#ferviduschat

Date: May 30th, 1945, 22:14 Location: Outside of The Three Broomsticks Availability: Open

The rain drops tingled his skin, as he rolled a cigarette, and stood amidst the shit around him. The filth of the dirty streets, the water drops attempting to cleanse them, unsuccessfully. It reminded him of the Wizarding World right now, but then again, he didn’t care. It was odd for him to use those muggle inventions, but they were soothing his complicated mind and untying all those little problems in his life, for the duration of the slowly burning paper. He didn’t have a lighter, so taking out his wand he chanted the spell ‘Incendio!‘ lighting the cigarette, feeling it burning slowly in his hands. The long piece of wood above The Tree Broomsticks provided protection from the rain, though it still found a way to him. Hyun wrapped his lips around the cigarette, and his brain instantly loosened up, only to be brought back to tension by a voice. “ 젠장,“ he cursed, remembering that most people did not understand his native language, especially wizards.

“What do you want?“ he asked, voice narrowed down, curious eyes inspecting the brave one that had approached. Twirling the cigarette between his index and middle finger, he waited his answer. “Speak fast, I don’t have time for nonsense.“

Adaline, despite her pink ribbons and white dresses, enjoyed biding her time in Knockturn Alley, walking between stores to look at books and different artifacts as if it were a museum. The darkness was nothing like that of her home, and at least when she was out of the house, she was far less likely to be bombarded with questions regarding her engagement and seduction of her fiance, and no one wanted to know how her wedding planning was coming. She almost wondered if she shouldn’t tone down her excitement just to avoid the questions. 

On most occasions, Adaline did little to hide her out-of-place appearance when she went looking around the darker stores, but with it only being about two weeks after the attacks and bombings, Adaline had taken to wearing one of her darker cloaks when she went out, if only to try and draw attention from herself. When Purebloods had been attacked so openly, having all eyes on her was not Adaline’s first desire. 

“It really is a shame they had to close down this apothecary,” Adaline mused, standing in front of the building with its door all boarded up. “Have you any idea what happened to the owner?” she asked the person near her, turning to look in their direction.

Yemaya sat at her desk, stirring her teacup lazily. She was certain that her sugar had mixed twenty minutes ago, but her head was foggy and it left her in a trance-like state. The hospital was currently short-staffed, and Maya was pulling even longer hours than normal. Her focus was still razor-sharp when she was working with patients, but once she sat down it all faded to fuzz.

Eventually the spoon was pulled out of her tea and she took a sip. Unfortunately she’d let it sit too long, and it was closer to lukewarm than it was to hot. Maya sighed and started to heat it up, but the doors open and she sat up. “Welcome to St. Mungo’s Hospital.” A stupid greeting, really. No one was ever happy when they were there. “How may I help you?”

The words were given thought with an air of wisdom he thinks to possess; only the replication, the regurgitation– the memory of death-- none so gruesome as described in black ink until one stands at the heels of it, watching these god-machines throw Titans back into their pit beneath the sea– a blood-soaked diadem on march. There was blood and metal and rust sweeping past the settling dust and jutting concrete in Wizarding London that had once been held upright by one of its major cornerstones; the Crouch family. They had remained lifeless under these same cornerstones until the Ministry had removed the bodies. All that was left was the household surrounded by a large crowds of people oscillating in between for valuables and other important possessions (and for the other few who had pocketed these same items; Mikhail, in a few days time, would see these same heirlooms being auctioned off in the clandestine bars he worked in).

For the truth was that some people held neither kindness nor charity beyond what served to increase their own fortunes. Even wolves hunted in packs and scoured the plains and woodlands before vanishing. He knew this, because he had the scars to prove it. And it was as if the others had known this wolf-cult paranoia, as Mikhail may not have turned a stilled, grieving ambiance into a incandescent fire-bed of hot winds, but he rattled all the same. He seemed shaken and jolted, his attention shattered like glass shards -- barely half the man only his family knew he was. It was in his nature to ruin, curse, and break, and within these follies there came unacknowledged advantage -- the chance to insert poison (literal or otherwise) into the planned turns and straights of an average day was nonexistent.

His likeness was that of a jackdaw with wings made of wax that had melted, oozing onto the cold surface of the floorboards. For this reason there were no heights and distances for him to reach or aim for, leaving Mikhail no option but to teeter about silently among the congregation of purebloods helping with the unearthing of the fallen manor. They regarded him with deep suspicion. And indeed he was a dangerous jackdaw, a potential thief, a foreigner. But that is only an illusion. In fact, Mikhail lacked all feeling for shining objects, because he already had the best tomatoes and English tea roses that a large allotment of cormorants (specifically, both poor and rich) greedily flapped their wings for. For that reason he did even have black plumage. He was grey, like soot. A jackdaw who had would have liked to make a nest between the stones.

He thought nothing about it. Much less the noises around him. His mind was a blank tape, imprinted with snatches of things overheard until these voices and topics began to depersonalize themselves. However, it is not long after that he finally stops digging through rubble from his crouched position, watching a small tenure of people huddle around each other excitedly. Mikhail locked eyes with the person across from him quickly (a blink later and you would have missed it) before continuing on. “Zerrre is so much grrreed.” He hammers the sentence down with a single blow on the anvil, leaving no extra space for discussion.

                    ( monday meant everyone had to buy new supplies and especially after all the chaos the war had brought; cursing himself for deciding it was a good time to buy a new wand and a new broomstick, he had obviously not thought about the amount of people that had the same idea. on the verge of freaking out about the huge queue on olivanders, malfoy decided it was a better idea to stay outside or go for a walk, with hopes it would all calm down. ) 

                   ( the bombings had caused him to feel slightly down, thinking back at when he decided it was a good time to drink, resulting on him being drunk half of the night when he could do other things to help. abraxas needed to change the situation he found himself in, afraid he’d soon disgrace his family’s good name; maybe he could change the world, punish them muggles for hurting the ones of his kind, that was why he needed tom riddle, he believed the boy, abraxas had faith in him. decided he was in need of a smoke, malfoy reached for his pockets, trying to find at least ne ciggarette; there were none and he felt discouraged, felt his mind twirling around. )

                     ( he hated doing it, but he desperately needed so he decided to ask the nearest person. ) “hello, do you have a ciggarette you could lend me?” 

A sip. Throat burning. Euphoria.

That’s what Antoinne felt, while drinking his firewhiskey. The Auror was not a fan of alcohol, bars and being drunk, but the gruesome aftermath of the muggle attack and later, the storming of the purebloods were... well devastating. Ant had fought, and this time passed only with one wound which he was able to heal by himself even.

The little village’s pub was emptying faster than filling, but newcomers continued arriving, until eventually one sat right next to him. “You know what’s sad? This world is sad. Including myself, trying to help a cause that seems inevitable. The events before a few days are sad, the war is sad, we are sad. I’ll tell you what, my friend, this whole thing is sad.“

The Ministry was restoring the building and the Aurors had little to do these days. Rosier didn’t know why he decided to drown himself in alcohol and share thoughts with strangers.

        The world above had fallen silent, and the world below was drowning in white noise — or, at the very least, Veronique was. 

        Sleep danced around her, a dangling string barely out of reach from her fingertips and she had all but given up on trying to snatch it from whatever taunting force. She hardly slept nowadays anyways, with a dozen or more troubling thoughts constantly parading on a loop throughout her brain, and now was certainly not an exception. Adrenaline was still coursing through her veins from the moments in trying to escape the streets from the curses being hurtled around — Veronique would always head in the opposite direction of a duel, it was her personality and had come around to bite her in the ass as she tried to weave in and out of charms and spells, and then there was still the real, very threatening fact that the Muggles were unleashing hellfire on one another. It was enough to leave the woman drained, and drained she was. She couldn’t bare to head home and face what would certainly be a terrible memory all over again, so she made herself at home in the damp tunnels filled with an utter darkness.

        Fingers absentmindedly rolled her wand in between them, merely keeping idle hands busy as she tried to stay alert. It was only a matter of time, she thought, until a levy broke and something spilled down into the safe haven she’d momentarily found. Whether it was more Muggles searching for a place away from the bombs or wizards bringing their conflicts to new terrain, she was fully aware of one thing: whatever twisted peace she’d composed would be shattered sooner rather than later. Her head was still spinning, most of her emotions reeled back in but they were the looming storm cloud on the horizon, threatening to bring rain at any given moment. 

        Echoes, of course, had been no shy presence in Veronique’s company, only this time, it didn’t seem to be coming from above on the streets, but rather down here, with her. So far, this part of tunnels had been abandoned (it was, after all, why she’d nestled down here), and sooner had suddenly become now. Her brain began to jumble again, an all-too-familiar sensation of adrenaline spiking in her system and the hairs on her arms starting to rise as the noises grew closer, and in which direction she couldn’t be certain. Scrambling to pull herself together, she held her wand out as a mere defense mechanism with her knees drawing towards her chest. “Hello?” she called out, voice rough and husky from the damp environment and a sore throat that would surely grow worse in the days to come with smoke inhabiting her surroundings. Silence followed, and Veronique found herself growing impatient. “Bon Dieu, si vous êtes ici pour me tuer, faites vite?” The words flew out of her mouth in a heated irritation, a threat made out of frustration that she would probably regret if whomever followed up on it, but it had been a long enough day. No longer was she in the mood for games.

Unable to identify the missing presence of her friend during the fighting as a blessing or a curse, Adaline could not stop thinking about it was she cast protego after protego. Every moment she expected to turn to see him fighting or on the ground, and the suspense was getting to her. One of the few people in the world that Adaline felt she could go to, Farid was someone the blonde could not imagine being out in the fight. Still, she worried. If she had yet to see him, it could mean the worst.

By the time she had told Mani she was going to check on her friend, her wand was already out. It had been too long for her to continue worrying and she knew she would not feel better until she knew for herself. Without waiting for a response, she swiftly turned on the spot and apparated to his place of residence. Knocking on the heavy door, she waited, shifting from foot to foot for someone to answer the door, to tell her that he was okay or at least alive. As soon as the door opened to a house elf tugging at its ears, she was speaking.

“I need to see Farid. If he is here, I need you to take me to him, or let him know I’m here,” she told the small elf, taking a step across the threshold when the little thing disapparated, presumably to go and get him. The whole while she fidgeted, unable to relax until she knew everything was alright. She was sure she was a sight herself, blonde hair mussed and pulled back. Her makeup was surely ruined and there were a few cuts she could feel on her face from the initial explosion.