theprettiestprewett:
Fabian chuckled heartily. “I get it, Rita. You look lovely, tonight.”
“Oh, whatever.” She found her cheeks flushed, but continued to speak with her usual confidence. “You do, too Fabian.”
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theprettiestprewett:
Fabian chuckled heartily. “I get it, Rita. You look lovely, tonight.”
“Oh, whatever.” She found her cheeks flushed, but continued to speak with her usual confidence. “You do, too Fabian.”
“She’s yay-high, red hair, odd sort, really. Doesn’t look a thing like me and Gid. Have you seen her?”
“No, but I will keep my eyes peeled. In a figurative sense, of course. Literally would be....” She trailed off.
‘’--oh my--what?”
hogwart’s gazette, 12/23
Dear Readers,
Though not my typical story, it has come to my attention that a fellow student here at Hogwarts has recently lost both parents after a terrible run in with Dark Magic. This article, verses typical articles of Human Interest here at the Gazette, will be in homage to Emmeline Vance and her dear parents.
After speaking personally with Miss Vance, I have decided it may be best if I just exclude her comments because they would be highly inappropriate to put on display for the entirety of the student body, mind you, some of which are age eleven. The long and short of it remains, Emmeline Vance may not, at this time, be the best source of information during this intense time of grieving in her own life so, I went to those who know the witch rather well.
After a talk with Bellamy Ardenwood, he told me that Emmeline’s parents babysat him in his youth, as they both grew up in the same general vicinity. Ardenwood further stated that “the Vances were sort of snooty people, always going on about how they felt about things without really thinking about how it might effect others.” After my encounter with the Vance, I can definitely find truth in this claim. I’m sure, despite their shortcomings, the Vances were lovely people. The way they died was utterly horrific, in my opinion.
Moriarty Gustavo informed me that the death of the Vances was no shock whatsoever, as, they had many run ins with dark wizards and witches in their time. Their death was the result of a massive attack of dogs, controlled by dark magic. Apparently, it was really quite gruesome, so I have left out the photographic evidence. But, if you would like to see it, please stop by the Ravenclaw common room, after class hours. Ask for Miss Skeeter.
Please send your birthday and Christmas wishes Miss Vance through these dificult times, and beware of all dogs! They will definitely harm you dear readers.
Rita G. Skeeter ( vanceemmes )
black-be-a-lady:
“Like I’d tell you” She said with as much contempt as she could. “You would probably twist it someway and then Bella would have to kill you for me.” Eyes like ice flashed with that Black insanity as she rained in her rage. Narcissa did not burn with anger like Bella, she froze. Her cold fury cuts deep to the bone in a way that you think you’ll never be warm again. And while storms of rage last minutes or hours, the cold is an entire season.
If Narcissa had been speaking to anyone else, they probably would have faltered, but Rita wasn’t just anyone else--she was, in a lot of ways, the same as her. She wasn’t cold all of the time, just when she needed to be. Heaven, if only the people here could have seen her at home. She never seemed so terrible until she was around people that were too much like her. With eyes like hers, she could burn her way through the winters that Narcissa was trying to create. “Is that a fantasy of yours? Me being dead? How morbid.” And, how thrilling.
black-be-a-lady:
“Then you are as stupid as you look” the recent turn of events and the fact that she was forced to stay over the holidays had Narcissa in a foul mood that she was taking out on anyone and everyone, and Rita was not immune.
She simply smiled--Rita wasn’t hostile (not yet, anyway.) But, girls like Narcissa Black made her skin crawl--they were terrible sorts of women, though she wasn’t much better. “Tell me, what is up your arse to day, primrose?” She could hardly contain the bittersweet intonation in her voice.
send me have you evers and would you evers
black-be-a-lady:
“You had a muse?” Cissa turned at Rita’s words shocked, “Was it the third years who told you the garbage rumors you spread?” She smirked.
If anyone considered Rita G. Skeeter to be a mean person, they were sorely mistaken. She wasn’t mean, she wasn’t much anything except for highly misinformed. (Or, a little to creative for her own good. ) “They aren’t rumours, Narcissa. I speak only the truth.”
golden-amos:
“Surely that’s not true Rita. You always have a muse.”
“See, that’s what I thought, but I’m at such an impasse, Amos, darling.”
“I’m afraid that I’m losing my way. or that I’ve lost my muse. Whatever it is--it’s terrible.”
serpentmeda:
“ I’d say I prefer a little silence and solitude over the sound of third fourth years yelling and bruising one another for no apparent reason over a Hufflepuff in the corridors. But, when all else fails nothing but a good lovers quarrel seems to entertain me on rounds. ”
“I myself prefer a good argument. It makes for lovely eavesdropping, don’t you think?” She liked to entertain the idea that fourth years had something interesting to say, but she knew they did not. Too bad, really.
— — “This is fucking bullshit. How the fuck is this supposed to help me? I’m going to use these bloody needles and s t a b someone’s eye out.”
Sending Emma to knitting club had been Lily’s idea of a joke, apparently. Lily did Emma a favour – which itself was disaster enough – and then Emma being Emma needed to repay it. Not repaying it meant Lily was in a position of power over Emma, and that was something she couldn’t stand. The repayment? Fucking knitting club. Emma was positively convinced it was a vindictive move, even if Lily had claimed it was for her own good.
— — “It really isn’t that terrible. You just need to hold the needle properly, And stop groaning like it’s the end of the god damn world, girl.”
Emma Vanity caught Rita’s eye more than once. The girl seemed to be such a contraction--a raging lunatic at times, and during other moments when she watched her, something of a sweetheart. But, why was she here? Rita liked knitting; it was telling a story with yarn, as pathetic as it sounded. But, it was calming, and it was, dare she think it, fun.