❝ enchantingly nasty. ❞

RITA SKEETER.female, she/her writer for the daily prophet. former ravenclaw, current death eater under cover.

[beetleskeetcr-blog]

Which parent are you most similar to?

"My father and I could often be quite similar. That might have been why we didn’t get along very well. I don’t know if he changed much before he died. We hadn’t spoken in years. But I’m certainly not like my mother. She gave up on things too easily. Dad, though, he was stubborn as a Hippogriff when he wanted to be...”

[beetleskeetcr-blog]

pandlightwood:

Despite barely knowing this woman, Pandora sensed an air of importance surrounding her. It always seemed that way when she stopped by. Whether it was self-righteous or a genuine one of substance, she wasn’t sure, but almost all of Pandora was telling her to keep this woman happy. The feelings that flooded her brain reminded her of first year at Hogwarts. Young, impressionable Pandora, always attempting to appeal to every person that crossed her path. She was better now, much more independent and self-willing, but something about her personality will always lend to being a people-pleaser. Maybe she just wants to keep the peace… But, alas, now is not the time to dig her various caveats, not when there is a customer standing in front of her.

She scooped up a wicker basket and held it out for the woman should she need more than her own two hands to collect items, nodding hastily along with her words. “Yes, yes, well,” her voice dropped into a gentle tone, always afraid of those who eavesdrop, “I believe people are still afraid.” But Pandora shrugged, not wanting to get into war-talk with a stranger. Things were happy in her potions shop, they always had been. She tried her hardest to keep the war away from her place of solitude, but with the seemingly ever-present battles, it was becoming increasingly difficult. Desperate to change the subject, she followed the other’s gaze upon the shelf of ingredients. She let her lips turn up into a gentle smile. Pandora was always curious about her customers intended uses of her ingredients, and this woman was no exception. She was trying to recall her past few visits, the items that she had picked up, but Pandora’s memory was failing her. “Did you want any assistance finding anything? I’m sure I could be of use!”

Rita accepted the basket with a smile, placing each of the ingredients inside as she picked them off the shelves. The basket swung from where the handle looped over the crook of her elbow, its contents shuffling noisily whenever she moved. She wandered idly, taking her time. “As they should be,” Rita said thoughtfully, though she herself was not in a particularly fearful mood. “Dangerous times...” she said, trailing off as her mind drifted back to her list of ingredients. 

“I have almost everything. Oh,” Rita said, remembering the one ingredient she kept mucking up during the process. “I don’t suppose you have Jobberknoll feathers? They’re awfully difficult to find when they’re not being used for quills.” She had tried, previously, to simply buy a quill made from a Jobberknoll feather and use that, but it hadn’t worked out. Her potion had turned an uncomfortable shade of blue on that attempt. “I have a... cousin I’m trying to surprise. A Potions enthusiast, you know. I figured a few rare ingredients would be a good birthday present.” Rita had no such cousin, of course. She hadn’t spoken to many of her cousins in a while. “What was your name again?” she asked. Rita liked to know the names of the people she told blatant lies to. 

[beetleskeetcr-blog]

fabian--prewett:

Though he doubted Rita thought much of his answer, she didn’t press him as he thought she might.  His feelings about the coup wouldn’t be hard to guess and they both knew it.  There were no words strong enough to convey what he felt about the bigotry, hatred, and violence of Voldemort and his followers.  Power in the country had shifted but he would never switch sides. Saying this aloud wouldn’t do him any favors.  Putting it into print would be dangerous.  It sit poorly with him that he couldn’t speak his mind but there was the persistent reminder in the silence of the street that it was important to stay under the radar right now.  He didn’t want to draw attention and risk endangering his friends, family, and the Order.

Fabian quirked a small smile at the mention of creative freedom.  “No, I suppose not but I remember mum and dad talking about reporters during the second world war.  Difficult times but an opportunity to do some good.  People need to know what’s happening and they need someone they can trust.”  It wasn’t anything she didn’t know already.  He just hoped that she’d use that opportunity for good.  “You can more than hold your own.  I never doubt it.”

Staying out of trouble was a tall order.  “Been hearing that since I learned to walk,” he joked.  It was easier to make light than admit he was in too deep to avoid it anymore.  Head and heart were in regular conflict these days but even if he knew he should work harder to avoid it, it didn’t take much for his heart to send him into a dangerous situation, leaving his mind scurrying to catch up and keep him and others alive.  “I can only say I try, Rita.  It just has a way of finding me.”

Rita was letting down her walls. How could she not? Around Fabian, who was one of the only people she had let close to her, she was at a loss of how to act. There was a constant weight on Rita’s chest––the Death Eaters were not her friends; they were allies, but she knew they did not trust her. She was not supposed to be close to anybody who opposed You-Know-Who, because of her alliance, secret though it was. Rita essentially had no one. With Fabian here, all she wanted was to go back. To when they were friends, when things were easier. But she couldn’t.

An opportunity to do some good. His words made Rita bite back a sigh. She was doing the opposite of that. “I doubt most people trust anyone these days, but I do try,” she admitted. She had some loyal readers, that much was true. Most people, however, distrusted her the moment she spoke to them. She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

Rita surveyed the area, making sure nobody was looking at them too closely. Then she reached out and clasped his hand in both of hers. “Just... be careful, Fabian,” she said. She let go of him quickly, and kept her voice low. “I haven’t been a good friend to you, not in many years now. I’m sorry for that. But I do wish you well. When this war is over... I hope all can be forgiven, if we both make it through.” She wished she could tell him just how deep the hole was  that she had dug herself into, but she couldn’t. Even if she could, she knew he wouldn’t like to hear it. 

[beetleskeetcr-blog]

What’s your zodiac sign? Do you think it applies to you?

“I’m a Gemini, but I’m not really interested in all of this astrology nonsense. It’s about as reliable as gazing into a crystal ball or reading tea leaves. Though I do suppose a Gemini is fitting––sociable, quick witted... those are some of the traits, aren’t they? Oh, it doesn’t matter, it’s all fake, anyway.”

[beetleskeetcr-blog]

If you didn’t work for the Daily Prophet, where do you think you’d be?

“I don’t think there’s anywhere else to be, really. Though I am a witch of many talents, writing is my passion. If I wasn’t writing for the Prophet, I would probably focus on my own personal projects. I’ve already written a biography for Armando Dippet, but there are plenty of other stories just begging to be told. So I would likely go down that road.”

[beetleskeetcr-blog]

[beetleskeetcr-blog]

hcstia-joncs:

Of all the people to run into outside of the offices of the Daily Prophet, the last person that Hestia wanted to run into was Rita Skeeter. The woman, her colleague, was hardly a friendly face or a sight for sore eyes. Hestia missed many things about her life prior to being cooped up at the Order’s new headquarters … the freedom, the joy of waking up in her own bed, even the monotony of going in to work every morning. But she did not miss Rita Skeeter. Holding her bag tightly under her arm, Hestia gave the woman the most polite smile that she could, though she was still certain there were daggers in her eyes. “No, I don’t. We haven’t exactly made the effort to sit down and get to know each other.” Nor did she want to. For all Hestia cared, Rita could go about her life and do whatever she pleased, as long as her choice of activities didn’t involve Hestia in any way, shape, or form. Rita was one of the most annoying people she had ever laid eyes on. Even the woman’s laugh bothered Hestia. She was presumptuous, self-congratulatory, and bothersome; the way she pestered people reminded Hestia of a fly that was constantly buzzing in everyone’s ears, inescapable and horribly annoying. “Were you? How kind. I didn’t think you would notice.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Better enough to come and drop something off in person. Though I don’t think I should stay. I’m still fighting off whatever remnants of whatever I had…” She feigned a cough into her elbow for effect. “Wouldn’t want to get the star reporter of the Prophet feeling under the weather, would I?”

Rita had become so accustomed to people treating her with disdain when she approached them that it hardly registered in her mind that Hestia did not want to talk to her. People spoke to Rita Skeeter whether they wanted to or not, and that was just a fact that Rita carried in her mind during every conversation she had. 

“And that’s something I regret,” she told Hestia. “Those who work together should be acquainted, at the very least. There’s no place for workplace drama in times like these.” She didn’t actually care whether or not she was friends with her coworkers. As long as Hestia wasn’t encroaching too much on her territory in the Daily Prophet, then Rita was happy. Besides, there was danger in letting people too close to you. Rita was walking a very thin line; her balancing act between keeping her job and keeping You-Know-Who’s followers happy was a difficult one, and letting anyone too close could risk exposing it.

“I always notice when things around me have changed,” Rita said, her brow furrowing slightly. She was a reporter, after all. She was incredibly perceptive; it was part of her job. She eyed Hestia thoughtfully. She didn’t look ill. “No, we wouldn’t want that,” Rita said, ignoring what she suspected was sarcasm, bitterness, or a little bit of both in Hestia’s words. “I still think we ought to get to know each other a little better though, Hestia,” Rita said, feeling increasingly like it would do her well to keep Hestia close. If she was feigning ill, maybe she had something important to hide. “If you’d like, we could grab a cup of tea... That ought to make you feel better?”

[beetleskeetcr-blog]

orion-blvck:

“You do have a way with words. I’ll give you that,” he said offering only a barely-there shrug. He was one of her readers after all. Whether Rita would be surprised by that or not, he wouldn’t know, but Orion was just like everyone else in that sense. Ignorance didn’t suit him well; there were some things he could only learn from the people, and not the many rats in his pocket. And, if he was being honest, he looked forward to the day he found a fault in her writing; disrespect to the Dark Lord. Looking her over once more, Orion bet she was a crier and pictured ugly tears ruining her pretty face. He huffed out a silent chuckle. 

Orion could see now just how good Rita was at her job. She made it easy to fall in behind her teasing and small talk, especially when there wasn’t a quill in her hand. A man like him wouldn’t have taken that well. No doubt she knew that. He smirked a little, tapping his fingers in unison on top of his cane as he looked down at her, “Don’t I feel special then.”

“You are correct. I won’t tell you, but surely you understand. Sometimes I wonder just how deep your connections run,” he said, his smirk never leaving his face. “To be fair, you might be scaring him off. I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, but for his sake I hope he’s waiting. I’m here partly out of convenience, but this is also my colleagues preference,” he paused to gesture to the black gift bag at his feet with a sigh, “My wife. She’s mad…at me. I’m hoping this will help.”

Rita’s pride blossomed in her chest at Orion’s words, and she straightened, compelled by the knowledge that he read her work. She knew she was unpopular among some due to the honesty of her articles, but it encouraged her to know that even those who greeted her with disdain couldn’t help looking at her columns. As much as some people complained, it seemed they couldn’t deny that she had a special touch when selling the news.

“As you should,” Rita agreed, laughing lightly. His tone told her that her presence would likely not be tolerated for much longer. A man like Orion would surely be busy, and even if he wasn’t, she doubted he wanted to spend his free time with her. 

He was right that her connections were deep, possibly deeper than most people suspected. Her ties to the current ‘Minister for Magic’, if you could even consider Rodolphus Lestrange that, was just one that she doubted people knew about. “I’ll keep you guessing,” she said with a wink. Rita wanted to protest that she doubted she could scare anybody off––this wasn’t true of course, but it was the sort of thing she would protest about anyway––but she was distracted by his confession. “Trouble with the missus, hm?” she asked, very interested. She so badly wanted to ask why, but there was a little prickle of fear at the back of her mind, that if she angered Orion Black she was in for a bad time. “Well, if I know anything about women... and I do, of course... then a gift is a good way to start.” 

[maisonmartins]

001

[pandlightwood-deactivated201810]

open to: any and all! location: a small potions shop on the edges of diagon alley, late night.

To say that Pandora was invested in her work would be an understatement. Despite still being paid hourly, she found herself investing plenty of effort into the small potions shop. The owner wasn’t around much, but, on the few occasions that he stopped by, Pandora was sure to make the shop look especially clean. Every bottle was in its place, all facing the same direction and without a speck of dust on their caps. Every herb was placed carefully in its basket, each stem and leaf clipped with immaculate attention. Every restricted ingredient was locked away from prying fingers, protected by a key looped around Pandora’s neck on a dainty gold chain. 

She was flitting around the main room, righting cauldrons and straightening utensils. It was well past closing time, probably nearing eleven p.m. at this point, but Pandora had no other plans for the evening and she felt much more comfortable in the shop than alone in her home. At least here she had tasks with which to occupy herself for hours on end. She could only clean the bathroom at home so many times before the paint started to rub off. At the sound of a bell ringing, Pandora jumped, almost dropping the bezoar in her hand. “Oh, gosh,” she sighed out, setting it carefully on the shelf before rounding the corner to the front door, “I’m afraid I’ve already closed shop for the night! I must’ve forgotten to switch the signs out.” Pandora called out, shaking her head. Though, it was her fault, and it would be extremely rude to turn away a paying customer… “I suppose you can shop though, if only for a few minutes! I hadn’t realized how late it was.” 

[beetleskeetcr-blog]

Veritaserum. A tricky little potion. Rita was still perfecting her production of it; she was by no means a potions connoisseur. It had proved useful in the past, but it would be far easier to access if she could make it herself. However, her first attempt had been dreadful, her second almost a bad, but after a few tries she was getting better. It was still nowhere near perfection and she didn’t have a lot of potions experience to fall back on. She hadn’t gotten her NEWT in Potions at school, so she had to rely on books.

She had gotten caught up at work that day, so engrossed in her writing that she had lost track of the time. She brushed through the door to the little shop, sticking out in her bright, cherry-red top and matching floral skirt. Her heels clicked along the floor as she perused the shelves for her list of ingredients that she had, by now, committed to memory. “Don’t make a fuss, I’ll only be a moment,” she said. She frequented the shop well enough that she recognized the young woman, but she didn’t know her name––she hadn’t bothered to ask. “Time got away from me, as it does so often these days,” she explained as she helped herself and began picking things off shelves, sighing audibly in the quiet shop. “Been rather dull in the Alley lately, hasn’t it? Not as busy as it used to be, I think that’s why I keep losing the time, it’s not as easy to tell when the peak hours are over, you know. Don’t you agree?”

[beetleskeetcr-blog]

cassandraburke:

Cassandra smirked. For some reason Rita showed restraint rather than duel her, right here, right now, in front of everyone. “You know, there are some in your ranks who’d kill to get me back,” she murmured, purposely excluding herself out of Voldemort’s ranks. She’d never seen Rita in any meetings, but an ambitious woman like her would always choose the site with more power, and the Dark Lord sadly possessed too much at the moment. “I’m capable of hiding all on my own. Besides, no one would help me anyway.” a lie, obviously, but Rita already knew too much for her own liking. Cassandra sighed and rolled her eyes. Yes, Rita probably had her ways of gaining more information just by looking at the other witch. “And what perspective might that be?” she mocked her, passive aggressively rather. “There’s probably so much you’re hiding. You wield your quill a lot more precise than your wand, Rita – one day it will cost you your life. Especially if you keep living behind a facade.” she spoke out of experience.

Rita’s smile stiffened at Cassandra’s choice of words and pretended not to hear. She cleared her throat and pulled a strand of hair from her eyes. “Well, your secret is safe with me,” she said genuinely. She didn’t dare threaten to expose Cassandra’s whereabouts, especially not now that she knew the woman understood where Rita’s loyalties lay. “I try to embrace all perspectives. People count on the press to remain neutral,” she said carefully, though she knew she was digging herself into a hole. “And how would you know about the precision of my wand?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Just because I’m a writer doesn’t mean I’m not a skilled witch, Cassandra. But regardless––” she waved her hand dismissively, “––I’m not the one between the two of us who’s at risk of her life right now.”

[beetleskeetcr-blog]

marliism:

To the untrained eye, Marlene Isadora McKinnon appeared as she always had: vibrant, whole, full of life and a lust for whatever that brought with it. That was how she wanted it, and it was with almost a pathetic amount of desperation that she fought to keep up the facade. The charade was one only really seen through by Dirk, and it wasn’t for lack of trying to keep it from happening on the red-head’s part. After a decade of friendship - bloody hell, had it really been that long? - Marlene knew better than to doubt Dirk and his annoying ability to see right through her. But that didn’t mean she had to enjoy it. No, she would much rather bury the traumas, pretend as though she slept at night, and keep going. Always moving forward, never back. 

And yet here was Rita, prying into such details. Which would be fine on its own, she had grown used to it - but there was that damn quill. Raising an eyebrow and regarding the eager woman not with annoyance, but slight curiosity, Marlene sighed to herself, pushing thick, messy curls from her face. She knew that unless she was careful, a trait Marlene never prided herself in, all Rita would do was the one thing that she was good at: spread vitriol, lies and over-exaggerated truths. There was a reason her column was so popular. And while Marlene didn’t care much what people thought - and those she did, well, they would know better than believe she would openly talk to Rita Skeeter about this, of all things - she couldn’t help but wonder why the woman seemed to care so much. 

“My agreement to talk equates to an article just like that to you?” She asked, a bit more of humor in her voice than she expected. “Fine - but if you want to write about me, we’re going into the pub. And I’ll have my own set of questions for you, make sure it’s accurate –” That wasn’t a lie, nor a truth. She still hadn’t decided if she would truly entertain Rita, or rather herself, but there was time to figure that out. “– Seems fair enough to me, wouldn’t you say?” Marlene didn’t bother waiting for an answer. Her mother had taught her enough to know how to get her way, or to at least how to handle people. Turning, Marlene headed back in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron, glancing back toward Rita only once. “Choice is yours.”

Rita was truly invigorated by this new opportunity. She had already reported so many facets of the war since its beginnings that it was hard to retain interest from her readers. But a first hand account of someone captured by the Death Eaters? It would surely be a fascinating read. There was a tiny voice that sounded vaguely like her mother’s in the back of Rita’s mind. Be careful. Yes, she would have to be––despite the subject of this article, she did have to be careful not to step on too many toes. She had, after all, secretly allied herself with You-Know-Who’s followers... As long as she didn’t seem too sympathetic to Marlene, they might not be upset....

“Ah, well––I had assumed we were on the same page. Apparently not,” Rita said, not deterred. Whenever somebody agreed to talk to her, she figured it was sort of obvious that she meant it like an interview. Rita was nodding, snatching up her quill and parchment when it finished its sentence so that she could follow Marlene towards the pub. “Yes, alright, that’s quite fine, very fair,” she agreed. It was probably in her favour if the article wasn’t too outlandish, but she would let Marlene think it was a deal of some kind that would tame her writing this time. 

“Quite right that it’s better to be inside,” Rita said, perhaps being a little too generous with her compliance in an effort to put Marlene in a good mood. Never mind that she was technically supposed to be at work––so what if her short break became a longer one? “Comfort is key, you know. Here we are,” she said, pulling up to a pair of chairs. “Can I buy you a drink, Marlene? My treat,” she added with the kindest smile she could muster.

[beetleskeetcr-blog]

16, 17, 18!

16. Has your muse ever been hospitalized or institutionalized?

Nope! Unless minor injuries at school causing her to be sent to the hospital wing counts.

17. Does your muse pray, whether it be to a god or some other force?

Rita doesn’t strike me as a particularly religious person, I think she’s far too logical to invest her time in an unseen power like that. 

18. Has your muse ever lived in poverty?

I wouldn’t consider it poverty, but for a little while Rita wasn’t extremely popular yet as a writer and wasn’t on good terms with her parents, so she was extremely low on money. That was when she got in the tiny apartment that she still has today –– she never bothered to upgrade –– and she had very few other assets. But in the grand scheme of things, no, she hasn’t lived in poverty.

[beetleskeetcr-blog]

auroras-sinistra:

Aurora gave Rita a look. She didn’t buy for one moment that Rita was coming to say hello to and old classmate, but for the sake of getting rid of Rita as quickly as possible Aurora took the bait. “Well, hello then classmate. Is that better?” Aurora turned on her heel and pretended to window shop.

At her questions, Aurora kept a straight face but had to give her props for being straightforward. Still, questions like that were dangerous at a time like this. She has protection… The idea popped into Aurora’s head out of nowhere, but wouldn’t even let herself expand on it since Rita would be wanting some kind of answer. She needed to give something short. Something that had nothing to do with politics. It couldn’t be anything that gave away her true alliances. Everyone needed to think she was devoted to her new fiance and the purebloods. 

She turned back to the blonde, a content smile on her face. “Well… I know if I say ‘no comment’ you’ll most likely just push even harder,” Aurora started, trying her best not to sound annoyed, her grandmother’s voice in the back of her head yelling ‘that’s not how ladies act!’ Oh how little she cared about being a lady though… “These are trying times.” Trying, not dark. Even thought these truly felt like dark times. “Best not to forget we’re human beings though. My more recent engagement has been a nice… reprieve.” That seemed safe enough. Her family would approve at least. “Do you wish to share your feelings in return?”

Rita’s tinkling laugh slipped out at Aurora’s response. “Yes, much,” she said, pleased at the change of heart, even though it was obviously forced. Rita wasn’t the type to take no for an answer, after all. She followed Aurora, keeping a few steps behind her, watching her window shop. 

Rita didn’t bother to argue the initial response. Even if she had only got a ‘no comment’, that would have been plenty to work with. People always thought they were so clever when it came to those two words, but Rita knew better; ‘no comment’ was still a comment. ‘No comment’ had a tone, an emotion, and was usually accompanied by an action. She’d been told ‘no comment’ before and written plenty with it. Still. She was happy when Aurora continued to speak.

At first, Rita was disappointed by the ‘trying times’ comment. She could work with that even less than ‘no comment’. By the follow-up made her smile return. “How inspired,” she said. “Your ‘more recent engagement’? Can you tell me more about that?” She was reaching into her handbag now to pull out a simple quill and piece of paper. She jotted down a few notes as she gave her response. “Hm, little old me? Well, Aurora, dear, I just report the facts. Best not make my opinions too strong. But just between you and me––” She tapped the side of her nose, “––I still have hope left for the future.” It was vague enough not to give away what side she was on. She felt satisfied with the way this was going.

[beetleskeetcr-blog]

florence-wilson:

Florence preferred to keep her name out of the papers. Of all the people in the Wizarding world, she had very little going on and wasn’t exactly what she considered a ‘person of interest.’ If someone wanted to ask her opinion about the war, they would have to do so without quill and parchment. If they wanted some sort of salacious interview about being a Muggleborn in today’s society, they could kindly, for lack of a better term, fuck off. There was absolutely no reason for anyone from the Prophet (or any other paper, for that matter) to interview her. So when Rita introduced herself, Florence couldn’t help but grimace. The very thought of an interview of any kind disgusted her. Realizing the look that was on her face for a bit too long, she corrected it by giving Rita a terse, polite smile. “Did we? My apologies.” There was some humor in Florence’s tone. Rita was likely older than she was, at least by a few years. For the life of her, if she tried to remember the blonde woman, she could only come up with vague memories. “Florence.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stopped in her place. Whatever Rita Skeeter was up to, Florence hoped it would be ended quickly. “If you don’t mind, I do have places to be. I’m my father’s caretaker, you see, so I don’t really have a lot of free time for the press. What exactly do you want from me, if you don’t mind me asking? I assume it’s for the Prophet?” The comment about her father taking up much of her free time was an exaggeration to say the least. He was fully independent – just lonely. All the same, Florence used him as an excuse when she needed to get out of being somewhere she didn’t want to be.

“Florence... right,” Rita said, feeling substantially less enthusiastic now that she had seen that look on Florence’s face. Rita was used to being disliked despite the popularity of her articles, but it was always something of a disappointment to see somebody react this way when they found out she was a reporter. She would never understand why people had such a reaction to the press.

“I see,” Rita said, pushing her slightly-askew glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I wouldn’t want to be an inconvenience to you, but you’re right, I am writing a piece about the general response to recent events. It’s hard to get interviews... I’m sure you can imagine why.” Not many people were willing to talk, regardless of their affiliations, due to the nature of the war at the moment and the power struggles. “But may I ask for any thoughts? Fears? Hopes? You can remain anonymous, of course. I’m sure my readers could do with a little... positivity,” she said. Of course she had no idea what Florence was affiliated with, but Rita could make guesses here and there. 

[bunlly]

Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.

David Foster Wallace (via lazypacific)

[beetleskeetcr-blog]

2 8 37 19 26

2. What is their favorite piece of technology?

For obvious reasons, Rita loves typewriters. The one that she owns now is one of the first things she bought with her own money after graduation. I think in the future she’d get a good kick out of computers, too. She also loves record players and radios.

8. What keeps your muse up at night?

Generally, it’s work. Ideas for articles, thoughts about current pieces, that sort of thing. Lately it’s also the events of the war, as well as thinking about her parents. Her father died years ago and she hasn’t been on speaking terms with her mother since, so she thinks about them a lot.

37. Did your muse ever own a Tamagatchi?

Nope!

19. Do they have any distinct voice mannerisms? (e.g. saying ‘like’ or ‘um’ a lot, stutters)

She tends to start her sentences with things like “Well,” and also throws in “you know,” a lot, because she’s arrogant that way and always talks in a matter-of-fact way.

26. Does your muse have any trophies?

Not that I can think of at the moment.