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@brcathlcss
Elodie C. Marchbanks
━━ hey, isn’t that ELODIE CADENCE MARCHBANKS? i read a daily prophet article on them, once ; the THIRTY year old half-blood WITCH is a RAVENCLAW alumnus who has gone on to be an CURSE-BREAKER. i’ve heard they can be quite DEDICATED & PATIENT, but i don’t know… they came off very STOIC & SPITEFUL in that interview. it really is hard to know what to believe these days though, isn’t it?
dependent Harry Potter rp blog penned by Caro!!
playlist. pinterest. intro.
chacswins:
“Only three.” He promises, he even makes a show of crossing his heart with an X. He’s laying across a bench, the best a man more than double the size of it truly can, his head is practically falling off the edge of it. They both used to do this, when they were supposed to be in class. Just sit in whatever corner they could hide in, away from professors and prefects trying to find them. “Moltisanti.” He corrects, then sits up. An unreadable face, just truly as neutral as he could make it. Of course he’s over her, he has had to be anyway. “It’s been, what? Now seven years? If I’m not over her by now, I must be mad then.”
If she’s got any disbelief, she doesn’t voice it. Just hums her affect and raises a brow at him. It’d be difficult to challenge him on that, considering three years from now they could be anywhere--at this point, she’s open to any and all possibilities. Though, in all fairness, dead is higher on the list for them both than she would’ve posited last time they took up residence together in this space. Funny how life works sometimes. Elodie watches him sit up, expression as neutral as his, though it gives way easily to amusement that is vastly uncharacteristic for her these days. She can’t--well, can but won’t--comment on it plainly, so instead she’ll take what she can get. “Oh did they finally clear you of that? Thought for sure they were gonna declare you insane. That’s galleons out of my pocket, I guess.”
hoggleswart:
Etta can’t help but feel a deep sense of admiration in the way Elodie holds herself. — She’s accumulated a collection of step - children over the years. Hard to not, with seven failed marriages to the name. Each one displays their own personality and she’s taken the time to get to know them all, but it’s possible she has favourites. A stronger bond with some than others. The truth is, in this particular moment, Oliviette sees part of herself in the other. That same stubborn morale : the one too proud to ask for help, yet still so determined to reach their goals. She can relate to such resolution. Elodie sits with grace and poise, and an unrelenting determination. One that’s impossible not to admire. ‘ You couldn’t possibly impose, cherub. We’re family. ’ Or they were, once upon a time. There’s always an unnerving edge to Etta’s smile. It makes it hard to tell if she truly is doing this out of kindness, or if there’ll be a catch somewhere down the line, but she offers the smile nonetheless. ‘ Besides, us queens? We gotta stick together. ’
The whole conversation is a stunning reminder of the fact that, while she puts on a brave face, Elodie is very much alone in the world right now. Her extended family is generally distant. Her parents are dead. Her step-brother is an acquaintance at best. And her step-mother... well. Even sitting across the table from her now, it’s evident. They like each other well enough, to be sure, certainly more on a personable level than she is with Blaise, but there’s still a level of uncertainty. It’s not a matter of feeling displaced by it, not by any means, it’s been her state of existence for so long that the brilliantly appointed thought that she’s almost alone in the world does little to phase her. But it is, to some extent, lonely. Having only one truly close friend in life can do that to a person, after all. Then again, it’s no one’s fault but her own that she remains unconnected to other people in this way. Sharp teeth do what they will. Her mirroring smile isn’t small, complacent, demure by any means, but it also, by no means, matches Madame Zabini’s strength. Family. An odd concept, in some ways. “I certainly won’t say no if you insist, and I appreciate the... gesture.” Words chosen carefully, delicately treading the field. “It never hurts to have another queen in your corner.”
☀
☀ - my muse refuses to talk about
Elodie refuses to talk about her doubts. Somewhere along the line, though she doesn’t think too hard about the where and the when, she was convinced that she had to present perfectly. That she needed to come across as strong and confident and powerful--and furthermore, that any display of doubt or uncertainty would telegraph through as weakness. So when she has concerns, when she wonders if she’s making the right choice, she takes a moment to steel herself and just powers through. There is no room for uncertainty in her life.
♫ - my muse likes to get into antics with
Damien. Easily, Damien. In every life, Damien. He's her best friend in everything she does and there's no one she'd rather get up to absolutely ridiculous bullshit with. If there's anyone she's gonna take being caught with, it'll be him.
❛ alright , i will . for you . ❜ -- etta zabini ( @hoggleswart )
It takes a very practiced intentionality to keep Elodie’s countenance in tact. She doesn’t squirm in her chair under the knowing gaze of her step-mother. She doesn’t hide her face from the wisdom in her eyes. Nor, notably, does she express the deep-seated discomfort with having someone say those words in that order. She’s used to fighting for the things she has--biting and scratching her way to the top with every ounce of power she has--and to simply be handed something like this simply because? It sets her back in a way she’s not sure what to do with. ( Do not mistake this for lack of gratitude -- it is far from it. More that it feels, as most things do, like there must be a string attached. But perhaps this time, there isn’t. Perhaps just this once... ) “That’s very kind of you.” The words don’t sound as stilted as they feel; in fact, they come out quite naturally. “I wouldn’t dare impose, though.”
vellichvrs:
“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.
The comment, joke or otherwise, sets Elodie into another round of laughter, which she rushes to hide behind a cough. It’s not that she’s particularly worried about making herself look bad or even that she cares all that much about the feelings of the individual running the stall. There’s simply some things that even her father would have cautioned against, and this... maybe it’s the booze running through her system, but she’s inclined to listen to her etiquette training from all those years ago. Just this once. “That um--” Another round of giggles, this one less well disguised. “That seems fair, honestly.”
ofzvbini:
𝖇𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖘𝖊 𝖔𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖜𝖔𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖊𝖝𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖑𝖞 it was his step - sister saw when she looked at him . was it some kind of sibling affection ? did she see his mother in him ? or maybe she saw him for was he really was : a superiority complex scrubbed raw and rash - angry . he certainly did not need elodie here to exert some kind of worldly wisdom over him as if she knew BETTER somehow . ❝ is this the kind of older sister advice i missed out on back in our younger years ? ❞ when they both traversed these halls and pretended like the binds tying them together were fleeting and all too easy to ignore . they did not have t h i s . what they had were glances shot at one another and family dinners over holidays and a passing familiarity that never carried over to the school year . ❝ because i can assure you , it was not something i was desperately missing out on . ❞
【 𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖉𝖎𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖍𝖇𝖆𝖓𝖐𝖘 ( @brcathlcss ) 𝖘𝖆𝖎𝖉 : “ at some point, you have to make a choice about who you are and what you want . ” 】
It never ceases to be weird being back in school, even after doing it for eight years. Further adding to the weirdness, of course, is that she’s standing here with Blaise, who--at the time of her graduation--was just some punk-ass kid she happened to be related to by marriage. She hadn’t anticipated the marriage lasting. Nor had she particularly anticipated the death of her father, but that was neither here nor there. “Afraid so,” is all she offers to begin with, and while she absolutely will not give him the chance of a real smile, she does shrug her shoulders and lean back against the wall. Focused for a moment on the wandering of her hands to find a cigarette, Elodie gives them both a chance to exist with whatever the fuck their dynamic is. Often quiet, always cordial, never once warm and fuzzy but also not cold and distant. It’s some sort of peculiar liminal emotional space they’ve taken up residence in, and frankly that suits her just fine. Producing a pack, she takes one from it before offering it to Blaise wordlessly. That much she could only assume was fair. If she’d do it for a stranger (or at least some strangers), that likely meant she should probably do it for him. Whatever. “Luckily for both of us, that’s the most and best I’ve got in terms of Older Sister anything. Can I interest you in a searing insult or flippant sarcasm instead?”
ghosting doesn’t work on me, i don‘t care if we never speak again
“i think i'm going to do everything in my power for at least, like the next three years, not to fall in love.” -- @chacswins (damien graves)
“Only three?” Elodie quirks a brow, amused. She leans with her back pressed against a courtyard wall, cigarette in hand half-done, hair free around her shoulders, foot propped up against the wall as well. With the exception of the cigarette and a good few scars, both physical and otherwise, she could be the same girl from school. Her eyes wander past Damien to a group walking slowly past them, voices hushed and trembling. Mourning. It makes sense, of course, how many people around them are varying shades of devastated, but the fact of the matter is that the young Marchbanks remains vastly unaffected. The Battle was a tragedy, certainly, but very little skin off her back with one incredibly notable exception. Dark eyes pan back to Damien and she sighs. “You over Crabbe yet? Never can tell with you.”
would you consider yourself to be intimidating?
Her gaze lifts to their face slowly, expression neutral until she quirks a brow. It's not something she's put much consideration into, but now that it's posed... "I wouldn't use that word specifically, no. I'd say I'm adept at what I do. A challenge for most, surely. Certainly not welcoming, but... intimidating? Perhaps not." The faintest hint of a smile tugs at the corner of her lip. "Why? Are you intimidated?"
honesty hour -- currently accepting !!
ft. @woesbegone !!
accepting:
heights, honesty hour, & euphoria dialogue prompts!
dolors:
𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 : the white wyvern , knockturn alley . 𝙵𝙾𝚁 : elodie marchbanks ( @brcathlcss ) . 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂 : closed .
❛ christ . ❜ it’s a half - sloshed murmur that ushers in underneath his breath , entirely unconscious ; scratched static of an 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐒 speaker disrupts the evening’s babel , earsplitting sound that sets his teeth right on edge . ❛ y’reckon they’re gonna be any good ? fuckin’ unlikely , seein’ how none of ‘em other clowns could hold a NOTE , but y'know . gotta have hope , or somethin’ . ❜ ( the next set of competitors haven’t even picked up their instruments yet , but a 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 mouth just won’t stop running ! )
She’s had a few proper drinks and at least two shots--enough to keep her rolling with a faint haze around the edges of her vision but not enough to impair her judgement so poorly that she’ll have regrets come morning. It’s an important distinction and fine line to walk--one she spent a lot of time working to achieve. One she’s quite happy to maintain. The glass in her hand is half-done, and Elodie spares it a glance before her eyes travel up to the face of her most recent companion. The evaluation is quick, decisive, made with a flick of her gaze up his form and back down it, until a hint of a smile is playing at the corners of her lips. “Seem to have a lot of opinions for someone who doesn’t seem to be performing tonight. You a musician or just a critic?”
location: battle of the bands at the white wyvern status: closed for blaise zabini ( @ofzvbini )
Surprised is not the word that Elodie would use to describe seeing her step-brother across the bar at the Battle of the Bands. It stands to reason that a few of his friends are here, as it seems so very many people that they both know are, which then inclines itself to the fact that he would almost inevitably show up. Not that she’s seen any of them that she knows by name. And not that she’d care enough to say anything if she did. But that’s beside the point. Snagging her drink off the bartop and slipping her way easily through the crowd, she finds herself beside him in what could frankly be record time, given how many people are crammed into the place. “Wasn’t sure you’d be here tonight,” it’s drawled out, expression comfortable and lazy, “what with Mummy Dearest being back in town and all.”
chacswins:
“Exactly.” He says with razor-sharp, definitive cadence. Elodie knew Damien disappeared, he even kept in touch with her. It wasn’t frequent contact, but it was plenty more than other people who were close to him. She is the only person he has ever let know him so well after his “arrival” back in the wix world. But even with her he held on to his limits. “That bartender is quite cute, actually. Have I become the type of person to want to flirt with the bartender?”
---
Elodie snorts out a laugh, shaking her head as her eyes pan over slowly to the bartender. Cute enough, if that’s what you’re looking for, though she certainly isn’t. It’s not that she’s opposed to fucking bartenders, mind you, it’s more that she’s not in the mood for the game that particular hunt comes with, nor the time wasted waiting for them to get off their shift. Her eyes pass back over to Damien, expression telling. “The better question is--can you afford not to be?”
