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@woesbegone
she could never be a saint, but she thought she could be a martyr if they killed her QUICK.
#WOESBEGONE. a dependent lucrezia moltisantiย established by rachel on the 29th of november, 2021.
biography.ย ย ย statistics.ย ย ย pinterest.ย ย ย noxtms.
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What is your dream job and why?
"not this, anyway," she laughs, but it isn't really funny. luca's life was derailed after the battle of hogwarts. between the deaths of her fiancรฉ and her brother and the imprisonment of vincent crabbe senior, the hope that she'd had of making a good career out of her brief stint as a ministry of magic secretary had gone out the window overnight. housekeeping at the leaky had only been intended to get her through the worst of it, but she felt like she'd been kept down by circumstance ever since. "i think at this point, i just want to do something... more fulfilling. i don't know in what way. maybe it's just money or a job that doesn't need me to wake up at the crack of dawn everyday, but... i don't really care about the specifics. i don't feel i really get to, anymore."
๐ท๐พ๐ฝ๐ด๐๐๐ ๐ท๐พ๐๐ย ยป ย currently not accepting ย !
what do you want most in life?
"i don't know," the words burst from her, almost entirely unbidden. it feels like a betrayal to actually say it out loud, even though it's so evident in the everything about her - luca isn't fool enough to think she's fooling everybody else, but something about admitting it so plainly sours both expression and tone, "i haven't got a clue, and i hate that. my whole life was about those kids, and then when i was getting a taste of something else, my dad and vincent- they both fucked it. i haven't been able to get it back on track since, no matter how hard i try. maybe what i want most is just to know what i want most."
๐ท๐พ๐ฝ๐ด๐๐๐ ๐ท๐พ๐๐ย ยป ย currently not accepting ย !
Look, what Margo said about me was true. So if you want to bail, nowโs your chance.
ft. @taciiturns !
๐ฉ๐ซ๐จ๐ฆ๐ฉ๐ญ: "please, enough with the pumpkin spice." ( luca moltisanti / @woesbegone ) ๐ฅ๐จ๐๐๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง: leaky cauldron, interior.
the to-go coffee cup is held frozen at her lips, the sprinkling of pumpkin spice on her tongue held tight as the gaze held on the entrance to diagon alley is abandone and slowly moved to up the stairs where she finds luca. for the past week or so, moira has come through the leaky cauldron at the exact same time every day with a specific coffee cup in hand - the particular scent all too familiar in the autumnal season - and it seems luca has taken notice. swallowing the liquid in her mouth, moira lowers the cup and looks to her old friend with a sheepish smile - she can't lie for pennys, but she will try. "pumpkin spice? you're funny, luca!" swallowing, a nervous chuckle falls from her lips, "why would you think that?" because you're addicted.
a word to the wise : luca's got several siblings, each and every one of them a teenaged troublemaker at one point or another, so she has PLENTY of experience with little white lies. course, her siblings got up to a lot worse than a mind boggling pumpkin spice addiction - damien's lucky, she sometimes thinks to herself with a rueful sort of smile, that moira and rowan had always been so well behaved. different strokes and all that, she supposes, but the point is that moira isn't getting anything PAST her, especially when everyone else is on a quick break, making her the gatekeeper of the go coffees. "we're out, you know," she lies a little more deftly, one of the few perks of being the big sister, "we ran out of the syrup yesterday. you're shit out of luck, buddy."
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Luca does seem to have a knack for finding Damien in a form of distress, one way or another. He tries to laugh, but it doesn't come out right. He shifts so he is facing her, but not quite looking at her. "Yes, well - I couldn't go too long without moping. It was beginning to feel alien."
"have you ever thought of giving it up?" it's not a dig- it just sounds a lot like one. luca's been in worse moods with damien, usually pretty fairly, and right now she's just a little bemused. for once, it's a little funny to her how much everything has CHANGED since 'before' and here he is: still damien. "could be nice. might get you laid a bit more often."
Tap. Tap. Tap.
All Damien could focus on was the gentle tapping of his fingers on the bookshelf. He was looking for a book in particular, one for research, yet he completely forgot it. Physically he was there, mentally he was a million miles away. His eyes had a thousand yard stare until he managed to feel the presence of someone around him.
"Don't bother." He says after collecting himself. "It's all shit picks here, anyway."
she isn't usually able to sneak up on him like that. say what you will about damien - and luca tends to, forever torn between cruelty & sympathy, never quite sure which way to go - he's perceptive, and luca reads his distraction as something emotional. maybe he's just isn't expecting to see her there, or anyone, but she manages to lean her weight against the book shelf beside him before he even notices her presence, let alone acknowledges her. "noted," she tells him, unbothered, entirely uninterested in the selection available. instead, "moping around all alone, handsome?"
โ i feel lightheaded and i can taste scampi. โ @woesbegone
"I think that it is time," Damien pauses a moment to help Luca to her feet, trying with the utmost sincerity to not laugh. "That we consider the possibility that you're either allergic to shrimp, or you have a limit before your body self-destructs."
"no," she tells him, firmly, somehow managing to paint the picture of devastation despite the strange dichotomy between that dip between her brows and the wobble of her legs. she holds onto him tightly, in spite of herself, head leaning against his shoulder even as she tells him, "i could never be allergic to something that brings me so much joy. do you still have my to go box?"
"I think they spent half the budget on the shrimp towers this year." Damien chuckles, taking a drink of his whiskey. He looks at Luca, his chuckle dies down but a small smile still remains. "You look nice, by the way."
@woesbegone
"good," and for good measure - and a perfect moment of punctuation - luca takes a bite from one of the shrimps he's sourced for her, "they're the only dish that's ever worth eating at these things." for just that moment, she's uninhibited. they're damien & luca; it doesn't feel weighty, or complicated. their history doesn't exist. then he goes and says something like that, and she just sort of... freezes. the smile sticks, but her expression still clouds. "thanks. you don't look too shabby yourself."
It wasn't that Atticus had not heard her speak, he just chose not to answer. Instead, he looked over his shoulder and back at the woman who had spoken... "I don't think anyone has ever referred to me as a 'good sir' so I assume you aren't speaking to me." Atticus said in a low-register. Scanning just beyond where she stood, it occurred to him that the place was fairly sparse of customers, which it hadn't been when he sat down. Perhaps he had been contemplating things for longer than he intended. "So is that you're just really polite? Or is it your way of asking me to leave?"
"are you d-" and thankfully, she stops herself there; customer service persona kicking back in right before she manages to fuck up the one job she doesn't mind doing. given the setting, it's a valid enough question. maybe she doesn't put voice to it, but her expression says it all - lip curled, eyebrows furrowed, heavy judgement oozing from her for as long as it takes to decide whether dropping the act is worth it just to painstakingly explain what he should've learned with the entry fee. she casts a glance around to make sure none of her coworkers are nearby and drops her voice a couple octaves, deciding someone has to be the one, "are you just... walking through life with blissful ignorance ? you're at a renaissance faire. we have a script. and limited spaces, so if you're done..."
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Atticus was hardly known as a sociable sort of guy, if anything he preferred his own company and a glass of whiskey... at least he had one of those tonight. Not that he had much of a choice when his options were to stay at home with his father, or find a reason to go out. Marcus Avery would be nobodys first choice as company, and the last few years had been tenuous at best. He had found himself sitting well away from the crowds, scanning every single soul who wandered past him. Was this meant to be peace? was this meant to be some kind of new world? "Bullshit" Atticus muttered into his glass. As he took another sip, he became aware that one of the sould passing by had decided to hover him like a spectre. "What?"
it was, to be fair, her job to hover. luca was good at it, too ; maybe not the best, but her past experience of the faire gave her a comfort that the new servers didn't have, especially in regards to the customers. most of her temporary coworkers would let a group wear out their welcome long before they'd start lurking in an attempt to drive them away, but luca was on the ball with it. case in point : he mightn't be finished, yet, but she's already eyed him up as someone who should really be getting going soon, to free up his spot for someone else. "can i get you anything else, good sir?"
keep moving, charlie does not. he does keep his eyes fixed pointedly to the side after he realizes what it is he has stumbled upon. hector heels by his side but the dog's ears flop as his head tips at the unexpected company on their walk. "do you need a hand?" the door must be locked and from the glimpse of her attire charlie got before tipping his head to look to the side, it seems unlikely she has either key or wand on her person to help resolve the issue. "if the door isn't warded i could get it open for you?"
"no," she tells him, stubbornly, every inch of her - from reddened cheeks right down her bare legs to her untied shoes - screaming the opposite, even as she tried to make herself believe it. she'd made several bad decisions that had led her here, and sending him away now would be another, joining the list, but luca struggled admitting defeat on the best of days. trying to work around the mortification she felt too took a few solid moments of uncomfortable silence, before she managed, quietly, "it's not. warded, i mean."
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๐ป๐พ๐ฒ๐ฐ๐๐ธ๐พ๐ฝย ย : ย knockturn alleyย ย !
"keep moving," and though she aims for the sort of aggression that would discourage any further questions, luca cuts such a pathetic image that her tone would be easily ignored. she's been in worse situations. it's difficult to remember that, right about now, but she really has been. the towel wrapped around her body is secure, her wet hair is clipped out of her face and her shoes, though untied, are sturdy enough. she's out of the main traffic area, round the back of borgin & burkes, her luck run out on her way back in from throwing out a bag of rubbish that she was now wishing she'd just left 'til later - she hadn't meant for the door to lock behind her, and hadn't brought her wand in case it did. it could be ten times worse, though it still felt awful. cheeks blazing red, she stays staring at the door as if she might be able to burn a hole through it, resolutely refusing to even look at her audience as she says, "please. keep moving."
๐๐จ๐๐๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง: st mungos, interior !! ๐๐ญ๐๐ญ๐ฎ๐ฌ: open !!
"don't touch that." her voice is firm yet hoarse as she stirs from her sleep, the footsteps that approached her bedside pulling her from the dreamless slumber the medi witch had induced hours prior. the wound on her head throbbed as she made to move, features scrunched up in a mixture of pain and confusion and anger as her body carefully shuffles up the bed until she is sitting up. pressing slender fingers to the bandage wrapped around her head, eyes willing to open as her other hand gestured to the crooked crepe paper flowers in the cleaned out soup tin. "s-sorry. i thought you were gonna take them as well . . . basil made them."
๏ปฟ
she jumps as if she's been caught doing something she shouldn't be, which is how it sort of feels. in & out. that was the plan, at least. drop the cheap bouquet of already wilting flowers that she had picked up at the aldi down the road off - she was doing her best, she was doing the most she could, it was bad enough she had to rush to the memorial without hearing about damien's sister and feeling like she needed to do something for her, too - and then get out of there. she regrets the instinct, now. "don't worry. i'm not taking anything," the bouquet already set down on the side, her hands are free for her to hold them up innocently and take a few, decisive steps backward for good measure, "i was just dropping something off. i'll go, let you get your rest."
