only child.

#VELLICHVRS. a dependent merry lestrange established by rachel on the 2nd of june, 2020.

Immediately stifling a laugh behind her hand, Elodie ducks her head to avoid scrutiny from the stall owner. Her eyes linger on the hat, of course, and on the woman holding it. Normally, she’s better at keeping her composure than this, but frankly, she’s had more than a few tankards of mead just to keep this whole event from being a bit too much, and it’s resulted in… whatever the hell is going on with her now. “It’s certainly an… acquired taste.” The nicest thing she can say about the accessory, really, and she is genuinely trying. No reason to be upsetting people over their creations when the rest of them seem perfectly normal. Just… this one. “Where do you suppose the inspiration came from?” 

“i would love to meet the sort of person that you think would wear this in all seriousness,” merry stage whispers back at her, though thankfully that’s low enough for the individual manning the stall to miss her continuing shit talk. she tugs softly on one of the near luminous feathers glued around the edges and then decides she liked it much more resting where she plucked it from, setting it back down on top of the mannequin head and making sure it’s straight. “a fwooper, perhaps?” that’s the only thing it puts her in mind of, and even then, it still seems like a strange extreme.

oriana felt bad. it was a horrible, slimy sort of feeling—distinct from the grime that coated them whenever they publish an obvious lie about someone in their gossip column. (in that moment, they thought back to the article that was filed away in their drafts, about the woman in front of her and her very very dead husband. they ignored it.) they wondered how sybill got used to it, if she ever did. for the hundredth time, they wished for the chance to just ask. “uh-” they didn’t think they would get this far, had no scheme ready to get more money out of her. “drink some tea?” their voice was shaky, unsure. “every day at 12:04 am exactly until you find love, you need to drink a cup of green tea.”

( 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 ) — the leaky cauldron, diagon alley  ( 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 ) — closed ( 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 ) — merry lestrange ( @vellichvrs​ )

a coffee sat on the table in front of augustine—no cream, no sugar, and cold. it wasn’t forgotten, more-so ignored in favor of studying the door across the room. she itched to run, to leave merry with the check and go back to the shitty apartment she called home. but the woman she once called sister sat in front of her, had for the past half hour, as they stumbled over small talk. she forced her attention back to merry, looked her in the eyes, before she looked at her coffee. she grabbed a spoon, stirred the coffee—anything, anything, anything to do with her hands. before the words could die in her throat, she spoke, the first meaningful thing the estranged pair had exchanged—”how’s seraphina?”

( 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 ) — cadbury castle ( 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 ) — cadbury ren faire ( 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 ) —  closed ( 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 ) — @vellichvrs​

“your love life is turbulent.” oriana held merry’s hand in their own. with their free hand, they traced the lines of her palms. “it’s bound to end up in tragedy, no matter how hard you try.” it was a lie, in truth, influenced by the knowledge that merry was tragically widowed. when it came to sybill’s divination lessons, they remembered next to nothing when it came to palm reading, remembered more so the ways they sneered at it, even outside of school. “there will love, real love, but there’s no happy ending in sight.”

location: diagon alley status: open ( @startertms​ )

“–Oh shit, sorry–” A burst of annoyingly peppy elevator music spills out into the world and Rhea pats hurriedly around her person to find it–not in the jacket pockets, not in the back pockets, must be–ah yes. There it is. She snatches her cell phone free of the confines of her crammed, messy bag and immediately silences it, wincing apologetically as she glances at the crowd around her. “That was–I uh. Sorry.” Successfully embarrassed, she drops the phone back in her bag and looks around. “Nice day out, eh?” 

“no need to apologise,” she says, simply, though her expression remains politely confused. merry’s a lot more old school than young british wix have proven to be; she’s never owned a ‘cell phone’, and she probably never will. they don’t seem worth the HASSLE, especially when one considered the effect that magic apparently had on most technologies - owls were the far more reliable option. “are they all that tinny?” is a genuine question, though it’s clear that what she MEANS to ask is whether they’re all so annoying, “i don’t see the appeal.” 

   ( lindsey morgan, cis woman, she / her )   isn’t that 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞-𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 ? i read a daily prophet article on them, once ; the thirty one year old pure blood witch is a BEAUXBATONS alumnus who has gone on to be a ministry archivist. i’ve heard they can be quite sedulous & amenable, but i don’t know... they came off very acquiescent & recreant in that interview. it really is hard to know what to believe these days, isn’t it ?