Lucinda Talkalot

“Well, she tells it much better than I do,” Edgar smiled. “After all, her portrait was created solely for this very purpose.” A reach into an unknown future, where you knew nothing would remain but your hand, clutching the past. ‘Here, look, the last and only thing I can still control’, it seemed to say.

Edgar chuckled. It was a soundless little thing, polite above all. “But how do you know it wasn’t much worse before the War?” He had meant to document the state of the house, photograph it to compare it with whatever it would have become in five years. Leave something for curious future Bones children as well. “If helping the injured Muggle soldiers worsened the state of this house, what do you think will happen to it now that the Order moved in?” He pointed at the ceiling with his free hand, the one that wore the glove to hide the missing finger. “Will it all crumble to ruins soon?”

Her comment about the house having the flu had him smile again, but this time the smile reached his eyes as he looked at her, genuinely amused. “Do you think we’ll have to spoon-feed it slimy medicine?” But Talkalot’s idea didn’t seem fully ridiculous. The question was just: who was the illness, and what was the medicine? Did human have to bring it in like healers, or could the house get back to health all by itself once the illness was removed?

When Talkalot pointed at one of the doors, Edgar paused and hummed. “Curious,” he noted. Approaching gingerly – without getting too close – he squinted, and then he seemed to remember. “Ah. I think this might be the World’s Door.” He folded his arms over his chest, pensively. “It has never shown itself to me, but then again, I’ve never truly looked for it. You see, the whole world lies behind that door, with all its joys and all its death. They say that if a person with a healthy heart goes through it, he will see the infinity of the universe and the most splendid colours earth has to offer. He will be freed from the weight that haunts this house, and from where he stands, he’ll be able to travel wherever he wants, just by wishing it so.” Edgar looked back at Talkalot. “But if a person with a rotten heart goes through it, someone who can’t be trusted and is of a selfish nature, he will only see the gloom and ugliness of it all. Incapable to leave this room again, incapable to free himself from this curse that waits behind this door, he will be forced to die, frozen in horror to stare forever at humankind’s hatred and blood-lust.” He took a step closer to the door. “I’ve always wanted to know how this door would judge my heart.”

Lucinda stayed exactly where she was as Edgar took a step closer, towards the uh, World’s Door. As he’d described the door and it’s qualities, Lucinda felt the hairs on her neck stand up straight, images from the Attack only a few days before flashing across her mind. Specifically, she remembered the man trapped beneath the chandelier. It had been thrilling as it happened, but, as usual, had disturbed her the day after. This sort of magical item was the sort she’d always been afraid to face. Something that would see beyond the persona she tried to show together and see the less savory sides of her. That, ultimately, the only talent she seemed to have was a talent for hurting people.

What would this Door have to say about her?

“That’s something I absolutely never need to find out.”

She stepped only a step closer. Just clos enough to once again stand beside Edgar. She stared up at his face.

Kiran smiled as Lucinda explained her Quidditch connection. “That’s fun,” she said. Kiran herself had never played Quidditch, just enjoyed watching it. For the past year and so, she’d considered it to herself that she’d been meant for a different Quidditch role, although the idea brought her a certain level of sadness now when that role was now closed off. Snitch-making secrets were tightly kept. She’d never put together the rest on her own without a master to teach her.

“Like horse racing?” Kiran’s eyebrows shot up. She couldn’t say she knew much about it aside from its existence. “Well, that’s certainly an interesting past time, I suppose. I can’t say I’ve watched much. Is listening to a race any fun? I’m sorry, that probably sounded rude. I just don’t understand listening to sports in general. I guess the most excitement I get out of a Quidditch or-” She’d been about to say football but didn’t want to bring up muggle sports. “Well, mostly Quidditch is the thrill of the crowd and the energy. You can’t get that from the radio.”

Kiran shrugged and leaned against the fence at the edge of the road. “What is it in particular you like so much about horse racing?”

Lucinda found herself swept up in the conversation quickly. She’d been hoping to see the main house, but now all she could think about was explaining her love for the wireless.

“Oh, no, you don’t understand. Sure, you could always see things live and in person, but I’ve found too many times that the reality rarely stands up to the reality you make up in your own head. A Parkin’s Pincer sounds much more exciting than it looks, more often than not. Though, I will admit, nothing compares to being in the Pincer itself.”

The Pincer had been one of her favorite moves. She’d usually put on a big show of needing to be convinced to play pointman in the Pincer, but it was her favorite position. Nothing put a smile on her face quite like watching the blood drain from some third year Chaser’s face as you barreled towards them. One opposing team member had made the mistake of trying to call her bluff. They’d both wound up needing their brooms replaced, and no one had tried that again.

“What, horse racing?” Oh, I don’t know if I love horse racing that much particularly. I just tend to leave the wireless playing in the background while I’m doing other things and I always manage to find something new and interesting to listen to. It’s been a great distraction from the outside world of late, but now, of course, I’ve found myself right here, right in the center of it all. Just as involved as any of the activists I’ve heard about on the news.”

Maddy had lived a good number of years among Wix and she knew to recognise the difference between someone who knew what a rubber eraser was because they had been raised by Muggles, and those who tried to chew it at first because they were raised by Wix. So Lucinda praying to God for her lost business – it had Maddy laugh. It was a sniffled, involuntary, bubbled laugh, but it was a laugh, and it distracted her from her pain. She would’ve loved to ask what Lucinda thought she was doing, but again, she’d lived a long time among Wix, and knew the answer already. More importantly, she knew not to take offense in it. After all, to mimic another person’s gestures and expressions was what humans did to survive, a gimmick of that evolution Gerry talked about sometimes, a thing that showed community. And so Maddy took Lucinda’s lost prayers with a smile and something like gratitude. “You’re nice,” she said instead and smiled, then slowly rose to her feet. Her legs felt wobbly, and in return that made her want to cry some more, but she held it together. 

“With,” she corrected her. “We’re business partners. He allows me to sell my stuff in his shop, and in return he gets some of my income. I like sweets, but I have bigger plans than being a counter clerk.” Or had. Her gaze wandered back to the destroyed shop and tears rose to her eyes again. “No, I don’t know,” she pushed through her tightening throat, “I don’t know where he was. Where he is.” Oh God, what if he was dead?

When Maddy had laughed, Lucinda bristled slightly. She didn’t have to go and laugh at her. It was her silly tradition. But, she was even more paused when she called her nice. She fixed her face quickly and shuffled her feet.

“Just a formality, Warren. No need for the compliment.”

Really, she just realized how not nice she’d been this entire interaction. She was happy to have gotten away with it, but was she really so stuck in her ways that she couldn’t be genuine with Warren even under circumstances like these? Weren’t they supposed to be adults now? 

She regretted her line of questioning regarding Mr. Diggle almost immediately. Warren’s eyes began to well up, and Lucinda was not remotely equipped to handle it.

“Oh, please don’t. No, no, no need. Umm, uhhh, who knows! He may not have even been on Diagon Alley that day! Perhaps he took the day off! Hell, he might not even have been in the country for all either of us know! Just please, oh Merlin, stop crying.”

Lucinda flicked her head back and forth down the Alley, helplessly looking for anything that might pacify her. She spotted Sugarplum’s Sweets Shoppe down the road and her mouth moved faster than her mind.

“Oh, look, sweets! How lovely! Would you care to join me?”

(I really enjoy wandlore, so here's an over the top explanation/short story about Lucinda getting her wanddd. Enjoyyyy.

The TL;DR for those just passing through: Lucinda has an Unyielding 10 1/2" Larch Wand with a Unicorn Hair Core.)

The Talkalot family had a history of being finicky with their wands. Or, rather, wands had a history of being finicky with them. Her father, Marcus, had tried out five wands before one had settled for him. Maxim had tried six. Their father, Lucinda's grandfather, had tried a grand total of eight wands, and had flapped the mildly unflappable Ollivander in the process. Marcus had Cedar, Maxim had Beech, and old Benin Talkalot received a particularly mischievous Dogwood wand. All of them rather shy at first, needing Ollivander to seek them out instead of just making themselves known. So, Ollivander was prepared for a long afternoon when young Lucinda was hustled into the shop by her overexcited parents.

Lucinda was terrified of wands. They'd always made her a bit uncomfortable, though she was surrounded by them every day. It seemed like such a responsibility, and "responsibility" was one of Lucinda's least favorite words, up there with "expectations" and "moist." But, this was all an inevitability, so here she was, quivering so slightly one might mistake it for excitement.

The first wand was a Cedar. Helpful suggestion from Dad, who had always had a thing for "tradition" and all that. Lucinda obediently stood, scared that even a twitch would cause an unwanted spark, but nothing happened. Ollivander knew immediately and whisked the wand away almost as quickly as he'd set it in her hand. Dad hid his disappointment well.

The second was a Black Walnut wand that Ollivander was desperate to find a home.. But, as soon as the wand touched her fingertips, it emitted a high-pitched squeal that would make a Mandrake cringe. Ollivander hurriedly put it away, muttering to himself about how long Black Walnuts inevitably sit on his shelves, the picky things.

But, as he placed the wand back on the shelf, he heard a small thump from the back of the shop. He'd peered around the corner, searching for the attention-seeking wand, and found a single box on the floor of the aisle. He glanced over the name on the box and back at the trembling girl, still rubbing her ears indignantly, and the pieces came together.

He took the wand out and walked back to the Talkalots. Before he placed the wand in Lucinda's hand (which had been outstretched this whole time as if she were a statue,) he warned Lucinda not to aim at anything valuable. That stack of old boxes over there was fine. Before Lucinda could even register what he'd said, her hands made contact with the wand and she felt... different.

Every nerve end seemed to switch on like a light, firing off all at once, and that stack of boxes Ollivander had pointed out suddenly looked ever-so interesting. She wondered vaguely how loud it would be if they all toppled over at once, and found herself flicking her wand to find out. She did it with such unnecessary gusto that the boxes flew backwards, thudding into the wall behind them with great force. Lucinda stifled a laugh, and involuntarily groaned when Ollivander suddenly snatched the wand from her right hand.

"I'll take this, before you seek out another target. Interesting choice, Larch wood. Very interesting. I'd watch her carefully, if I were you."

Lucinda is 5' 6" in the Imperial System.

She's 1,67m in the Metric System.

(Tell me if the second half is incorrect, I'm an unworldly American. Lol!)

For reference, here she is compared to the shortest person I found in the tag so far, dear Kiran, at 5'3".

And here she is compared to the tallest in the tag, Mr Lucius Malfoy.

Luci would pinch Edgar while he wasn’t looking to try and convince him the House was fucking with him. She feels like he’s owed it. lol!

She’d slap Mary. Feels like she needs some humbling. (Surry, Mary.)

“Verna Thornburry,” Maddy sniffled. It was awful, bloody awful, to think she knew someone who was now a casualty. Of course, in her life she’d met many people who’d become casualties, but the difference was, well, this was the first time it happened in this world. This world that was meant to be a safe haven from cruelty and all that made humanity so rotten. “May she rest in peace.” And she clasped her hands around Richard and sent a prayer heaven-wards.

Maddy wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve, nodding towards Dedalus’ sweetshop. “I’ve been starting a proper business. Yesterday was going to be the big opening…” She looked up at Lucinda. “But the inside’s completely wrecked, all my stuff is destroyed and… Well, Mister Dedalus hasn’t shown up yet.” She didn’t dare say that he’d disappeared, after all, she’d been the one to have avoided Diagon Alley for two days. But he’d certainly not been at the Head Quarters, and if she were to allow herself to think about it, she knew she’d panic. 

When Warren clasped her hands and looked up, Lucinda awkwardly mimicked her. This was surely another one of her strange muggle habits, and she didn’t want to further upset her.

“Yes, right. Peaceful rest and all that.”

Warren’s explanation of what happened did make her feel for the girl. She knew what it was like to watch your hard work go up in smoke. 

“That’s awful. Uh, may it rest in peace.”

She did the same motion as before, clasping her hands momentarily, almost like a clap, and flicking her head upwards. She hoped she’d appreciate the embarrassment she was putting herself through. 

The mention of Dedalus Diggle made her stop. She knew Mr. Diggle! She’d stopped at his shop on her way home from work plenty of times, and yet she’d never run into Maddy Warren. How strange and fortuitous.

“You work for Mr. Diggle? That feels very... suited to you.”

Mr. Diggle was an odd man. She did her best to avoid him on her visits.

Lucinda flew into a rant and Regulus stood at the doorway, patiently letting her finish. She seemed to move through all the stages of grief in one minute as she berated him for faking his death and talking about his family and explaining his funeral to him. It was the first person to explain it all, in fact, and the idea that Regulus had made his mother cry actually caused a pang of hurt move through his chest.

Sirius may have hated Walburga, but Regulus didn’t. He hadn’t meant to cause her harm, though he’d known her would when making the decision to stay away after Kreacher had brought him back to life. 

“You’re a witch,” he quipped back, deciding to ignore half of the things she’d said. “Ghosts comes with the territory. I thought you were stronger than that, Lucinda.” He moved farther into the kitchen, hands in his pockets, now that he knew he wasn’t going to hex him - he’d seen her do it before. “I am, however, truly sorry that me being alive is a disappointment to you. Next time, I’ll make sure to stay dead in order to keep the equilibrium.”

The way she spoke of You-Know-Who had Regulus’ eyes narrowing. How had the Dark Lord affected her? She surely spoke of the wizard like the Order did - perhaps she was in the right place. “Explain what you mean,” he said. It wasn’t really a question - but not really an order either. More like an open invitation, with a bit of push to it. 

He sat at the table and pulled a piece of bread towards him, tapping it with his wand to multiply it. Instead of eating the original piece of bread, he ate the new piece, knowing it hadn’t been touched by a Mudblood. “I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours,” he said with a smirk. “What did the Dark Lord do to you to make you seek the Order?” 

Lucinda made an unflattering face at his ghost comment. But, his comment about “keeping the equilibrium” made her scoff outloud.

“Oh, sod off, you know what I meant!”

She remembered she was holding a roll in her hand at this and took a large bite to emphasize her point,

His invitation to explain herself caught her off guard. Regulus was not usually the type to ask for elaboration. Something about this had caught his interest.

When he took a seat at the table, Lucinda took that as a cue to make herself comfortable. She sat herself opposite of him, and took another bite of her roll. His “tell you mine, tell me yours” comment made her chuckle. Even now, everything was a bit of a joke for him, and she would have been more than happy to keep up the lighter tone, if not for what she’d have to recount. Where she may have hesitated with others, she went straight into her story. She knew Regulus and sure, he could be a bit intense, but he was ultimately harmless. She could tell him.

“Have I ever mentioned my uncle? Most likely not. Maxim Talkalot, fellow housemate. He owned Maxim’s down in Diagon Alley.”

It had become a bit of a habit for her to mention her uncle’s association with Slytherin house. He’d been the one to show her the ropes, what it truly meant to be a Slytherin. The amount of discounts and special invitations they’d received, solely from House association, was still a bit thrilling to her. She figured mentioning this would keep Black’s interest.

Before she continued, she realized she wasn’t sure what he might have heard, through the news or, perhaps, the Order themselves. Maybe the mention of Diagon Alley was enough for him to understand what might have happened? She clenched her fists a bit and took another bite. Better to just get it over with.

“Owned, being the operative word. What’s funny is, I couldn’t even tell you what caused it. We were doing everything right. I was doing everything right. Staying low. Waiting it out. Shaking my head at the so-called activists, chasing after their own demise. Idiots. Yet, I still went into work on Sunday and watched my uncle’s life’s work explode before my eyes. Dark Mark and all, because Merlin forbid we’re confused about who might be running around blowing up buildings. There’s too many dark wizards about, right? Wouldn’t want to get mixed up.”

She began absently picking at her her roll.

“My uncle’s all right, by the way. He managed to survive. We did have a casualty, though. Miss Verna Thornburry. Middle-aged woman with a stick stuck up her arse, but that doesn’t earn her a death sentence.”

She suddenly tossed he roll away from her, watching it bounce down the length of the table. She wasn’t hungry anymore.

”And, what am I supposed to do, right? Am I supposed to stand by and allow it? Of course bloody not! Most importantly, am I supposed to insult my uncle by throwing the job of delivering him the justice he’s owed to some Aurors? Of course fucking not. There’s your explanation. It’s personal now. Idiotic ideologies are one thing. I’m not here for any of that nonsense. Let them kill each other over that. But, the embarrassment, the disrespect, that is all unforgivable. So, here I am, traipsing around McKinnon Farms, sneaking bread and chatting with a ghost. Great help I’ve been to the cause thus far.”

Lucinda managed to cool her growing temper with that last good-natured jab. That was probably the most thorough explanation she’d been able to give thus far.  That was a good sign, she supposed. At least she could talk about it, even if it fired her up.

Realizing she had nothing more to say, she mirrored Regulus’ smirk from before and balanced her chin upon one of her fists.

Edgar hummed at her joke. “Have you ever heard of Ygramul, The Many?” he asked, still speaking as if detached from all he was saying, as if he was indeed but a museum guide, retelling the far-distant events of an ancient, long-gone time. “She’s … not just one, but she appears as a giant spider if she wishes to appear at all, and it’s said that she lives wherever there are dead mountains. That is, mountains where many deaths have occurred.” It went without saying that the hill on which the House of Bones stood was literally called Battle, a name given to it after the infamous battle of Hastings in 1060. Lucinda would’ve had to know this to take the Chimney here. At least the name of the hill. The rest depended on her knowledge on Muggle history. “The poison by which she kills allows the victim to wish himself to any place he wishes, no matter where that may be, whether real or not. Of course, he has to speak the wish before the poison takes effect and kills him.” He glanced back up at the cobwebs. “The Many… No one knows what makes her appear, but one says that those she prefers to feast on are in their own way … rotten. That’s why she’s rotten. That’s why her poison is so powerful.”

He cast her a smile. “I don’t know. Am I saying that?” The sound of the door slamming had him look back as well. Whether this was Peter or the house responding with anger, he didn’t like either of it. And then his gaze fell back to Talkalot and her little jolt. While he did enjoy his little horror tour – partly to test the young woman, partly because he rarely got a chance to talk about the House of Bones in such detail – he did not actually want her frightened to her bones. His hand moved, as though wanting to reach out – not to touch, but perhaps to almost rest on her back for comfort. But Edgar wasn’t one to touch often or easily, the heaviness of touches as well as the rules of propriety holding him back. So instead, he offered his elbow instead for her to link her arm in if she wanted to. “If I may?”

“What I am saying is that the house, or at least those wings, have seen the worst of humanity. Gambling, addiction and even the … sexual trespassing aside. In 1916, a terrible Muggle War was demanding sacrifice to an extent that had rarely been heard before by the men of this country. A gruesome, bloody war with no good and no evil, only victims. And my … great grandaunt, I believe, ordered the by-then empty Wings to be used as a hospital. You know the laws concerning helping Muggles with magic, I imagine. Well, my grandmother learnt of them very quickly because before even the first soldiers were brought in, the Ministry stood on her steps. Oh, she wasn’t happy about it, I can tell-, Well. If you want to hear all about it, you can ask her yourself. Her portrait still hangs in her old room in the West Wing. She loves talking about that. And she does it better than me, anyway.” The wind sent out a a hollow, sorrowful moan to travel through the corridor. Edgar ignored it. “In summary, she told all her daughters to roll up their sleeves and learn some Muggle healing. And for two years these walls were filled with patients who had only so just made it back alive. Missing limbs. Broken spines. Trauma.” Under a door near the end of the corridor, a pale, white light shimmered. It was gone quickly again. “What do you think, Miss Talkalot? The state of this Wing, was it improved or worsened by these events?”

Edgar’s spider story was disturbing, to say the least. She already wasn’t too fond of spiders, but this was far too much. It was almost as if he was trying to spook her.

But, when Edgar offered his arm, all thoughts of reproach vanished. That was a kindly offering she hadn’t expected, and although she wasn’t a fan of affection, she understood the politeness of the request. This wasn’t an intimate touch. It was proper manners. Lucinda lightly, if a bit awkwardly, placed her arm in his, skimming it just barely.

The story of their medical history was particularly moving to Lucinda. Healing, if she had any talent for it, would have been the career path she’d chosen. Helping people, rather than hurting them. It was noble work. Though, she was a bit shocked his great grandmother-grandaunt?- had gone to all that trouble for some muggles. Not that she thought they were necessarily unworthy or anything, it was just a lot of work and strife to go through for non-magical kin. She figured it was better to keep her bewilderment to herself.

“I might actually go and visit. It sounds like a lovely story.”

The low moan made her wish she could take her words and shove them back down her throat. She’d be having trouble returning here on official business, let alone to come visit a portrait.

The shimmer caught her eye almost immediately. Her arm came unhooked from his and she stopped at the offending door. 

It took very little consideration for Lucinda to answer his question.

“Oh, worsened. Very much worsened. This place... it’s almost as if it were sick. And, though this probably makes me sound like an untravelled witch, I’ve never heard of a house that was capable of catching the flu.”

Finally, she indicated the door openly.

“Others!” came Lily’s reply at Lucinda’s what are we looking for question, though it probably didn’t make much sense to the young wix. Lily hadn’t exactly stopped to explain just how many people there were in the Order or how it all worked. She’d barely had enough time to explain about the Order itself. “This is our headquarters,” she shouted, trying to make sense out of it for Lucinda. “Was our headquarters. Somehow, we were infiltrated.”

Betrayed. The word came easily to her mind. If not Ainsley, then someone else. Hadn’t they thought there was a spy for ages? Hadn’t James adamantly refused to believe it?

Lily let the other girl take the reins on the battle - Lucinda was holding her own, a better dueler than even Lily herself - but she knew the house. “This way!” she yelled, bringing Lucinda down the hall towards the shouting. Someone yelling for help and then - crash. Glass fell everywhere as a chandelier came flying down from the ceiling. Lily saw someone on the other side, but the person disappeared quickly, moving back down the opposite end of the corridor. She didn’t have time to see who had done it because glass was shooting towards her and she quickly threw up a shield charm.

Only a few pieces made their way through towards Lily and Lucinda before the shield went up. One shard cut Lily’s cheek, but she ignored the pain as she watched someone crumpled ahead of them. The Death Eater that the chandelier had likely been knocked down to block passage hadn’t been so lucky. They were on the ground, bleeding badly, and Lily turned without remorse, jaw locked together. “Back the other way,” she ordered to Lucinda.

Headquarters. Even in Lucinda’s buzzing brain, the word sounded a bit funny. But, now was absolutely not the time to be focused on that. This group she’d just helped take down two masks had managed to get themselves infiltrated. She thought back to the organized take down back in Diagon Alley. Something wasn’t adding up.

As Lily took the lead down the corridor and towards the voice, there was a sudden and horrible crunching crash. Before Lucinda even had time to understand what was happening, Lily had managed to throw up a shield. Lucinda had been far enough back to come out without a scratch, though she noticed the small trickle of blood running down Lily’s cheek. Her face involuntarily scrunch, though not from disgust.

Lily ordered her back down the hallway, but Lucinda found herself staring at the mask a moment longer. They were still alive. Just barely holding on. And as they began to struggle to raise the chandelier, the image of Maxim trying to do the same rose to her mind. Her wand rose, almost of its own accord, and aimed at the struggling Death Eater. She spoke in almost a whisper. Some part of her that would surely be upset about all this later didn’t want Lily to hear.

“Immobulus.”

Their struggling stopped, and the chandelier fell back upon them with a satisfying thump. Any glass that was already embedded in them was thrust even deeper, and they gave out a soft strangled noise in response.

And Lucinda smiled.

She followed behind Lily, once again tagging a few steps behind. She spoke urgently.

“We can’t be running back into any of our old friends. I doubt they’d be happy to see us. Do you know a way we can cut around back the way we were headed? If need be, I could always blast a path.”

Kiran ducked her head to the side in a shrug, but her smile gave away just how pleased she was by the compliment. Compared to her mentor’s work, Kiran felt like she had no skill, just the most rudimentary of spell understanding. It was nice to receive a reminder that just because she knew what better looked like didn’t mean hers was unimpressive.

“It’s not meant to fool necessarily. I just don’t know the spells to craft the center quite right. I know it’s easy to assume it’s just a ball, but it has to be sized correctly, it has to have room for the wings to fold in, it has to have the inner cavity for proper balance, and it has to have the spell work to be completely independent. I don’t have any of that unfortunately, but the wings are fun, aren’t they?”

Lucinda wasn’t an unusual name exactly, but it felt like the kind of name a pureblood would have. Kiran hadn’t expected a surname when she hadn’t given one, but it was still unfortunate not to receive. This conversation would be easier to navigate otherwise. 

Instead she fell back on her cover story. “Maraidy and I were kind of friends in school–” they really hadn’t been “–and when she told me about all there was to do on the farm, I got curious. Marlene’s been showing me the ropes and helping me understand all the work that goes on.” More she’d been trying to keep Kiran out of it and out of the way, but semantics didn’t matter much in a cover story. “I do what I can.” That part was true.

When Kiran began rattling off facts about Snitches, Lucinda could barely keep up. It really was more than just a flying lump of gold.

“Wow, it takes all that, huh? I’d thought the wings were all it took! But, pardon my lack of knowledge on Snitches, I wasn’t a Seeker in school. Just your average Chaser. Oh, and team captain! Slytherin team.”

She’d settled a bit into the conversation at this point, and decided a little more personal information wouldn’t hurt. She figured a Snitch maker would be interested in hearing she’d played Quidditch.

Kiran’s mention of the McKinnons made her smile a bit wider.

“Oh, you’re a fan of the farm, as well? I just came back from a chat with Marlene! She’s back in the stables if you’re looking for her!”

Lucinda motioned back towards the stables, wondering if that had been where she was headed. But, before she could answer, another thought occurred to Lucinda.

“Mary MacDonald. Do you want my home address too?” It was said in the same tone as everything she’d said up until this point, voice even, wry, with an underlying bite. This time, though, it really was only a joke. Whether Talkalot got that or thought Mary was just being mean, well. She wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it either way.

She pushed herself away from the doorway, ready to get this over with. The plan, if it could even be called that, mostly consisted of hitting all the most important spots around the house while giving Talkalot the basic rundown of how things worked. And then they’d just go from there. Short, simple, straight to the point.

“Alright, let’s go. First off, every once in a while, we hold meetings you’re supposed to attend. They’re not like the one we had yesterday, but after shit goes down like that, it’s common sense we’re gonna have to regroup and assess the damage. So. If anything like that happens again you can assume there’s gonna be a meeting.” Their first destination, consequently, was the meeting room. It didn’t matter if Talkalot had seen it already; Mary knew perfectly well how everything seemed to mix and blend together after a day like yesterday. As they neared its door, she elaborated some more. “The other meetings, the regular ones, you’ll be notified in advance they’re happening. Be there. We’re not having them for shits and giggles.”

And there was really nothing else special about the room worth mentioning, so Mary only added, “This is where they would happen, usually.”

Lucinda huffed a bit under her breath at Mary’s snark. If that was meant to be a joke, Lucinda was not in the mood to find it funny. She narrowed her eyes slightly before giving them a subtle roll. Any attempts at trying to conceal her contempt were starting to wear thin.

Then, MacDonald began to move, so Lucinda followed suit. Apparently, the room she’d found herself in only yesterday was their “meeting room.” Made sense. Lucinda pointedly ignored Mary’s unnecessary implication that she would choose not to attend. Why in Merlin’s name would she go to all this trouble and then not show up? Ridiculous.

She decided to ask a question that had been itching at her.

She hasn't met the Bang Gang yet, but knowing what I know about them currently, she'd probably vote for Benjy. He's a healer, which is a career she admires, and he's probably the most leveled out in her eyes.

She'd vote against Emma, unfortunately. In her eyes, her ex-friend has jumped headfirst off the deep-end, so she wouldn't trust her judgement.

And, she'd run against Dorcas, cuz she'd really get a kick out of personally defeating her. :)

Next, she'd befriend Alice! She digs her vibe, and she hopes she can learn how to be so intimidating yet elegant. Lol!

She'd adopt Kiran! She's a bit closer in age, and Lucinda would be very proud of a child that chose to go into metal-charming.

She'd rob a bank with Efa. Although they absolutely do not get along, she thinks Efa would be down. Luci also figures it'd be easier to rob a bank with someone you wouldn't necessarily mind throwing under the bus.

She'd hide a body with Artem. Although she doesn't know him yet, she'd think Artem probably knows some good hiding spots. Lol!

Oh, God bless whoever Luci's gonna cook for. She thinks she's very good. She is not.

She'd make cookies for Edgar. She's got some fondness for him, but she'd also rather not spend a ton of time around him? Somehow? So, she'd be like, "here's your cookies, appreciate ya." And then dip.

She'd make a five-course meal for Marlene. She believes that woman deserves to relax, so she'd totally cook for her, but unfortunately, her cooking is not super relaxing, Marlene. Good luck, cuz her feelings will be ABSOLUTELY hurt if she catches you spitting it into your napkin.

Ah, a cute one!

She'd probably get coffee with Maddy. Especially with the way they've met up, she's sort of open to giving her a chance not to be weird. Lol.

She'd go out to dinner with Lily. She wants to know more about what the heck's up with her and all these crazy kids she's been running into. Lol!