Something Wicked This Way Comes
@pureblooded || Closed || Ginny
Nocturne Alley – alive after midnight, asleep at dawn. Her stomping grounds, her adopted habitat. Stilettos – knives on concrete carried her down uneven walkways, and around crumbling facades. She needed a distraction, more liquor and a stranger’s mouth to mask her sorrows -- a bed to warm until the morning light. Turning the corner by Shyverwretch’s Venoms and Poisons Pansy’s feet failed her. She stumbled, legs - jelly in a muggle washing machine. A low hiss – radio static dripping death and decay escaped her lips. Perhaps she’d had too much at Millies before heading out.
The White Wyvern was in sight. All she had to do was get inside. Then she could sip cheap Merlot, trace a pearl of wine as it drips down the stem of her glass, and pull dissatisfied faces at the bar keep until she found an unsuspecting suitor like she did every other Friday night. Once inside she could sit in the empty silence of the cold November night and wait.
Since the end of the war it seemed to be all she did. Meetings with friends had become less and less frequent - the implications of the stain of her reputation on their flesh was not lost on her. She waited in bars, in her apartment, in cafes, and parks. Her only companions her note book, self inking quill and the characters that’d never see the light of day. No one in their right mind would publish Pansy Parkinson.
Lips parted, a small, sharp, uneven inhale clawed down to her lungs. It seemed entirely too loud – like a marching band of banshee on a sleepy residential street. Her feet carried her quickly across the empty alleyway and to the heavy doors of the White Wyvern -- voices inside like fire whiskey for the soul.
Falling to the bar stool in the far corner gracefully she raised her hand, the barkeep nodding in acknowledgment as he poured her a glass. It was quite a bit busier than the last few weekends, and it wasn’t hard to spot why.
Ginevra Weasley --
The quickly rising quidditch star and her team had decided to grace the bar with their presence. It wasn’t unheard of, but it was unexpected. The White Wyvern was a small thing, out of the way -- a place people tended to start out, or end up. Rarely was it the main event, but the disorderly group seemed to have no qualms about making it so.
The barkeep gently placed her glass before her and muttered something about starting her tab, but Pansy wasn’t listening. An disastrous idea on the catalyst of her lips.
“ Be a doll and put a fire whiskey on my tab for the red head at the center of that ungodly boisterous murder of harpies ” she stated, voice -- wasp wings in July “ Do let her know who it’s from.”
