: Out and about, in the woods
When: February 21st, mid-morning, (way backdated)
What: A telepathic one-sided argument
Rating: Uh. IDK?
Status: In progress, closed
It wasn't his fault. Albus had only been doing his job. Furthermore, he had apparently assumed that Alice would still want the private lessons she had requested. It was certainly not his fault that Frank could read Alice's thoughts the moment she'd seen the schedule laid out on the page, the offer of wandless magic lessons written out twice. It had struck a vicious blow to her ego, far more fragile than she remembered it being back home since her arrival here, where her weaknesses were laid bare for some madwoman's leisurely perusal - as well as to anyone else the aforementioned madwoman pleased. Over the last week, that list had included Frank. It was enough to make her want to cry and more than enough to get her out of the hut and away from him as early and as often as humanly possible while he refused to let Samantha out of his sight and Alice still breastfed her a few times a day.
Fortunately or unfortunately, the island was only so big and their respective jobs had both of them walking the entirety of its surface at least once a day. They might not cross paths often, but their telepathic abilities seemed to kick in whenever they got close enough to each other.
- of time, she was thinking as she walked, her pace brisk in an effort to make it to the top of the mountain early enough to be off of it and back in the shade before noon. Slightly out of breath and covered in a considerable sheen of sweat, Alice didn't have the energy to spare toward anger, and yet her inner tirade wouldn't end. The perfect father, the perfect husband, the perfect Auror... And I'm his wife. That's all I am, according to Crouch. That's all I could ever be. That's all I was to my partners. That's all I was to the future, that bloody Prophet article- Why can't I hate him? I wish I could hate him. She stumbled on a root, catching herself awkwardly on the trunk of the next tree. Alice didn't bother looking at the damage, the checkin automatic. Stubbed toe. Maybe twisted ankle. Bloody hand. Scraped shoulder. A few steps later, Alice determined, Ankle's fine and continued her rant as though she had never been interrupted.