#noc.start

“in the wrong hands, that little book can do a lot of damage, boss,” says artillius hencher through a mouthful of sugary biscuit.

“that’s all very well, but i don’t care whose hands it falls into. i care more about how much they’re willing to pay for it.” 

the werewolf lifts a brow as his swarthy companion shoves an inappropriate amount of treacle toffee into his mouth. “we’re done.” the finality in his voice is indisputable. 

                        🌹    ━         hello friends. i’ve already stopped by the ooc blog but since i’m a sloth & am lacking on stuff, i want to be Proactive & i’ll need your help for that. so drop me a word / sentence as a reply to this post and i’ll make a starter for us ( might hit you up or not who knows ). 

     it is with a sigh and a slight flourish that molly finally manages to brush past a small hoard of people en route to the refreshment table. shouldering her way through the scheming and powerful, she reflects on the fact that she had agreed to accompany her father ( dear old patriarch of the prewetts, a man who’s vehemently clung onto his position at the ministry despite all the political unrest as of late ) to the night’s event; her mother and brothers seemed to have no desire to wade in the political turmoil, so the responsibility fell to none other than molly herself. having to trade shifts at the hospital to make a gala she would much rather not attend but didn’t have the heart to turn down, molly stands in the thick of it all in pinchy shoes, quite unable to staunch the sinking feeling of regret. 

     she finds herself craning her neck around to look for arthur, maybe even moody, any sort of familiar face -- no luck. molly resigns herself to piling the small plate in hand. “ at least the organizers had the sense to cater some good food and flowing drinks -- i think everyone here could use a boost in spirit. ” 

Edith let out a long sigh as she pressed the palms of her hands to her closed eyes. The work day felt as though it were dragging on more than usual. She slid her palms up to her temples and opened her eyes to check the time. Through slightly blurred vision she saw that the clock hanging above her office door read quarter to one. A lunch break seemed appropriate. 

She grabbed her jacket and handbag from the coat rack by the door before pulling the door open. She hadn’t expected to be almost nose to nose with someone when she stepped out. 

“Can I help you with something?” Edith asked. And can it wait? she thought to herself. 

      he  trespasses  on  holy  ground,  but  there  is  stealth  within  a  battalion  of  pristinely  tailored  suits.  BAGNOLD’S  elocutions  result  in  a  lip  that  draws  rearward  --  taut  like  a  bowstring  --  and  razor-bared canines.  werewolves  and  vampires  are  but  two  adversaries  she’s  struck,  and  both  bite.  though  he’s  been  known  to  bark,  a  global  radius  of  wanted  posters  prove  his  malevolent  capabilities.  there  is  a  furor  of  dissent  that  security  proceeds  to  quell,  yet  tongues  permeated  by  wine  lacerate  over  crystalline-rimmed  glasses.  a  leathered  flask  is  slipped  from  an  inner  pocket,  its  cap  revolved  twice,  then  raised  to  pursed  lips.  ❛  she’s  going  to  find  a  lot  more  than  just  her  name  scratched  off  the  ballot.  ❜  

        perspired  cobblestone  remained  glistening  by  the  stain  of  evening  rain,  and  accompanied,  dense  fog  enveloped  him.  soaked  in  his  dark-pigmented  ensemble,  black  boots  swept  the  earth’s  surface  with  the  reticence  of  swirling  mists.  he  drifted,  an  assassin  stalking  his  own  shadow,  along  the  familiar  path  toward  an  archaic  establishment.  the  pub’s  fortress  existed  beside  those  of  sinister  endeavors,  its  insidious  exterior  unfeasible  to  overlook.  fragmented  firebrick  columns  comprised  its  castled  stability  --  what  murky  moats  it  lacked  made  up  by  its  immorally  corrupt  occupants.

       from  his  molten  peripheral,  there  is  a  flash  of  neon  viridescent.  an  obscured  being  exhumes  the  alley,  is  vanquished  by  a  spectral  of  their  own  apparating  retreat.  the  epoch  is  customary;  executions  linger  at  every  hexed  corner.  in  his  department  of  the  ministry,  the  hit  wizard’s  desk  is  littered  with  fugitives  --  a  plethora  of  the  dark  lord’s  knights  await  termination.  another’s  tread  reverberates  rearward,  and  the  atmosphere  retorts  by  conjuring  up  another  saturating  deluge.  as  he  pivots  on  spined  fulcrum,  the  white  wyvern’s  gateway  is  hindered  by  a  sepia-hued  notice:  UNDER  INVESTIGATION  BY  THE  DEPARTMENT  OF  MAGICAL  LAW  ENFORCEMENT.  the  wizard  snorts  --  of  course  they  failed  to  remain  inconspicuous.  on  an  expelled  breath,  he  remarks,  ❛  so  much  for  firewhisky.  ❜

There was not one candidate whose platform Edith entirely agreed with. As Bagnold has pointed out, there was no proof that a Pure-blood was any stronger, more powerful, more intelligent than a Half-blood or Muggleborn. Squibs were a rather common occurrence in ‘pure’ bloodlines, after all. However, she did not see the good in integrating the magical and muggle worlds. What a dangerous notion to put forth. Yes, the isolation was difficult for muggleborns and their immediate families but opening the door, even a little, could only end in disaster.

When it came to those considered “tainted”, “half-breeds”, “beasts”, Edith could not align herself with Bagnold’s views on this matter either. Certainly, some individuals could be hazardous but wasn’t that the same for wizard-kind too? Couldn’t Bagnold see the hypocrisy in her stance? Well. No one was perfect, certainly Edith wasn’t. She believed in blood equality but how often had she spoken in support of it? At times her own hypocrisy weighed on her mind. 

She found herself alone at her table, the others guests had promptly left their seats after the conclusion of the two candidates’ speeches. Edith rose from her chair with a sigh, it was about time she made like her table-mates and mingled with her peers too. She lifted a glass of sherry from a passing waiter’s tray, taking a sip of the sweet drink before setting off to find an acquaintance to talk to. 

“What a pleasant evening, hm?” she commented sarcastically.