#yb:starter

[marysmacdvnald]

status : open

location : diagon alley

timestamp : may 30 / 11:13 pm

Gone was the bustling noise of bodices weaving past one another within the slender alleyway that was Diagon Alley, what replaced it was as close to silence as Mary could hope. Sliding beneath the shadows, she’d gone unnoticed entering –– and now exitng ––– Knockturn Alley and making her way towards the partially dim storelined streets. Perhaps, in actuality, it hadn’t been her smartest approach. Yet, there was an inkling of curiosity that ate away at her, as if an itch upon flesh that she seemingly could not scratch. Just hours earlier there had been whispers of fright, witches and wizards turning at every corner scared for what they might find lingering in the shadows. However, Mary was certain that if they were to come across her, there’d be nothing but a snide glance and an albeit welcoming remark as to the why. Why was she seen parading about Knockturn Alley when just about everyone was under scrutiny for their actions, what was she hiding? Footfalls are light as ever, the girls arms wrapping around slender bodice if only to keep her warm as a slight summers breeze makes its way towards her. The streets had gone silent, and for once she’d found a small solace in it. Perhaps it’s why she wasn’t paying attention. Although, it was the denial of the fact that the liquor lingering upon her lips from hours prior was to blame for her mindlessness. Taking a swift turn into the open cobblestone, bones crashing against –––– “ Do ya mind?” Gaze now trailing up her companies figure before heaving a small sigh, arched brow follows as thinned lips spread into a slanted smirk. “Going somewhere are we?”

[femmefatcle]

WHERE: The Leaky Cauldron WHEN: June 13, 2:39PM WHO: Open

Elizabeth Zabini was a pregnant and recent widow and life was supposed to be hard. It wasn’t, of course, but appearances LIE, especially when it came to her --- she feigned mourning and grief as if it was her job ( which it was, in a way ), playing the role of the fragile woman people wished to see quite perfectly. Let them think she was weak. She would proof them all wrong one day. That day, though, she would cry over a cup of tea in a public place, fingers tracing her belly absentmindedly. It was all just too much. She felt victorious every time compassionate eyes fell on her, felt even better when someone approached her. She waved a hand, swallowed thickly, appeared to be embarrassed to be caught of this moment of emotion. “I’m -- I’m sorry, I just ... sometimes it all just comes crashing down on you, you know?”

[shestranged]

WHEN: june 16th, 1979 WHERE: outside the ministry of magic WITH: ??????

the smile on her lips quivers and fades as she exits the ministry and slowly becomes someone else. her hands reach for her hair, carelessly loosening her ponytail, letting curls of black fall down her shoulders and down her back, making her look far less collected ( a bit more wild and free ). a cigarette quickly appears between her finger tips, and it lights up as she snaps her fingers, fire effortlessly igniting. the warm june air mixed with the familiar scent of smoke SHOULD calm her down, but it doesn’t. her heart is beating fast underneath her ribs ( she can feel it, practically threatening to break free ), and her fingers are itching with anger and frustration. the thumping in her ears ( her blood boiling, her heart exploding ) only grows louder as she grows painfully aware of someone else’s presence. eyes as cold as ice stare into the distance, refusing to look at them, and she blows a puff of smoke into the air. “ what? “ she spits. fucking what? what fucking now? bellatrix lestrange doesn’t have the patience, or the time. frankly, if they knew what she was dealing with, surely, they wouldn’t dare stand so close. though, that could also be true if they knew who they were dealing with. “ if you’re hoping for a smoke, now is not the time. “ she doesn’t bother to lace her words with that sickly sweetness that has been drilled into her since birth, instead, words are spat poison, like fire, like rage. 

[romuluslupine-blog]

WHEN : 10 June 1979; the night of the full moon WHERE : The Leaky Cauldron WHO : ( open )

His head was pounding.  He could hear it in his ears, he felt it behind his eyes.  His hands felt shaky, like he hadn’t eaten that day.  Which, in his hands’ defense, he hadn’t; but only because his stomach was threatening to eject whatever he put into it.  The smell of cooking food as he entered the Leaky Cauldron was enough to make his stomach roil.  If it weren’t for the fact that he’d promised Peter he’d pick up dinner, he’d turn on his heel and go right back out.  It would be a pointless endeavor, though.  If Pete wasn’t the one to make sure he ate before the moon, it would be James or Sirius or Lily.  So here he was, leaning on both forearms at a table in the corner, waiting for his order to be ready

He felt, rather than saw, someone sit down across from him and he barely bothered to lift his head before he groaned.  “Did you need something?”

[allcarrow]

OPEN STARTER LOCATION: The Three Broomsticks DATE: July 8th, 1979

Page after page, ridiculousness increased. Alecto took time from her every morning to get her two consecutive cups of coffee and a look at the latest lies the press mumbled onto cheap pages. It never once failed to annoy her, as they’d blow out of proportions in a bad light the slightest detail of her last night, but it was important to read and be informed. Still, one line too bad and she couldn’t bite her tongue and hold it in anymore, with an explosive sigh. Voice not particularly raised, but plenty disgusted, she turned to the first person to her right to quote the publication, intrigued though the taste in her mouth was bitter. "Beastly group, known as the Death Eaters, are assumed to strike Leicester in the following nights. Stay saf-" A cutting short chuckle served as final punctuation. With an eye roll, she glanced at her involuntary interlocutor.  "The world is burning because people don’t know how to write. And because they try to guess."

[futuoteipsum]

WHEN : 9 june 1979 WHERE : borgin and burke’s WHO : open

She was in the back of the shop, working with a new acquisition.  She’d gotten it from an estate sale, some old woman who’d finally died and all her late husband’s things that she’d been hoarding since he’d died were being auctioned off.  There were a couple pieces that had no business being in the home of a nice old lady — and those were just the sort of pieces Mira loved tracking down.  There was a bell at the counter that she hated but had put there anyway so she could spend her time being useful in the back of the shop until a customer actually needed her.  Which is why when she heard the first commotion, she glared at the solid door separating her from the shop but kept on with her work.  The second sound was less a commotion than a crash, though, and it had Mira practically growling as she breezed through the door.  “Oi, keep your bloody hands off the items unless you know what you’re damn well doing.”

[kingrooks]

status : closed to @mxkinncns

timestamp : march , 1979

CHAMPAGNE always had a way of allowing people to escape, to whisper secrets in darkened halls and remain vulnerable to those who held the strings that allowed them to move. he’d shake hands with those he’d needed to, walked among the men who thought themselves untouchable ––– did they know they were in the presence of a GOD? lips curl upwards as he catches sight of the girl, brunette locks cascading as her blush tinged cheeks give nothing but the aura of innocence.  he mustn’t, conscience whispering in his ear before his feet are already carrying himself in his direction. sidestepping, he interrupts conversation, champagne soaked tongue speaks for itself as words come out low, a barely audible purr of sorts. “ ––– miss mckinnon , lovely as ever. “ and he means it, a vision in silk. “ surely you wouldn’t mind me stealing you away , mrs. rowle just could not stop talking about you. “ interest piqued, brow perks as he outstretches palm, a radiant confidence exudes from his pores. 

[andrmdatonks-blog]

WITH: Open. WHERE: St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. WHEN: June 1st, 1979. ( 21:23 )

With lime-green robes covered in blood, Andromeda was surely not a good sight. Making sure to cast a quick cleaning spell before she stepped out of the patient’s room, she sighed in relief as she heard him start to snore just as she closed the door behind her. Andromeda hadn’t yet specialized in a specific department, and therefore took patients on a case by case basis. This one had been one she had almost pushed others to the side to get. The man refused to tell where the bite had come from, and ever since he’d been placed on the first floor, Andromeda was still scratching her head over what could possibly have done something like that. She loved it, really. Challenges were one of Andromeda’s favourite things, especially when it came to her job. So far, she had managed to stabilize the patient, and planned on spending the day exploring Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and other books about magical creatures. Maybe even the Monster Book of Monsters, if the rest of the research didn’t resolve in anything. 

Spring in her step, Andromeda made her way to the first floor to go outside and get some food, having discarded her robes in one of the healers’ rooms. She was just about to go out when she noticed a familiar face, and frowned as she made her way over to them. “Is everything okay?” she asked in worry, looking at them for signs of injuries or illnesses.