Alexandra Elizabeth Montgomery (hiddencharm) wrote in platform_zero, @ 2017-10-01 00:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | clint warrington, daphne greengrass |
Who | Daphne & Clint
When | Sunday Afternoon
Where | Marcus' Shack
What | She's got her ass back and now she wants her memories.
Rating | TBD. Swearing likely.
Status | Incomplete.
There were pros and cons to having aged two decades. Pro, she'd found out about Cass and that she didn't hate her life. Nor had she given up her career in order to be the traditional pureblood wife like her Mother had always pressed her to be. That was a giant pro. The cons ... aging in general. Yes, she aged extremely well. Did her arse get bigger. Yes. She didn't care what anyone said. She was pretty sure it had gotten a good inch and a half bigger, which was completely unacceptable.
Now that she had her arse back, however, she was slightly less concerned about it. Out of sight, out of mind. What she was concerned about was the fuzzy quality of her memories ... her future memories, to be precise ... if one could even be precise when talking about memories they hadn't actually experienced yet. Just thinking about it was enough to give her a headache. She wasn't overly concerned with a lot of the memories, but she did want the memories of Cassius and the memories of them as a family. She didn't want to forget those. She shouldn't forget them.
Luckily for her, an entry in her journal had reminded her that she'd given Clint the very memories she wanted to keep. Unluckily for her, however, she had to go looking for the Git in frigid temperatures. Her older self had prepared a heat charm insulated jacket when the island had jumped locations, but it certainly wasn't her double-breasted Dolce and Gabbana wool coat. It was better than freezing she supposed. Bundled up so only her eyes were showing, she'd started with his hut. Naturally, he hadn't been there. Next she'd trudged her way over to the Murky. Surely, he'd be there. When he wasn't, she cursed. Now was not the time to change up habits. When he wasn't at Astoria's book shop either, she debated which curse would be the best way to make all his hair fall out.
With no where else to look, Daphne's last resort was Marcus' shack. Frankly, she was hoping the owner of said shack was not there. He'd been in a bloody foul mood since he'd gone back to his proper age and had remembered that he had a pitch he couldn't use courtesy of one Delphine Smith. Honestly, she'd preferred him as a twelve year old.
Reaching Marcus' shack, she didn't bother knocking and she didn't worry about the wards. She'd been the one to reinforce them when he'd thrown his little fit over Abbott. She'd be stupid not to work herself into the wards. Call it payment for her efforts. Stepping inside, she welcomed the much warmer air and found the source of her current irritation.