#lucindctalkalot

[ainsleyabbott]

Degrees of Infection

@lucindctalkalot​

Ainsley paused to pull her glasses from her face and wipe them clear -- not of the usual accumulation of smears and gunk and smog that one acquired over the course of daily wear, but of the blood that kept dripping from her eyes to clot against the bottom edge of her lenses. It wasn’t painful -- not the eyes, anyway; or maybe the rest of her just hurt so much she didn’t notice the eyes -- but it was irritating...and frightening.

She did her best not to think about it. For a Ravenclaw who had spent her whole life being governed by her curiosity, that unfortunately wasn’t saying all that much.

The fact that she was so tired and wobbly made it hard for her to resort to her usual go-to distractions of keeping busy with books or research or experimental spell tinkering, as she did whenever she had something (these days, usually Nessie and her groom-to-be) stuck in her head that she didn’t want to think about. The gummy blood in her eyes didn’t help.

So instead she was looking for something to do...or at least, someone to complain to that would help take the edge off her fears that this wasn’t going to get better. That they were all going to die -- and worse, that they might die without ever figuring out why. (To Ainsley, the latter was a much more frightening prospect than mere death on its own.) Lucinda Talkalot wasn’t who she would have ordinarily gone to for conversation -- a fancy pure-blood broom-jockey? Not Ainsley’s ideal form of companionship -- but that’s who was here.

(And Ainsley was here, tottering her way across one of the far-too-numerous parlors of the Potter Estate that served as headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix, because she wasn’t sure how transmissible this illness was, and Nessie -- so far -- had been spared. She wasn’t about to risk infecting her sister.)

“How do you feel?” she croaked, slumping gracelessly onto an aging divan. Not the most original question, under their circumstances -- but a crucial one. So far Lucinda had shown only mild symptoms compared to most of the rest of them, who had swiftly progressed from unpleasant to miserable to worse and Ainsley wanted to know why. What was it about the other woman that had spared her the worst of this? Was it mere luck, or something that could potentially be leveraged into finding a cure?

[bristlybranwen]

no convincing needed

Location: Wizarding London, Club: Golden Frog Time: 6th of December, well past their bedtime Status: Closed, for @lucindctalkalot

“See the two guys by the bar?” A nod towards them. Bran raised three Knuts in front of Lucinda’s face, fanning them open between middle finger and pointer. Eyebrows raised. Smirk sharp. “These are yours if you get one of them to follow you into the bathroom.”

Anger had consumed her these couple of days. She wasn’t someone to mourn or regret, to look back and hope to do things differently in another life-time. But she was someone to boil upon failed outcomes. When she was younger it didn’t use to be like this. She’d never leave a situation angered, she’d always continue until she was satisfied, bite and scratch until enough blood was drawn for her to feel victorious. And when she did have to be removed from a situation, then she always knew there’d be another chance to fix it. Perhaps this had changed because of two things: One, it wasn’t her choice to go back and claw into the mission until they succeeded, and so her anger wasn’t at herself anyway, but at others. Others she couldn’t just play like puppets to be more useful. Two, this time there was no second chance to fix it. Mrs Nott was dead. And this was final.

While others might’ve felt defeated, she had grown angry. Angry like a caged lion knowing there’s no way out. So when dearest Lucinda had flopped herself on her bed, demanding they go out, her answer came fast and clearly. After all, this was a way out, wasn’t it? At least out of her head. At least for a few hours...

First a few pubs, then into a Club. It was new and Bran hadn’t ever been there yet, suppressing the hate of how much even Wizarding London had changed while she had been busy fighting in a way, how much her world wanted to slip through her fingers. But the first impression was good. Proper music, strong drinks, and the smoke and steam of certain potions made your head dizzy, your feet light, your smiles broad. Perhaps that was where here suggestion came from: wanting to see just how far Lucinda would go for some fun, what it took to broaden their grins to their full extent. “If you get both of them I double the price.”

[auror-frank]

Apples and Oranges: [ Frank + Lucinda ]

@lucindctalkalot

The night was still young by the time Lucinda had put away her Quidditch gear and gotten it cleaned. Even with magic, taking the dirt out of something so completely tarnished was hard, especially when your mind was elsewhere. The events of the Ministry dedication, even if she hadn’t been, lingered behind every thought. At practice even, she made bad decisions, bad calls. Her teammates where shocked when she almost ran into a wall. Usually Lucinda was alright with keeping her work and private life separate. But today, without knowing if anyone was safe, Lucinda felt as though she might implode.

Making her way down the street, Lucinda made sure she was in a purely muggle part of town before hiding from prying eyes. The estate appeared before her after the twisting sensation in her stomach and she hurried inside, past the door, eyes scanning the hallways for familiar faces. Yet, there was a kind of nervousness causing her bones at knowing that everyone had been at the event except her.

Soon, she bumped into someone in the kitchen and, with a small smile, Lucinda took a bag off he shoulder. “I’ve brought fruit,” she said, unable to truly look them in the eye. “There was this gigantic cart on a corner down in muggle London. Oranges, apples, some dragonfruit, even.” Her smile faltered slightly and she shrugged, as she pulled the fruit out of the bag. “Thought it might be… nice.”

Anxiety didn’t sit well with anyone, but Frank should be better suited to deal with the worry. His day-to-day duties involved risking his life—if not trying to catch these miserable Death Eaters, then trying to navigate Ministry politics. The Potter Estate wasn’t very welcoming, but he didn’t feel like he had a choice exactly other than to wait for news, wait for that next move, and wait for—

“No news is better than bad news, right?”

He was seated at the dinner table, arms crossed and leaning back, twirling his wand between his fingers. Frank wasn’t even really paying attention to what she was saying or who she was, really; she wasn’t Alice. Frank was patient, but he didn’t think he had really ever done a lot of waiting in his life; with Alice by his side, there didn’t seem to be any point in waiting when you could just… go and get everything yourself?

A flick of his wand summoned some of the fruit, and he freed his hand to juggle one of the apples in one hand. He raised a brow at the woman who had brought them, because at least she was doing something. Frank didn’t feel like anything he was doing was progress. “Thank you—I suppose it is nice…”

His stomach didn’t want the fruit, but he held on to the apple anyway.