Élise Cartwright

A witch and jazz singer in 1920s New York. Avatar from: http://www.achome.co.uk/artdeco/index.php?page=wallpaper&view=details&title=Manhattan+wallpaper+-+3&desc=%3Cp%3ERepeat+0.230%3C/p%3E%3Cp%3EPrice:%26pound;45%3C/p%3E&item=manhattan3&subpage=

[jazzcharms]

{Isabelle} War Days

[huffleprincenewt]

jazzcharms:

“Hm?” She finished her bandaging job, then covered him with a blanket so he wouldn’t get cold. “Oh. That’s for pain. It’s not tasty, but it should definitely help keep any discomfort at bay.”

She smiled down at him, then proceeded to tuck him in as she would a child. With a little giggle, she sat beside him again.

“Now, im going to sit here until you promise me you won’t run off again. And at any rate,” her face fell and she looked away. “We have funeral arrangements to make.”

“I can’t make that promise,” Newt swallowed thickly, and gagged, as he tipped the vile back. He shook his head, raking his tongue over the roof of his mouth a few times to rid it of the taste.

He handed the vile back to Isabelle, and stared up at the ceiling. The blanket and bandaging was helping, for sure. But he fought off sleep; Newt had things he needed to be doing.

Injured in the midst of a war was not something he was happy to be.

“I really appreciate the help, but I fear her brothers already know. The bond between dragons is a strong one. They must have felt it.” 

The young magizoologist sighed soft, features tensing only slightly. “I don’t know how they’ll react to another wizard touching her body. I can’t stop their attack. They’re vulnerable, and quite possibly injured as a result from the battle. They’re too unpredictable to request your help. I’m… I’m sorry.”

[jazzcharms]

Isabelle frowned and crossed her arms after placing the vial on the counter. 

“Well, you can’t go back out there. Not if you don’t want to rip out all the stitches I just gave you.” Her eyebrows drew down across her dark eyes. “ I will not let you go back out there. Not only would it be in direct opposition to my role as healer, but it would be plain foolish to let an injured man head out into a battlefield. So,” she drew a breath and took care to make sure her voice was even and firm, “You will stay right here in this bed until you are specifically told otherwise. Am I clear?”

Isabelle stared down the young soldier, knowing she couldn’t waver on her position. It was for his own safety after all. Going back into the fray now would be an unnecessary risk to his life. 

[jazzcharms]

{Isabelle} War Days

[huffleprincenewt]

jazzcharms:

“Too bad, then,” she replied, threading the sterilized needle.

With a whispered spell to numb the area, the medic plunged the needle into one side of the wound. A few moments later and what had once been a gaping wound, was a skillfully stitched line.

“Much better. Now,” she began, shaking a small flask of a shimmering liquid. “Drink this for me, will you?”

Isabelle handed Newt the bottle, then took to bandaging his side. As she did so, she snuck a glance at his face. He was a strange one, certainly, but it didn;t seem to be a bad thing. In fact, Newton Scamander might be the most human person she had encountered in this war-torn wasteland

Newt kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling above his form, though slightly squinted. Isabelle’s spell had done a bit to numb the area, but he could still feel the pressure and tugs. 

When she announced the deed was done, Newt exhaled the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He reached forward, taking the vile in slightly trembling fingers, and studied the liquid. 

Definitely peculiar. 

“What is this?” He asked, looking toward her, trying to shift himself to make it easier on her. The feeling of soft gauze against stinging skin was pleasant, and one Newt welcomed. 

[jazzcharms]

"Hm?" She finished her bandaging job, then covered him with a blanket so he wouldn't get cold. "Oh. That's for pain. It's not tasty, but it should definitely help keep any discomfort at bay."

She smiled down at him, then proceeded to tuck him in as she would a child. With a little giggle, she sat beside him again.

"Now, im going to sit here until you promise me you won't run off again. And at any rate," her face fell and she looked away. "We have funeral arrangements to make."

[huffleprincenewt]

"Do you want to build a snowman?" -Isabelle

@jazzcharms

“I… Don’t think that’s a good idea,” Newt admitted, glancing around the pair. 

“You might confuse the creatures that live in this biome.” 

[jazzcharms]

Isabelle frowned, pushing her lower lip out and widening her eyes into an adorable pout.

"We could make a snow creature. Please? Like when I was a child!" She bit her lip and looked at him hopefully. "I'll even make you hot chocolate after. With whipped cream!"

[jazzcharms]

{Isabelle} War Days

[huffleprincenewt]

jazzcharms:

She sighed, pulling him towards her to take on a little more of his weight as he winced. She was far stronger than she looked, her job took quite a bit more physical strength than anyone ever talked about.

“You’re a lot closer to dead than I’d like you to be,” she replied.

With a wave of her wand, they were back in the bare bones structure Isabelle had considered home for the past several months.

“Lie down over here,” She grunted, helping Newt get comfortable. “Im going to check your wounds again, then give you something to help you sleep.”

With deft hands, she lifted up his shirt to reveal his abdomen, the wound clearly unhealed.

“It seems your little adventure interfered with your healing process. I’m going to stitch you up by hand before using magic to ensure you get better, alright? Any objections?”

“Er- A few,” Newt admitted, laying back a bit reluctantly.

It did his head wonders to lay down; the weight off his limbs felt like heaven. He flinched as Isabelle lifted up his robes, exposing crimson-stained skin. It burned, in a way that was all-too familiar to the young magizoologist. 

He’d had his fair share of run-ins with magical beasts. They’d nipped, scratched, clawed, and pecked him quite a bit. Usually, however, Newt would lightly bandage the wound and go about his duties. It was a trouble to seek out medical attention for every wound.

“Particularly the stitching,” he grunted, closing his eyes. Newt didn’t want to watch Isabelle ready herself, nor did he want to study her instruments. He wanted to get back out to Amalthea, and to check on the other beasts aiding the war.

He appreciated the help; truly, he did. But his worry for creatures overpowered his worry for himself. If a wizard or witch approached an injured beast, they’d risk injury as well, and Newt wanted to avoid costing Isabelle or other medics more work than necessary. 

[jazzcharms]

“Too bad, then,” she replied, threading the sterilized needle.

With a whispered spell to numb the area, the medic plunged the needle into one side of the wound. A few moments later and what had once been a gaping wound, was a skillfully stitched line.

“Much better. Now,” she began, shaking a small flask of a shimmering liquid. “Drink this for me, will you?”

Isabelle handed Newt the bottle, then took to bandaging his side. As she did so, she snuck a glance at his face. He was a strange one, certainly, but it didn;t seem to be a bad thing. In fact, Newton Scamander might be the most human person she had encountered in this war-torn wasteland

[jazzcharms]

{Isabelle} War Days

[huffleprincenewt]

jazzcharms:

Isabelle’s eyes widened as she noticed Newt’s obvious pain. The numbing medication must have been wearing off. With a last gentle stroke, the nurse left Amalthea’s side to do her sworn duty.

With one hand on Newt’s forehead and the other at his wrist, she counted his heartbeat and gauged his temperature as he spoke.

“Newt,” she began cautiously, her voice soft yet firm, “you’re running a fever, and I need to get you back to your bed. I appreciate the situation, truly I do, but it’s my job to keep you alive, and right now I’m doing a rather terrible job.”

With a soft grunt, she wrapped one arm around his waist, and lifted his arm over her shoulders.

“Now, if you could just lean into me, I’m going to dissaparate, alright?” Her eyes softened and she bit her lip. “Once you’re more stable, We can organize a funeral for her, alright? I promise, I’ll do it myself if need be.”

Newt bit his bottom lip- he didn’t quite have the strength to argue with her. And there was nothing he could do about Amalthea.

He allowed Isabelle to help him to wobbly feet, though did his best to stand without leaning too terribly into her. He was quite a tall man, even for his age, in contrast to the other.

“If it… Counts for anything, I haven’t died yet,” he responded with a gentle smile, but a wince. He respected Isabelle’s ability to remain so calm. He couldn’t imagine the training she’d been given for this.

Especially in the midst of a war.

“I’ll be fine,” Newt reassured. An apparation wouldn’t take too much out of him. He had his wand, and he knew how to get back to the dragon’s corpse if he felt the need. The word ‘funeral’ floated around his skull; surely a first for everything.

A first he never thought possible.

[jazzcharms]

She sighed, pulling him towards her to take on a little more of his weight as he winced. She was far stronger than she looked, her job took quite a bit more physical strength than anyone ever talked about.

"You're a lot closer to dead than I'd like you to be," she replied.

With a wave of her wand, they were back in the bare bones structure Isabelle had considered home for the past several months.

"Lie down over here," She grunted, helping Newt get comfortable. "Im going to check your wounds again, then give you something to help you sleep."

With deft hands, she lifted up his shirt to reveal his abdomen, the wound clearly unhealed.

"It seems your little adventure interfered with your healing process. I'm going to stitch you up by hand before using magic to ensure you get better, alright? Any objections?"

[jazzcharms]

{Isabelle} War Days

[huffleprincenewt]

“Amalthea,” Newt replied, gazing down at her form. His head was spinning- he shifted back, to sit down with a grunt on the dirt beside her form.

The pain radiating up his side and into his chest, combined with the sedation, was wearing out the young wizard. He left a hand on her side, fingertips nudging the rugged scales.

“P-Please, call me Newt,” he added, toward Isabelle, though without removing his gaze from the dragon’s corpse.

“She was no pet.” Newt adjusted the way he sat, trying to relieve the pressure of the pain from his injuries. “S-she was the eldest o-of the three.”

He was attempting to distract himself, focusing soley on the memories clouding his mind’s eye of the great beast in front of him.

“Quite a bite, she had,” he chuckled, wincing softly. “S-she only ate when she knew the others had.”

[jazzcharms]

Isabelle's eyes widened as she noticed Newt's obvious pain. The numbing medication must have been wearing off. With a last gentle stroke, the nurse left Amalthea's side to do her sworn duty.

With one hand on Newt's forehead and the other at his wrist, she counted his heartbeat and gauged his temperature as he spoke.

"Newt," she began cautiously, her voice soft yet firm, "you're running a fever, and I need to get you back to your bed. I appreciate the situation, truly I do, but it's my job to keep you alive, and right now I'm doing a rather terrible job."

With a soft grunt, she wrapped one arm around his waist, and lifted his arm over her shoulders.

"Now, if you could just lean into me, I'm going to dissaparate, alright?" Her eyes softened and she bit her lip. "Once you're more stable, We can organize a funeral for her, alright? I promise, I'll do it myself if need be."

[jazzcharms]

{Isabelle} War Days

[huffleprincenewt]

Newt barely heard her words. He was focused on the beast- he had to get to his dragon.

“I’ll answer your questions, but you m-must let me address her,” the aspiring magizoologist replied, a tone of desperation in his voice.

“Scamander. Newton,” he spoke, as if trying to reassure himself as he inched closer, until hobbling legs found the body of his dragon.

Newt hadn’t lost a creature before. Not like this. He was deafened by her stillness- though he pushed on, to check her, for a pulse. Though she had none.

“She’s gone.”

His expression was solemn- pained, but more refined behind his gaze, and less in a way that scrunched up his features. “I… Isabelle. I am… terribly sorry. I… had to confirm my suspicions.”

Whereas Newt before shown the posture of a frantic, worked up man, he now seemed to be glazed over and defeated. He had other dragons fighting, sure. But this dragon- a Norwegian wyvern- and an albino one at that- was truly a sight to be seen. Newt had been studying her and how to build such an enclosure for her for some time- he didn’t know how the other dragons would take to such a loss, if they were still alive.

[jazzcharms]

Against her better judgement, Isabelle let Newton continue forward. She stepped slowly behind him, watching the white mound slowly expand into the body of a dragon. The young woman gasped, a hand flying to cover her mouth and she knelt by the creature.

She looked up at Newton with wide, shocked eyes. She had seen the dragons from afar, their great wings stretching across the sky as they soared into battle. To see one lying sprawled in such a manner...it was moving.

"Mister Scamander," came her gentle whisper as she stood. She had to fight the urge to grip his hand, he looked so desperate. Instead, she lay a soothing hand on his forearm. "Did she have a name?"

[jazzcharms]

{Isabelle} War Days

[huffleprincenewt]

“W-with all due respect, it… isn’t them I am concerned with,’” Newt murmured around the wand clenched in his mouth as he drug himself a few steps forward.

The dragon wasn’t far. He could try another apparition, and hope it got him closer to her. Newt couldn’t imagine how badly she was injured. He should’ve kept her from this war, he should have fought against ever using magical beasts as tools, regardless of how much they seemed to want to partake. Too risky.

Newt extended his wand in a shaky palm, and gave it the slightest flick, transporting himself a mere thirty meters away. He could see her tail from behind a massive tree- stark grey against the blood and dirt across the battlefield. Her scales should have been brighter, more white, which struck worry like electricity down his spine.

“No,” he murmured, trembling fingers struggling to hold his wand, eyes going wide with worry.

[jazzcharms]

Isabelle’s dark brows furrowed, what was he going on about? Who else was out here in this godforsaken wasteland aside from his fellow soldiers and the few foolish nurses who tended to them. He disapparated, and she hurried after him, jogging to catch up. The young soldier could barely walk, let alone use magic effectively. He wasn’t difficult to catch.

With a softly uttered word, the man went still but for his trembling hands, and Isabelle followed his gaze. What...what was that? The nurse looked between the white mass and the man beside her for a moment, confusion playing accross her tired features. Suddenly, she jolted into action.

“Sir,” she spoke gently, gripping his elbow, “I need you to sit down, alright? You’re still in shock and very heavily medicated.” Isabelle attempted to guide him towards the dirt. “And please, tell me your name. I’m Isabelle, and I’m here to help you, truly. So if you could tell me what’s going on; what’s troubling you so greatly, then I’d like to try and figure it out together, alright?

[jazzcharms]

{Isabelle} War Days

[huffleprincenewt]

Newt tried to protest, flinching barely. He felt a wave of exhaustion flood over his limbs, and if it weren’t for the officer, he would have collapsed.

“I-… please, miss…” He intoned, eyes closing at the flick of her wand. It stung some, the spell.

As soon as she turned her back, Newt took in a deep breath, and grabbed his wand. It took careful coordination, but all he could manage was an apparition just outside the tent. He wobbled on led like, jelly legs, as he tried to drag himself forward. Newts robes were open, exposing the wound, but he knew exactly where he needed to be. He had to hold his wand between his teeth, otherwise he risked dropping it. No good to be found there.

Newt knew where his dragon was. But it felt like miles, and each hobbling step drug on for an eternity. Whatever the nurse had given him worked, a little too well, he noted.

[jazzcharms]

As Isabelle finished changing the dressing on a young French soldier, she turned to cast a glance at her English patient. Her hands froze when she realized the bed was empty. The tranquilizer he'd been given was nothing to scoff at, and if he hadn't already collapsed, then he would soon.

With a shout to the other attending nurse, Isabelle was off. She dashed through the medical building, throwing open the door and coughing as dust accosted her lungs. She wiped her mouth and kept running, though her body nearly went limp at the sight of a certain shirtless, wobbly soldier.

"For the love of God you scared me!" She chastised, sliding to a stop beside him and immediately bending to check his wound. Good, no debris appeared to have lodged itself in the cut. "Just What do you think you're doing?! Are you trying to get yourself killed? The battle can continue on without you, believe me. There are plenty of other soldiers out there, your platoon will be fine."

[jazzcharms]

{Isabelle} War Days

[huffleprincenewt]

fullbouquetofwonderland:

“Sir,” the young woman replied as calmly as she was able given the circumstances, “Sir, you’re in shock. Please lay down, I’ll see to your wounds right away.”

Isabelle pressed calloused hands over her starched uniform, smoothing the skirt and apron. Her dark, wavy hair was pulled back into a low bun, her caramel skin and freckled cheeks shaded by the hat he was wearing. Her shoes were sensible - black with low heels and laces. She was here to work, not flirt as many of the injured seemed to believe. 

She watched the officer struggle with the man - a Brit by the look of his uniform and sound of his voice - then turned and hurried to a tray not far from the door. Despite his slim frame, the young soldier was proving to be a fighter, and would need to be sedated. 

“Hold him down,” she ordered, moving towards him with a syringe filled with a deep purple liquid. 

Newt’s eyes widened at those words, to which his gaze shifted entirely onto the young female, while he pleaded with the officer. 

He struggled, reaching for his wand- a simple apparition- would put him away from the situation quick. But it was on his damn belt, and he couldn’t reach over the officer.

“You mustn’t do this! You don’t understand! She’s out there- she’s in danger!” He pleaded. He knew several of the beasts being used in this war were being injured. Newt had to placate, as well as fulfill his position as a soldier. This ridiculous notion of- what seemed to him to be only a slightly bothersome scratch- intravenous medical care wasn’t helping.

“I give you my word I will come back, but now is not the time for this!”

[jazzcharms]

Isabelle stepped closer and slid the needle into his arm as cleanly as possible. Removing the small object, she patted the mark left behind, in an effort to soothe the sting.

“There we go now, just relax. Deep breaths.” She spoke softly, reaching out to lay a small hand on his arm. “Good, see now? Just a prick was all that was.”

The young soldier’s body slowly crumpled and the officer staggered, but managed to haul him to the nearest bed. With a nod, Isabelle sent the older man off; she could take it from here. 

First, she would need to remove his uniform jacket and clean the wound. Upon further inspection, Isabelle noted the gashes were deep enough to require an extended period of time to knit together. The poor man’s chest looked like a carved up slab of meat, and even the most practiced nurse would have balked. 

With a wave of her wand and a few softly muttered spells, the wounds began to knit themselves together slowly, but surely. Satisfied that her newest patient was under control, the dark haired medic turned round to tend to the other moaning infantrymen. 

[jazzcharms]

{Isabelle} War Days

Isabelle’s hands shook as another explosion rocked the flimsy structure she was working in. She had received training as a medic at Ilvermorny after realizing it was her best chance at helping the war effort. Now, fresh out of school, she was wand deep in some poor soldier’s chest, trying to rid his many wounds of shrapnel. He gurgled and she closed her eyes, focusing on the spell. There was no possibility of saving him, but damn if she wouldn’t try. At least he wouldn’t die alone. He took a final, shuddering breath, and the young medic stood there, shaking at the loss. He couldn’ t have been more than 19, just about her age.

“Stanton!” a loud voice rang out over the chaos and cries of dying men.

Isabelle whirled around to face a dark haired, middle-aged officer carrying a blood covered young man. She couldn’t tell much about the man, so covered in dirt was he, other than the fact that he was in great distress and severely wounded.

“Put him over there,” she ordered, pointing to a bed. In the medic’s hut, the healers were in charge.

@huffleprincenewt

[asknewt]

I have 99 problems and Newt Scamander is 98 ¾ of them.

[jazzcharms]

Me right now.

[fogmade-a]

jazzcharms:

It was exactly two weeks until Élise’s seventh birthday and she was positively counting down the days. Her parents had promised her a kitten this year, and she had no plans to let them forget. The child’s parents were currently inside their apartment, her father working on a new painting, and her mother practicing a new song.

Élise could hear her mother’s voice floating from the open window, and took to humming along as she kicked a ball to herself. Dark pigtails tied back with satin ribbons bounced as she ran from one of the courtyard to the other, trying to avoid kicking the ball into the street. After several passes, she miscalculated, and the ball went bouncing down the road, straight into the knees of a freckled little boy about her age.

The girl’s eyes went wide and she ran to the boy, dodging what appeared to be his parents and elder brother.

“Pardon! Ça va?”

She examined him thoroughly, then deciding he was fine, decided to extend an olive branch.

“Veux-tu jouer avec moi?”

@fogmade

It does not happen often that the complete Scamander family sets foot on the European mainland— the parents are usually too occupied with their jobs to plan a vacation. The youngest Scamander does not mind, as he LOVES being around the Hippogriffs on their farm. The forests surrounding the area too serve as a wonderful playground for the seven-year-old. Still,  it does get a tad lonely now his brother is attending Hogwarts. 

They’ll only be in France for four days, but it feels like a lifetime for young Newton. Gazing in awe at the city of Paris (   a place that is completely foreign to the little boy   ), he stumbles through the streets, sometimes failing to keep up with the rest of his family. Only a few hours ago, his entire world had consisted of Great Britain. Obviously, he had been aware that the Earth was way larger than that, but to him ( someone who had merely experienced that part of the planet through photographs and books ) it still felt like he had entered a new universe. 

His eyes do not catch the girl until her ball flies in his direction. The sudden appearance of the toy startles him more than the fact that it hits him– frankly, it does not hurt much. Newt wants to tell her that, but immediately closes his mouth when she asks him a question. He has no idea what the girl acquired of him (   the only French word that sounds familiar to him is ‘  CROISSANT  ’  )& his shyness isn’t cooperating, so he just stares at her for a couple of long seconds. Finally, a few words are stuttered.

   ‘’   T- that is a nice ball.   ‘’ 

[jazzcharms]

The child's eyes lit up with recognition, and her small hands clasped together.

"You speak English!" Her accent was heavy - she only ever spoke english with her father. "You 'ave a funny accent," she giggled, never having met an Englishman before. "What is your name?"

Bending, she picked up the ball and cradled it like a treasure. She rocked back and forth on her heels, taking in the boy's thin frame and plentiful red hair. He looked about her age, but there was a shyness present in his long stare that Élise had never possessed. She was, in fact, a very confident child - a little sassy, even. Her teachers had even called her incorrigible once or twice, but all she really wanted was some excitement.

"I asked if you wanted to play wif me!"

[jazzcharms]

It was exactly two weeks until Élise’s seventh birthday and she was positively counting down the days. Her parents had promised her a kitten this year, and she had no plans to let them forget. The child’s parents were currently inside their apartment, her father working on a new painting, and her mother practicing a new song.

Élise could hear her mother’s voice floating from the open window, and took to humming along as she kicked a ball to herself. Dark pigtails tied back with satin ribbons bounced as she ran from one of the courtyard to the other, trying to avoid kicking the ball into the street. After several passes, she miscalculated, and the ball went bouncing down the road, straight into the knees of a freckled little boy about her age.

The girl’s eyes went wide and she ran to the boy, dodging what appeared to be his parents and elder brother.

“Pardon! Ça va?”

She examined him thoroughly, then deciding he was fine, decided to extend an olive branch.

“Veux-tu jouer avec moi?”

@fogmade

[rpmemes-galore]

Send me  “You know, you’re not pleasant when you’re like this.”  for my muse’s reaction

[themagicaluniverse-deactivated2]

New York, New York

@jazzcharms liked for a starter

Character: Newt Scamander

“Sorry,” Newt said, having nearly running into the girl. He’d been admiring the city. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you alright?”

[jazzcharms]

Élise stumbled but caught herself against the edge of a building. With a curt nod, she looked at the man with a flirtatious half smile, her usual expression, truth be told.

“I’ll live, and you Mr....?” As he voice trailed off, she noticed a small, black creature slip out of the gentleman’s worn briefcase and scurry down the street. She followed it with her dark eyes, then glanced back at the man with a raised brow.

“Is that yours?” She pointed to the escapee.

[fogmade-a]

@jazzcharms && NEWT.

Confusion & shock are the first emotions that become visible on the magizoologist’s face : his eyebrows form into a deep frown, eyes widen and his mouth opens slightly, turning into an ‘o’-like shape. Newt seems to have become incapable of blinking, as he doesn’t while staring at the dark walls of the alleyway. Barely distinguishable from the shadows lies a creature the size of a small horse. 

The wizard’s fingers are loosely wrapped around his wooden wand, prepared to illuminate the street with a flick - it isn’t necessary, as the eight legs of the beast, covered in short, black hair, become slightly more visible in the moonlight & are an immediate confirmation of what Newt assumed – it is an ACROMANTULA. His surprise arises entirely due to the fact that  THE BEAST IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE ( in America, that is ). Native to Asia, fond of forests and RARELY parted from an enormous colony, the being seems to have ended up in a place which greatly contrasts to that of his preference. It cannot possibly have escaped from the man’s suitcase : there aren’t any ‘mantulas in it that are as huge as this one, only a few BABIES (  the size of footballs ) which Newt had rescued from the hands of a circus owner on the isle of Borneo.

The man does not allow himself any time to wonder as to how the acromantula could possibly have gotten in New York, as he immediately notices why it is not attacking or running away from him – the creature has managed to get stuck between the bars of a fence. Blue-ish blood is streaming from its weak legs, already creating a small puddle. The sight is anything but pleasant.

There is SOMEONE ELSE in the alley - he does not need to turn around to sense that. Still he does so ( carefully, to avoid startling anyone ). The look he gives the woman is a slightly awkward one, as if he is caught stealing from a biscuit jar. He lets his eyes dart away, avoiding eye contact     ( if she turns out to be a muggle, he can always obliviate her afterwards, though Newt is not a great fan of that ). 

‘’  T-there is absolutely NO REASON to panic.  ‘’ MAYBE there is. 

              ‘’  Don’t make any sudden movements – you might FRIGHTEN her. ‘’ 

 At this point, he is not sure whether the advice is directed at the woman or at the acromantula. Any sane wizard would run away from the giant spider. Newt doesn’t. The being is clearly suffering. He will not be able to domesticate it, but perhaps it will refrain from EATING him if he offers to help her get lose ( a naive thought, even for Mr. Scamander  ). 

[jazzcharms]

A young woman stands frozen in the alley behind the auburn haired man. The moonlight catches the sequins on her golden dress, sending reflections skittering across the puddles of rainwater on the cobbled street. Her feet, clad in beautiful, silk high heels are poised to run, but she is frozen in place, her purse clutched between perfectly manicured hands. 

Though her outfit is sumptuous, it is her expression that is most noticeable. Her red painted lips are stuck in a perfect ‘O’, her dark eyes wide and glazed with fear. With tense, shaking shoulders, she looks as if she should be screaming, but emits no sound. Perhaps it is because she is staggering home after a long night of singing at a wizard jazz club, or maybe it’s just her fear of anything arachnid, but the witch doesn’t think to reach for her wand. She simply stares, caught in the alleyway like a trapped deer. 

The beaded bag fell to the ground with a soft clatter as the hands holding it began to tremble. Soon, the rest of the tan woman was trembling too, right up to the flower pinned in her hair. 

“S-scare h-her?” she whispered, her voice somehow managing to sound both terrified and intimidating. “I-I’m the one we should be worried about! I think my heart may be failing!”