hurricane

Gisèle Rousseau-Parkinson. Seventeen. Ravenclaw. Potions fiend, lipstick enthusiast and reluctant artist. We are the granddaughters of the witches you weren't able to burn. — Unknown

[roleplayaskmemes]

send me a ➸ for an affectionate text message from my muse

[roleplayaskmemes]

Put a word in my askbox and I will give you a bad AND good memory from my muse's past that associates with said word.

[arahellawood-blog]

“I’m suggesting I’ll punch you in the nose if you call me Arabella one more time.” It was no secret Ara hated her full first name — she’d been going by Ara since she was 5 years old. Anyone who still called her Arabella learnt not to the hard way. ?

[paintstainedparkinson]

“It is your name, is it not?”

[williambxrke-blog-blog]

“While we wait, let me ask if Lord Byron was able to keep a tame bear, why are we only allowed something as mundane as owls, cats, toads, and rats?”

[paintstainedparkinson]

“The likelihood of mauling students is involved, I believe.

[some-form-of-normal]

French swear words, for those times when English just isn’t enough

[roleplayaskmemes]

Ask my muse personal questions, if they lie, the mun will answer it truthfully in the tags

[arahellawood-blog]

“Oh so you’d rather stain your school uniform? That can be arranged.” Ara made no secret of her lack of tolerance for bullying, and she wasn’t afraid to call people - friend or foe alike – out on it, even if it meant she pissed people off.

[paintstainedparkinson]

“Arabella Wood, are you suggesting fisticuffs?

[lightningstrxkes-blog]

“Only you would call this boring. You amaze me, Parkinson.”

[paintstainedparkinson]

“It is a common reaction in my presence. They do go on a bit about this killing business, no? No mention about what a delicate poison it must have been. Ignoring the potioneer as per usual.”

[lightningstrxkes-blog]

“No?”

[paintstainedparkinson]

“Good. It is boring, even in comparison to the rest of the evening.”

[paintstainedparkinson]

Gisèle has four siblings.

From her father’s marriage to Everleigh Selwyn:  N i c h o l a s. Born 2008. Slytherin house. Currently a fifth year. A l i c e. Born 2018. Only sibling Gisèle can actually tolerate.

From one of many unknown affairs of her mother’s: J e a n. Born 2010. Twin. Attends L'Académie de Magie de Beauxbâtons. J a c q u e s. Born 2010. Twin. Attends L'Académie de Magie de Beauxbâtons.

[littleredmacmillan-blog]

{ Pick Your Poison } Maddie + Gisèle

Dead. A boy had been found poisoned at the edge of the woods – one that almost took her own life but this boy hadn’t been as lucky. This wasn’t an accident; she could see it in the worry etched into the lines of her professors forehead and the panic they kept buried down for the sake of their students. 

She wanted out of there – no she needed to leave. Their fear, anguish suffocated her and she couldn’t stand to watch another classmate succumb to the grief of losing a friend.  And while she hadn’t been the one to do such a thing to this person, she knew his was how people suffered.

With tears clouding her eyes, the Hufflepuff eased her way through the crowd, keeping her head down as not to get caught by any lingering eyes. Maybe she’d been poisoned and maybe she didn’t care if she was – but she needed out.

[littleredmacmillan-blog]

[paintstainedparkinson]

If nothing else, Gisèle could appreciate misery. The bitter aftertaste of sadness and helplessness was nothing if not familiar, but beggars could not afford to clutch at straws, could they? No, instead they chose to clutch at one another.

The atmosphere grated at her nerves — as if somebody had organised a communal mourning party and then shoved all attendees in an enclosed place, neglecting to tell her what was happening. Except that was not true; she had known. She had just not expected how morose it would be. It was, though. It was suffocating.

[ She did not think anybody she had befriended understood it, not truly. The price of freedom was never more fragile than when it was so scarcely earned. There were those with too much of it, and those with none of it, but she had yet to find a companion who understood what this was —— none at all with the facade of nothing but. Yes, she knew the value of freedom; of not being caged. ]

She had not been tested yet, but she hardly cared. If there was one thing Gisèle Rousseau knew about, it was slow acting poisons and she knew full well it had been long enough since the Mixer started that some damage at the very least would have been inflicted in any case. [ She could not bring herself to care. ]

She loitered near the door — It gave the illusion of a modicum of freedom.  — so the approaching girl was directly in her path. It was easy, then, to raise her voice, to call out:

                                                       “You could die, you know.                I do not think the chances are good even with detection, but nonetheless.”

[arahellawood-blog]

D-E-A-D.

                     G.o.n.e.

                                           {   m u r d e r e d.   }

It was unbelievable, Ara thought. She coudn’t claim to have known the Head Boy well, but that didn’t make this any less tragic. However Ara wasn’t sad – she was angry. Angry that this had happened – a boy had been killed, and as a result they were standing in line to be tested for poison — wasn’t the point of the previous two wars to ensure this generation was safe? People – especially innocent people – weren’t supposed to die anymore. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right. The use of poison as a weapon only fueled Ara’s burning flame of injustice. Poison was a cowards tool, Robert didn’t even stand a chance.                                     “I hope they catch the b a s t a r d  that did this                                      and that they get fed to the dementors.”

[paintstainedparkinson]

{ x. arabella wood } :

D e a t h cast a rotting cloud of gloom over the Great Hall. It was expected, but pitiful. Dull. Human. Boring. Gisèle tired of it sooner than even she had expected, but then, nights had always been for freedom. The forcing of this strange boy's calamity into her calm – a rude interjection, really – had left her snippier than usual. It was probably a poor decision to approach loud, self-righteous Arabelle Wood then, but the Hufflepuff artist was nothing if not entertaining. At the very least, she would either amuse or assault —— both welcome distractions at that point.

                                       "Why?" she replied in answer to the girl's query.                                        "Not impressed by their potioneering skills?"

[paintstainedparkinson]

{ x. cassius fulgora } :

“What? I promise I’m not here to whine, Parkinson.”

“Are your delicate sensibilities damaged?”

[paintstainedparkinson]

{ x. rose weasley } :

Her arms are crossed over her chest, foot tapping in a steady beat against the stone floor, nibbling her lower lip into oblivion –– the events of the last hour arousing a sense of nervousness and apprehension in the Slytherin. Natural responses, of course, for a boy had been found dead on school grounds and murder by poison, no less. A poison that could very well have made it’s way into the system’s of the other attendees as well. 

  [ & when she had complained about livening up the party this is not  what she’d meant. ]  

Movement in her peripheral caught her attention, pulling her from the buzz of activity about the the Great Hall. The presence of another prompting a ( mildly lame, filler + for the sake of interaction ) question from her lips.

                                    “ –––– – you been tested yet ? “

B o r i n g. Dull, dull, dull. That is all Gisèle can think of with every dull drum of her fingers against the wall she leans on. It feels like entrapment  ––  caging her in at the time she likes to wander free. It feels stupid  ––  it is no matter if another dies. With the time elapsed, it is more likely death will come before their fucking futile poison check.

She has wondered, of course she has. What it would feel like burning through her veins until it sucked every last drop of life from her body and left the weak human form gasping for breath. Whether it had been brewed with bloodroot or viper fang or powdered unicorn horn. If it had been a meddling student or a scheming teacher.

                          [ There was nothing but idle thoughts to occupy time, after all.                                      The evening of festivity seemed an age away. ]

Eventually she went and sat down with the first person she vaguely knew.

                                                             ❝ No. Have you? ❞ 

[paintstainedparkinson]

“No.”

[paintstainedparkinson]

{ x. clarabel moreau } :

[ Unspoken between them ( and the rest of Clara’s family ) were her beliefs on most subject matters, beliefs that could easily be considered progressive & shameful to the family. Even in times when Clarabel knew that Gisèle was on her side, the fact that she did share some beliefs that had long been shed by Clara herself, still bothered her. Clara also imagined that her beliefs bothered Gisèle, which is why they both seemed to silently agree to ignore any loose, too kind words of Clarabel’s and any obviously prejudiced ones of Gisèle’s. ] 

“Hmm, not even a handful. Oh no, I’m quite entertained. Almost too entertained, but no complaints.”

[ Clarabel thought about how stupid she was to even suggest that she’d only drink if Gisèle did. Was she subconsciously looking to get drunk? It was the only explanation for her comment. ]

“Did you really? Mon dieu, I didn’t realize you could drink that much. I’m just surprised that you haven’t tried to shove a cigarette in my mouth, yet.”

[ She was not stupid, much as like some would have liked to believe. She saw the dodged question clearly for what it was, but then, she had expected it, hadn't she? Inconvenient, but the one person she could truly bring herself to care about did not agree with her values and Gisèle could not for the life of her see why. It was something she blatantly ignored — she focussed instead on the warm thread of comfort in her chest; a feeling quite like coming home.

For the first time the first time that evening, she burst out with a peal of genuine laughter. ]

"Oh, you do not have to stop on my account. I would quite like to insult people if you want some more."

[ There was no no in sight, just a discussion about the quantity manageable, so she acquired a drink as she spoke and offered it to her little cousine. ]

"He was beurré the night before and it was at lunch, to be fair. We could if you wanted."

[ And then a hopeful grin lit her face — half the rakish joy of corrupting her favourite innocent, half genuine excitement at the thought. ]

[arahellawood-blog]

“You already know that my answer to that is no one, Gisele,” Ara replied, folding her arms across her chest. “You’re not bullying anyone today unless you want to add a bloodstain to your pretty dress.”

[paintstainedparkinson]

“Please, do try not to be simple. Chiffon stains terribly; we simply must wait until tomorrow.”