#daisy001

It had been a very long night. Fabian felt as though he hadn’t slept, although Gideon and Molly had told him to do so, his own devastation mirrored on their faces. As morning fell, and light had filled his room, he’d only remembered the moment of seeing his cousin’s body, his mind filling with thoughts of what he could have done. He’d been there, after all. While Athena had been murdered, he’d been there, somewhere, not knowing. 

Having stayed at the Burrow, he didn’t feel like venturing out now, but knew the burden fell on him. Athena’s parents were not ready to sort through their daughter’s things and there was no one else they trusted to do so, although they had suggested asking Athena’s closest friend for her assistance.

It was then that Fabian remembered one of the last things he’d promised Athena. To help Daisy Hookum. And instead he would be going to the woman with this news.  Having gained her address from the Fawleys, Fabian dreaded telling her what had happened, but she had to know. He walked slowly up to her door, raising his hand to knock, the sound echoing tensely as Fabian tried to find the words to say what he still struggled to believe.  

Remus wandered around the exterior of the manor home, admiring the architecture. It amazed him how intricate pureblood homes were, the designs reflecting the long history, immense wealth, and power of the families who lived there. He’d read once that wizarding architecture often complimented protective enchantments, and Remus had to stop himself from running a hand along the old stone to see if that was true. He imagined so, as his gaze followed the lines of arches and decorative stonework.

His attention turned upward, Remus hardly watched where he was going as he rounded the corner of the home and ran straight into someone else. “Oh I’m sorry!” He said, reaching out a hand to steady Daisy, and cringing as he realized her drink was currently soaking into his shirt. “Are you alright?” He asked, looking her over for any sign of injury and feeling rather stupid. 

surprisingly, this bar turned out to be one of jo's favorite places in the neighborhood. after the first couple of outings, she'd found a group of people her own age and ended up claiming a high top table to watch their younger companions on the dance floor and talk about everything from how much things had changed since they were kids to the most recent new york sports results. it was late on a sunday, so most of the friends she'd made here had reluctantly called it a night, but jo was still keeping an eye on one of the TAs she'd accompanied here. knowing that particular TA, jo would be here until last call. at least she was surrounded by other people, so jo felt comfortable shooting her a don't leave text and slipping off to the bathroom.

she just needed a minute. she didn't mind crowds or anything, but sometimes when she was out for hours at a time, she needed a second to recharge. she didn't have to go. she hadn't had anything alcoholic to drink tonight. but she did need to splash some cold water on her face and then touch up her makeup. she was just reapplying her lipstick when the stall door behind her opened.

she saw her in the mirror first. jo would recognize that face anywhere. she'd spent enough of her young adult life sneaking around and kissing that face...and then, after she'd escaped to the west coast, wishing she were there with her. their eyes met in the smudged bathroom mirror and for a second, jo's heart stutter-stepped in her ribcage before then beginning to beat double time. "daisy." the name tasted familiar on her tongue despite the time apart. she turned her attention back to her own reflection to finish her lipstick. "what are you doing here?" it came out sharper than she meant. jo was just surprised, that's all. and a little shellshocked, honestly. it'd been a long time.

🪦    »    @pareidolix​  sent  :       “  i’d  be  a  pleasant  ghost  .  i’d  like  pour  people  tea  and  stuff like  that  .  or  i’d  do  chores  around  the  house  .  they’d  be  like  ,  ‘  whoa  !  all  my  laundry’s  folded  .  how  ‘bout  that  ?  thanks  ,  daisy  !  ’  and  i’d  tip  my  cap  and  i’d  tap  dance  out  of  the  room  .  ”

timestamp  :   week  one  ,  before  the  cookout  .

matthias  puts  down  his  pencil  with  the  speed  of  somebody  who  feels  like  they’re  in  a  dream  —  a  dream  where  you’re  slogging  through  your  movements  as  if  in  a  pit  of  soup  .  but  he  isn’t  dreaming  ,  and  she  is  saying  what  she’s  saying  ,  so  he  drops  the  pencil  slowly  ,  only  for  it  to  dangle  from  its  string  tied  to  the  clipboard  that’s  nailed  to  the  cabin  wall  in  real  time  .  bunk  checks  .  check  .   “  —  uh  . . .  ”   his  eyes  slide  down  to  her  camp  -  issued  calf  -  length  socks  and  then  out  to  the  horizon  .   “  that’s  cool  .  ”   the  emphasis  on  the  latter  word  only  reveals  its  forcedness  .  matthias  doesn’t  know  what’s  cool  .  and  he’s  fairly  certain  that  if  this  were  a  tv  show  ,  a  tinny  laugh  track  would  have  played  ,  and  maybe  a  few  people  would’ve  forced  air  out  of  their  nose  in  place  of  actual  laughter  .  he  ducks  ever  so  slightly  to  pass  through  the  cabin’s  threshold  without  losing  some  braincells  ,  making  a  half  -  hearted  escape  .  “  . . .   i  have  to  check  my  campers’  bunks  for  pot  ,  so  —  ”