theatrics

Ursula Flint || 17 || She/her || Slytherin || Lover of all things Shakespearean

[phineasnigellvs-blog]

|| on the wrong side ||

Phineas hadn’t been in a good mood since the aurors arrived, Sirius had noticed. His younger brother seemed to be in a constant sense of paranoia, feeling these trained professionals’ eyes on his every move. Sirius, on the other hand, felt much nicer with this extra edge of safety on his side, unsure of when the next Inferi would attack as Phineas didn’t let him know until the absolute latest moment. But he could see how his brother’s inner paranoia plagued him– even when Sirius had chosen to let Phineas sleep, the other boy couldn’t seem to find it in him to fight against his insomnia.

It was a rare occasion when Sirius was able to roam around, Phineas far too exhausted to stop him from taking over. He knew what he was meant to do–act like Phineas and do what he would do… or risk being found out. And visions of chains and screams inside asylums was not something either of them wanted to see. He usually tried to keep his head down and remain unnoticed unless with someone that would understand.

However, that was not always the case as little things liked to make sure he interacted with people.

With a hard landing, Sirius toppled over onto the ground after bumping into someone, a low groan emerging from his lips. He quickly turned to the other person, about to explode in a matter of apologies and ‘are you okay’s. But I wouldn’t do that. Scraping his teeth lightly over his bottom lip, he pondered it for a second before speaking.

“H-Hey! Um– Watch where you’re going! I, uh, um– What are you? B l i n d?”

[ursula-flint-blog]

As little as Ursula truly cared about her studies, few things could have pulled her from them over the past couple of days. She had one particular essay that was getting the better of her and no matter how many times she looked over her notes, she just could not make sense of what she was supposed to write. In her opinion, assigning a 28 inch essay was far too much to do over just one week. Already she had only finished a few inches and there were so few days left. When she found that she could no long concentrate though, she swept her things up into her arms and left the library.

As she rounded the corner, Ursula felt her shoulder bump into that of another human’s sending both her herbology essay and fiance onto the floor. As she knelt to the floor to grab her possessions, she had been about to apologies when she heard him speak to her in a way that took her aback slightly.

Despite the fact that they were not getting married for love but rather for an arrangement, Ursula had never heard Phineas speak to her in such a way before that she could do nothing but send him a rather annoyed look, despite how unbecoming it must have been. “Excuse me?” she asked, rising to her feet with her essay and book tucked into her arms once more. Ursula made no move to help him to his feet, discomforted by his harsh words.

[silentlysilas-blog]

Silas smiled at the witch. He could not recognize her, not with the mask obscuring her face, but she seemed, well, nervous. He didn’t blame her. This whole masked ball thing was nerve-wracking. Yes, he’d had his fair share of balls through the years, knew how to make nice, but it was almost worse when the people you were forced to dance with were your peers, not some old stogies who you would probably never see again. That was part of the reason why he’d smuggled in his flask; if Silas was going to dance and socialize with his fellow students, he would rather be drunk.

It was Ursula. Silas knew that voice, that detached manner pretending to be shocked. Secretly, he sort of liked Ursula, not that he’d ever share that embarrassing tidbit with anyone. Still, he had a reputation to uphold, and if he did not tell a biting joke, make Ursula laugh, it was just another nail in his mold’s coffin.

“I always thought you were fond of small pleasures, Ursula.”

[ursula-flint-blog]

It only took the few more words that he offered her for her to recognize exactly who she was talking to. A small, cat-like smile curled up the edges of her mouth and she shook her head slightly, refraining from placing her hands on her hips as it would have been most unladylike. How he managed to get a flask of some sort of whiskey into the Great Hall without any of the professors noticing was far beyond her, but if he had managed to do it, then she wondered why he was so keen on sharing. That was almost enough for her to agree to taking a sip of the drink, but then her father had always taught her that women did not drink whiskey.

“Small pleasures, perhaps, but if you’re caught, then the small pleasure becomes infinitely less so, don’t you think?” she asked, her smile still remaining at the edges, though she was looking at him with one eyebrow lifted, a sure sign of her neutrality on the subject as she was with most everything else in the world. He seemed intent on making her smile, which interested her, and kept a grin at bay.

[eviebrxnnan-deactivated20160723]

Bathilda wasn’t really hoping that the girl before her would actually value her words let alone the thoughts behind them but it was as if she couldn’t hold her tongue. She was surrounded every day by wealthier people than she, people with more choice and freedom than she could ever dream of and it felt as if she would forever be second best no matter how hard she worked. Her blood and her condition would forever hold her down. And so her she stood seething with envy, a sin she was all too familiar with and one she in fact relished in. If not cold fury than what could she possess that they couldn’t take, after all. The brunette watched with arms crossed as Ursula smirked as if the words amused her, as if their argument was no more than a slight inconvenience. Verbal bouts were enjoyable but not when your opponent did not take you seriously which was made abundantly clear by Ursula’s stance.

“I don’t value burying your head in the sand which is exactly what this masquerade ball will achieve. A temporary distraction that will not lead us any closer to safety. Have you seen it?” Bathilda asked, her tone cooler than before as she lowered her voice as to not draw attention to the pair of them. She was not so inclined for causing a scene unlike the Slytherin alumni. “Have you seen that creature? It could rip you to shreds before you even had the chance to take out your wand. But I’m glad you can find comfort in the idea of dancing and boozing. No matter how very ill advised I find it.”

[ursula-flint-blog]

Bathilda was just another one of those people that Ursula could not help but enjoy riling up. Between her and Elladora, it seemed she almost did not have to say anything before the two of them were jumping up and down at the chance to prove her wrong or voice their opinions on something she’s said or done. All she had to do was sit there and give her same detached smile, as though she weren’t actually paying attention at all. It was so easy to just watch Bathilda come undone at the idea that Ursula was not really listening, nor taking any stock in what she was saying. She didn’t even have to say anything other than twist around her words in a way that might make her seem like she was in the wrong for doing something or another even if Ursula didn’t think anything that she was saying was true at all. And she didn’t need to, that was the whole beauty of it.

When Bathilda lowered her voice, Ursula raised an eyebrow at her. Why was she so keen on keeping their conversation so quiet? She would grant her the drop in decibel, though it made no sense to her. Many of them had indeed seen the Inferi and so that did not affect her much as the way Bathilda talked about it. She had to resist the urge to glance down at the ring on her finger, the one that Phineas had given to her to keep her safe. But from what? “Yes, I have seen it, I’m sure that anyone who had been in the vicinity had seen it, I am just of the opinion that temporary distractions can be helpful to those who may be unable to cope with the constant stress and fear of a creature such as that one looming over them.”

[isleblack]

a dream is a wish your heart makes / / isla & open

[isleblack]

“Oh, it’s fine! Please, don’t worry about it,” she said, her smile bright and ever-present, flicking her gaze up-and-down, appraising her outfit with the intention of finding an aspect of it to compliment. “Oh, you look beautiful, Ursula! I love that colour – it’s so dark and rich, like emeralds. You look like a forest come to life! You look wonderful.” She loved to look at beautiful people, beautiful things – it reminded her of the fact that, to some people, at least, she too was considered a beautiful person, a beautiful thing. There was also something beautiful about wealth: one could always tell who was rich and who wasn’t from their clothes, from the purposefulness of their appearance. And the cleanliness of it. Rich people smelled rich, like perfumed oils and not much more, the sweat soaped from their skin, while poor people smelt dirt – and not the rich dirt of lands owned, but the poor dirt of lands worked – and poor people pretending to be rich smelled like soap over grime, their skin too poor for pretences. Isla liked beautiful people, beautiful things – and Ursula was both beautiful and rich. “I did come here with someone! A friend with kind enough to ask me. And I did do some dancing earlier this evening, but I took a break and now I’m – I’m sitting here, waiting to be asked.”

“Yes, now I’m,” she paused, letting the moment and its charm drift over her, letting her vision grow bolder and brighter from all of the possibilities of romance that the night held ahead. “I’m waiting,” she said, her voice soft and wistful, before dissolving into giggles. Waiting for her Prince Charming, her One True Love – not that she said this aloud, though it was in her voice, in how she held herself, dreaming and dream-like.

[ursula-flint-blog]

The compliment brought a smile to Ursula’s face. She was glad she had chosen a darker color, in comparison to the many blue and yellow dresses that seemed to surround them. If anything, Ursula enjoyed standing out and few people had chosen such dark colors for their dresses. It made her feel special, like there were a certain number of eyes on her at all time and that was comforting. “You look wonderful as well, dearest Isla. That dress shimmers like molten gold, or perhaps rose gold. It is quite a wonderful look on you,” Ursula stated, her eyes grazing over the details of her dress and mask before they met her eyes again. Isla was far easier to talk to then Elladora who seemed keen on ignoring her unless Ursula had anything important to say. And if it wasn’t important, the only way Ursula found she could grab the attention of the older sister was to poke and prod until she exploded. However, Isla it seemed was far easier to talk to, seemed to want to talk to her, and so far as Ursula could tell, the younger girl did not resent her for being her future sister in law. It was rather comforting. “Well that is very nice of them then, I hope that your friend understands how lucky they were to be able to accompany you. I am very sure someone will ask you, Isla, how could they not? You look amazing and you’re very sweet. Someone must.”

She ignored telling the girl that perhaps she should spend less time waiting for someone to ask her because it may not matter in the future. Soon she would likely be spoken for and she should take the small amount of time she had as a free woman to have fun and dance with whomever she may chose, but Ursula did not say that, not wanting to crush the young girls dreams. 

[aliceanders-blog1-deactivated20]

“These things are better said as widespread knowledge, then, so that someone might not make this mistake whatsoever. To keep from making the mistake is to forfeit the chance to do such extensive rituals to erase it.” Even with the reassurance that no one had been dragged off by the talons of Hecate, he wished not to extend himself to the possibilities of such a risk. Already there were other factors threatening his safe-haven, ones that had been beyond his control, and he would not be someone who put himself into a position where he could have prevented it. If he had been not-cursed, perhaps he would have taken a dare.

But there were things which Luther would not dare to do, even if he found himself pushed to it. He might rise against a challenge, shake the ashes from his flesh, remember himself to be made of bone, but he would not let himself become overrun with it. He had to retain control over all of himself. And he counted the nights until the next full moon with bated breath in doing so.

“No one desires to expand their mind to his work? That might be near troubling. I am then glad that this chance meeting has occurred, for neither of us would have chanced finding such an outlet elsewhere.” 

Of course, it was comprehensible that some might not think there was time for such luxuries towards education, and in his previous experience before Hogwarts, he knew that education itself was nigh nonexistent for those who had not enough finances for it. He did not wish to think what sort of a fee Hogwarts might rack up if it decided to charge one outside of the needed materials for each different year; those had been difficult enough to come by for him and the coffers of the sisters. “I am indeed. I seek wherever it is to be found.”

He nodded, dipping his quill into the well of ink and continuing to write his own letter, although his movements on the parchment become distinguishably less frantic. Now he could focus on this otherwise simpleminded task, and let his thoughts race of other things, of expansion and terrible caged-ness and thoughts of literature. “I will be in attendance. And your sitting with me was a blessing, so it was no such an unfortunate stirring at all, Miss Flint.”

[shdwlynx-deactivated20190604]

“Mm, I don’t know if I’ve ever heard of those forms of dance. But I will take your word for it.” The truth was, Seraphina didn’t know much about dance in general. It was never something she really thought about, let alone had the need to look more into. So she listened as Ursula spoke, mentally making note of her advice. She would take what she got, and plan to do what she could with it. After all, who was really going to spend their night judging whether Seraphina could dance or not? “That is actually very good advice. Thank you, Ursula.” Then she gave a small laugh. “Maybe you should dance with me–yo obviously know what you are doing,” she said jokingly to the other girl. 

[ursula-flint-blog]

“They are not extremely well known. In fact, the Mazurka is Polish, and Quadrille is Parisian. They’re both rather fast but are not often looked upon as proper, considering the fact that they are a bit less formal in their own ways to the waltz,” she explained. Seraphina seemed pleased with the advice she gave and so she smiled and gave welcome to her thanks, then laughing lightly at her second comment. “Oh wouldn’t that be a sight. It would indeed be extremely interesting to watch, except I’ve never learned how to lead. You could very well be taught by someone much better than Professor Camilla. She seems far too intent on teach the directions first which is not needed. Have been asked by anyone to dance with them at the ball already then?” she asked curiously.

[aliceanders-blog1-deactivated20]

He winced. It wasn’t a cringe that appeared due to thinking the actions were below his station, but rather the thought of having to do them at all. Superstitions ran much deeper than those in the public viewpoint would wish to admit; it might be the reason behind religion existing as a mechanism of coping in the first place. “I see. Well, if ever I have found myself in a theatre that someone has cursed with the name, now I know ways around it. I think I will opt for the second option, as in taking time to spit in four corners, the poltergeist might seize me.”

And he was even more pleased to hear that she wished to agree to this small suggestion. It was not much, but even the smallest of feats could mean the world to someone. This might not be his world, but it was something grand, and something to look towards in the coming nights. The warmer spots in the coldest hearths were the ones which drew the moths closest. 

“Oh. Blackwood. Luther Blackwood.” He had not even realised that no names had been given in exchange for each other. So simply had it fallen into a familiar pattern that it had not crossed his mind, and apparently, it had not done so to her either. “It gladdens my heart to hear it, Miss - ?” He repeated her phrasing, allowing for her to give her name. Whether she wished to give her last name or both, as he had, would be left up to her. “It will be a labyrinth of discoveries for the both of us, but what is the world if not a reaper’s field for knowledge?”

Now there was no sense of strangeness left between them except what might arise in their explanations. A nostalgia filled him for that lacking knowledge, for it was much akin to the fruit of good and evil, of morals and demoralisation: once the boundary was crossed, there was no going back to the other side of blindness. That loss filling him. But only briefly. He was far too excited and pleased with the future arrangements having been made.

“Some things are more readily accepted amongst the populace, and the idea of something organised to which they can cling, whether it is with faith or hope, is part of that. However, in things created by man, there is of course a lingering foolishness. To understand it all, one must go back to the original tomes - which consists of historical artefacts and the Bible. That’s all there is to read on it that I have been made aware of, at least.” And if there was more out there, then it was written by those who were considered to be convicts of the law, blasphemers of the churches - those who were outcasts, similar to himself. 

Perhaps he might dare, one day, to get his hands on these forbidden writings.

“I do hope our future conversations will assist you in settling on a final decision of belief or non-belief,” he answered. He deflected the concern with a small gesture of his hand, not wishing to dwell upon something he could not fully explain. His eyes flickered to the sleeve of his robes, and though the wound had h e a l e d ( though not completely, never would it be so, but at long last it no longer bled, only sometimes when he moved it too sharply ) he could feel it still against the fabric, scratching and hitching, reminding him even in human skin of what was beneath.

“It is merely the way things are.” He looked now to her seemingly completed parchment. “Do not allow me to keep you if you have business elsewhere. I would hate to be the cause of your tardiness or of a dispute.”

[ursula-flint-blog]

She smiled softer at his wince, surprised that she could evoke such a reaction from him with talk of the disasters that occurred when uttering the cursed name in a theatre, and the only ways around it. “As long as you know how to do it, I suppose. I’ve never seen anyone swept away by Hecate, but mostly because in the few theatrical endeavors I’ve been able to partake in, everyone is so extremely conscious of the name that there’s little doubt that anyone would interrupt quickly someone who seemed as though they would be about to say it. After all, prevention is better than cure.”

She quite enjoyed the idea of learning about God, even if she knew some bits and warped pieces already. He seemed well versed in the teachings of religion even if it was something that couldn’t be proven. And she knew that she would enjoy teaching Shakespeare in a way, as just talking about it with anyone could instantly lighten her mood. There were few people who would indulge her when she had a particularly captivating thought about the tragedy of Ophelia’s death.

“My name is Ursula. Ursula Flint,” she told him. Soon to be Black. “I’m sure it will be quite an interesting experience. There are not many people who wish to learn of Shakespeare and so finding one is pleasing to me. I’m sure I’ll find learning about God to be most interesting.” And she was sure of that. Her father, of course, would not know about it and she would not tell Phineas on the pretense that they did not need to know about it.

“You are an avid seeker of knowledge then?” she asked curiously when he referred to the world as ‘a reaper’s field for knowledge’. She rarely thought of the world as such, but she supposed he, like many people in search of constant intelligence and knowledge, would seek it out from anywhere. He seemed quite like Bilius in that way, eager to learn about what he could as far as she could tell. It was an interesting quality, one she did not see in many people, and definitely not in her self. She wondered dimly if he was a Ravenclaw.

“More readily accepted,” she repeated, thinking about it for a moment. She enjoyed his talk of the idea of the creations of humans being flawed, as it was one of the things she knew to be extremely true. Anything created by man or woman alike had to contain some mistake, a discontinuity, a wrong fact, something, but then what was the Bible? She knew it was a book, supposedly written by people through God, but then how was it so much more superior if some of the stories were used only to teach? She tucked the questions back into the recesses of her mind so that they would be on hand if she should need to ask them, and she was sure that they would.

She grinned at his comment. “I do hope so as well,” she agreed, although she doubted she would make a decision at all. Making a decision like that seemed lasting and important, and like all other lasting and important decisions, she never made one answer set in stone forever, as believing in God might be. No, she was sure that she would always find a reason to keep herself in the middle, finding reasons to believe and counter arguments for those reasons. He eyes followed his to his sleeve, and she would have asked why he looked to it so quickly when he continued talking, and drew her attention to clock on the wall behind him.

“I thank you very much, I must be off to send the letter, and then another to my father to inquire upon the upcoming masquerade. I will see you there, I hope,” she told him as she tucked her parchment into her bag and slipped it over her shoulder. “Thank you very much for allowing me to sit with you, Mr. Blackwood.”

[geney-boiii]

False face must hide what the false heart doth know

Macbeth, Act 1, Scene 7, Line 91, Shakespeare 

[elladxrablack-blog]

Events like the Autumn Masquerade was not her type of thing to attend. It wasn’t like she wasn’t familiar with them; Elladora had attended many parties and balls held by Pureblood families over the years, with dances, and chatter, and all those sort of glamorous things. But it was the fact that she would often be surrounded by people who expected her to be something she no longer was - a giggly young girl, untried in white dresses, blushing and ready for marriage.

She stood off to the side, glass of hot cider in hand. Taking a sip, her eyes glanced to the side as someone came close.

“I’ve seen enough people drink vinegar tonight.”

[ursula-flint-blog]

“You were smart then, to observe others before taking a drink yourself,” Ursula said with a slightly bitter tone. She could still taste the vinegar in her mouth from when she had so tried to take a sup of what someone promised her was a glass of wine. She watched as his face morphed the same time hers did after they took a sip. 

“You look nice,” she commented sweetly with a side glance to her future sister in law. Elladora did, in fact, look rather beautiful, but she knew that her tone was just sweet enough that it might not be taken in such a way. She didn’t know what it was of her that made her wish to rile the girl up so much, but she just couldn’t help it, especially knowing that everything she did to rile her up was not even so bad. It was merely small things she did to annoy her, like not joining the Senate, or calling her Ella.

[shdwlynx-deactivated20190604]

Seraphina couldn’t help but smile in understanding. Of course, it was not like her grandmother had forced her into any dance lessons of sort, but she was sure that if they had the money and the urgent need, she would have made it happen. But what she was smiling at was the little similarity: everyone probably had parents or guardians that made their children do things they would prefer not too. “Then these classes must come as a slight bore? I do admit, the professors should maybe keep them as optional, for those who do not know and wish to learn.” But then, that may lead to more discrimiation, another small thing to show who had what status in this school. Why thing always lead to that, she did not know, but she felt it was the truth. “Like me, for example. I barely know the waltz.” 

[ursula-flint-blog]

“A bit of bore, yes, but also I’ve never cared to much for dancing anyways, at least not the waltz. There are so many more interesting dances, like the Quadrille or Mazurka,” she said with a slight smile. They were much faster dances, not so slow and torturous as the waltz was, but her father found them raucous and annoying and so she had only learned them once. It surprised Ursula slightly to hear that Seraphina had not, in fact, learned the waltz. She looked of relatively high status, aside from a few tell tale signs, but she shrugged. “It’s very difficult, in my opinion, to learn when you’re not much younger, but the problem that most people have when learning it is upon thinking far too broadly. If you can pick up the intricate details, the getting the steps is much, much easier. And as a follower, you shouldn’t even have to think of where to go because you’re being lead in hopefully the right direction. But that all has to do with your partner.”

[aliceanders-blog1-deactivated20]

He was pleased when she spoke more. Whether it was due to his manner of speaking or his ever-burning desire to express his own opinion as thoroughly as he could, at time he tended to dominate conversations and quite by accident. He was not someone who wished to have that proverbial attention cast upon him, burning and shimmering and shaking, but his tongue was a loosened mechanism and the gold of his house flowed from it in a gentle stream of honey. So it did happen, whether he wished for it to be so or not. And to have someone who spoke back, perhaps in more than an equivalent measure, was a pleasant shift in the tides.

“The counter curse,” he repeated, thinking on it. “I see. Although a counter for such a vulgar original spindle of webs must be something drastic no one wishes to handle, so I understand why no one would wish to utter it in the first place.” The morbid curiousness of him thought of how it might be to find a theatre and perform it himself, just to see if there was truth behind the apparent madness. But werewolves were rumoured to be a part of that falsified conundrum, and here he was, walking amongst the rest of them with all the cover a human skin could offer - so long as he kept his discretion about him. Perhaps it was not a good idea.

“However,” he continued, “I must confess I do enjoy your explanations of it. I am willing to learn more about Shakespeare than what previous readings have offered me - and if you wish for an indulgence of a fair exchange, then perhaps I could provide you with a different perspective on the idea of God and his godliness.” It could be the beginning of a friendship, or at the least, it could prove to have some interesting endings, some fascinating means of uncovering what he did not know before. And he did wish to devour the world and all of its intelligence. “They are respected because they instil fear into the hearts of the common man.”

He did not wish to poison a mind against something he himself did not fully comprehend, but he had a hissing distaste for those who proclaimed themselves to be the wiser. “I would say that the majority of such things in the Bible are in-between dire prophecies and childish stories, a mixture intended to teach and encourage similar thoughts in others. And the only truly terrifying thing about it all is that there is no manner in which it can be proven - or disproven. It remains a constant unknown that exists due to faith or is dismissed due to logic.” He hoped that, in saying such a thing, he was not accidentally condemning himself to Hell’s gates.

Then again, due to his state of mind, he might already be there.

Approximately halfway through his own letter is when she began to roll hers up. “Your very description of the old wives’ tale is precisely how religion is looked at. Therefore, my offer stands. Even if you do not believe, it could not hurt to learn.”

Luther then turned his focus to his parchment, her question ringing in his ears. How could this even be answered? Of course he wished to find them - but they did not wish to be found. He was, after all, no longer a Blackwood. He had been disowned. How could this be phrased even remotely in a generality? “Ah - I have tried,” he said, rather slowly. The words, usually so fluid and calm, now dropped in demanding boulders to the ground. “But – upon our last meeting, it was made - clear to me that I was no longer needed.” Or wanted. He let out a breath. “And I do not wish to intrude upon that desire.” You are now a monster and they wish to kill you. 

[ursula-flint-blog]

She enjoyed the way he talked, despite his class. He had done nothing for her to hold against him yet and so she saw no reason to pull out her ever present venomous tone as she often did with people like Bathilda Bagshot. He was eloquent and although he seemed to know little of what she found herself so very in tune with, he wished to learn and that enough made her smile stick on her face as she listened to him speak of the counter curse. “Really all you must do is spit in the four corners of the theatre, or swear as loudly as possible after turning yourself three times and spitting over your left shoulder.”

“I would be more than happy to teach you whatever you might wish to know about Shakespeare if you would teach me more of this religion of yours,” she said in agreement. There were so few things she found herself inclined to learn about, but if he was so willing to teach her of the one things that she was never allowed to learn about before, then she would happily take up his offer. And in return she would be able to teach without worry of judgement what she knew about Shakespeare, and not just the Scottish Play, but perhaps Hamlet as well, the death of Ophelia, or even Midsummer Night’s.

To hear him talk of the biblical stories was just as captivating as his minor talk of Shakespeare, although already religion was beginning to confuse her. Why should they believe something that they don’t know is entirely true? And a book made up of things that might be used to teach and all else might not have even happened? She could not imagine and yet she also supposed that was how most people, at least muggles, thought of magic and magical happenings. But even those could be proved on a fundamental level by anyone who had the ability to harness magic, any witch or wizard.

“I would very much so like to accept your offer,” she told him with a smile. “I will teach you anything you should wish to know about Shakespeare, his poems and plays alike, and in return, you shall teach me about your God and all of his own stories, Mr.?” she finished the statement in up-speak, realizing that she had not even bothered to ask his name or figure out what it was. She supposed that if they were going to be engaged in such a mutually beneficial agreement that she should at least know what to address him by.

“I’m not even sure it could be said that I don’t believe, merely that I do not know enough to believe or not,” she answered carefully. “I suppose if I knew anything about it I might be able to say I believed, but I didn’t know much about the idea of it until a few years ago and still it has not been presented to me enough for me to have formed even a basis of an opinion yet.”

She watched as he shifted his attention downward, his speech becoming slower and much more calculated as though it pained him with whatever he was having to say. And she supposed it must have because of what he was saying. “How awful,” she commented with a thoughtful look on her face, wondering whatever it was that could have happened for his family to have rejected him in a way such as that. She had heard it happening all the time from pureblooded families that rejected bloodtraitors, but what was his offense? She did not press the matter too much.

[isleblack]

a dream is a wish your heart makes / / isla & open

The Great Hall glowed, both from the light of the lanterns and the mass of bodies that clustered inside the room. The warmth swelled with the music, the heat tinting Isla’s cheeks and staining them red and riotous. Not that she minded. Her flush completed her look: she hadn’t pinched her cheeks, expecting that the Hall would be crowded and overheated. Instead, she had chosen to focus on her lips, plumping them with cinnamon oil, before reddening them with a mixture of beeswax and beetroot that she had obtained at a shop in London, hoping that the colour would – in time – match her cheeks. She had spent so much time preparing for this event that it delighted her more to see the final product that to be the final product.

Her dress was beautiful: made from a silk so fine that whenever it caught the light it looked like pale sunshine, whereas in the shadows it turned from golden summer to the dark dust of a springtime rose, the silk changing from cream to pink with even the slightest of movements. Her mask was cream-coloured – silk like her gown, of course – and tinged with strands of pink, its curling edges painted gold. Isla had charmed her hair into ringlets that crashed over her shoulders and her back like water, the curls closest to the sides of her face pinned back with little bundles of pink baby’s-breaths. The flowers – and her décolletage; the space behind her ears; her wrists – were charmed to give off the scent of her perfume – orange blossom and bergamot – rather than their own scent. A necklace hung at her neck, cream-coloured diamonds set in gold, arranged to look like a delicate vine of small, pale flowers were trailing across her collar-bone. Yes, her dress – her outfit – was beautiful, chosen for this fact. She had spent so much of her time, so much of her thoughts, in ensuring that she looked beautiful – as delicate and as darling as the princesses in her books, waiting for her Prince Charming to come and sweep her off her feet.

Like the princesses in her books – like the Twelve Dancing Princesses; like all twelve regal bodies, twirling in and out of motion, spinning in and out of romance – she was going to dance from twilight to dawn. She had arrived on Bilius’ arm – saddened that her friend hadn’t been able to bring his choice, but nonetheless pleased (selfish; shameful) that she had someone to go with. Over the course of the night their paths had seperarted, crossed, then seperated once more, and now she was waiting on the sidelines, waiting to be asked to dance. Waiting, because she thought that it was inevitable that she would be asked to dance; because she had calculated her appearance to ensure that she would be asked. Sure enough, out of the corner of her eye she could see someone coming towards her. She tilted her head in a manner that she thought looked demure and delicate – and then decided that, no, a head-tilt wouldn’t be attractive. She forced herself to clear her expression, fearing that she looked rude or uninviting – or worse, nauseated. She was so focused on looking like herself – and not, please Merlin, nauseated – that had forgotten about the person approaching her, turning to them with a start when she did notice them. “Oh, goodness,” she said, laughter bleeding into her tone. “You scared me! I wasn’t expecting you.”

[ursula-flint-blog]

Despite the fact that she was most definitely not wearing an autumn color, Ursula was sure it surprised no one when she arrived in the deepest green dress she could have her father send her on such short notice. There was something about the darker colors, the wintry greens and navy blues that Ursula found far more inviting than fair oranges and pinks. That was why as she walked the length of the Great Hall, having gotten at least a moment away from her date, Ursula looked like a forest, green silk brushing the floor only slightly as she walked. There was a sort of air around her that she demanded and enjoyed, walking through the great amount of people like they were not actually there at all. 

The silver mask on her face shone in the soft light of the halls as she continued her progression, eyes sweeping for one of the few people she was sure she wanted to talk to during the night. Formed perfectly to her face and around her nose, the metal looked of fine lace, but had been crafted out of silver strands, thin enough that they were malleable, but firm enough so that they would withhold a night of wear. She only needed the mask for one night, after all, but she did want it to look as beautiful as the rest of her did until the ball was over. Red lips pursed, it did not take long for Ursula to find the very girl she knew she would be able to recognize in a crowd. Isla Black was definitely not a woman of small tastes, and the dress she was wearing could only have belonged to her, pulling a smile out of the older girl as she walked over to her future sister in law, smiling softly until she got all the way to her, not meaning to startle her in the slightest.

“I apologize, Isla. I would have called your name, but a lady does not shout, and I wished not to draw too much attention over this way.” Although she knew that people looked their way anyways. It was so wonderful to look some of the nicest women in the room, the ones who could afford for dresses that were made for balls such as these. “I would have thought that by now you’d be dancing. Do not tell me that you allowed yourself to be brought here alone, without a date?” she asked in surprise. She thought she had heard from a passing student that Isla had walked in on a man’s arm, but she was alone now, looking out over the dancers and gossipers alike as though she were searching for either her date, or another man to sweep her off of her feet.

[eviebrxnnan-deactivated20160723]

A raucous bout of laughter escaped her lips before they thinned in distaste. Of course the situation would stray towards what is proper and what isn’t. The sole concern of those who sat on golden thrones truly and wasn’t this what the upper class folks of this school fancied themselves to be? Kings and queens or better yet Gods. But true gods demanded blood and she doubted any of them wouldn’t quiver before destruction and Death. She prided herself on having steel in her bloodstream, she’d been weathered by life and her hands were calloused from working the fields with her parents, she’d gone days without eating so much as a loaf of bread. None of them knew what real suffering was so it was only natural they would concern with frivolities. They didn’t know better.

“Proper etiquette? And do tell me, dear is it in your opinion proper etiquette to hold an event as frivolous and pointless as a masquerade ball in the wake of an attack on our castle? We’re on the brink of a war within these walls, Miss Flint and I hardly see how waltz is going to bloody help any of us when these monsters or worse than them strike again.” She replied shortly, her words holding both disdain and incredulity all at once. There was that look again directed at her wild mane of hair. Improper. The girl might as well had spoken the word alone for all that she was glaring it at Bathilda. She turned towards a seventh year Gryffindor boy and waved at him only to watch as he turned a lovely shade of red. 

[ursula-flint-blog]

Ursula took pride in many things, but one of them was definitely getting a rise out of Bathilda Bagshot. There was a certain power to her annoyance that, in a way, Ursula admired. It was childish and unhelpful, there was no doubt about that, but it was absolutely laughable the way she seemed to think that Ursula would take stock in anything that she said. As though she, daughter of many pureblooded witches and wizards, would care what she said and change her ways based on her criticism of the way that she criticized people. Truly, utterly, laughable. She noticed in a sort of horrified glee as the students closest to them looked over their shoulders to see who it was that was speaking such venomous words. Were it anyone else, Ursula would have spared the girl a pitying look.

“Let me ask you, dearest Bathilda,” she spoke the name with a bit of a mocking tone as she clapped politely for the next couple that stepped forward to dance,” why is it that you worry so much about what is being done to distract people form the fact that there have been two attacks in this school just in this autumn alone?” she asked sweetly. Her words were meant to elicit guilt, and Ursula could only hope she was doing a good job about it. “There are many young students here who need a distraction form the fact that their home for most of the years to come is not safe, and I say, give them anything that will allow them to worry just a little bit less. They will be prepared should the time come, let them be distracted.” It was the exact opposite of what she truly believed, but Bathilda did not need to know that.

[aliceanders-blog1-deactivated20]

Perhaps he should have kept this to himself. It was not that he was quick to trust or to share, but that he plunges into certain things when his instincts promised something would arise. It was too late to retract what had been said. Now he would have to harbour the consequences of what came afterwards. At least he had been able to answer the quote of the author with a correct guess; it turns out literacy did have its further benefits beyond education. Now he could breathe through one section and continue onwards to the next. Not that he enjoyed thinking of interactions in such assignment-based terms, but when little else was happening, and this was all which his focus could remain upon, it was how he chose to manoeuvre. 

When she spoke the explanation, he recalled the scene - not to the literal word, as that might have been impossible with how lethargic his thoughts were in keeping up with the rest, but he was filled with a warmth, a surge of pride that he recognised it at all. “See? According to that superstition, or that traditional belief of circumstance, then so it could be believed further that there is a power to names. Murmuring the name of it in a theatre has ghastly results, does it not? At least by all recorded accounts and waggling tongues.” 

But he continued to listen. “And an estranged sort of progression it is, an echo of what is to immediately come and haunt her as she has dared to haunt others. I must admit here that I have read this twice thoroughly, and so I pick at pieces from my best recollections to give you in return for your extensive knowledge. I am, however, heartened to realise someone inclines herself to appreciate it in a similar manner as to how I do.”

Taking in a deep breath, he dwelled briefly on that loss once more - but he did not allow for him to be immersed in its drowning. To remain in this position would be lethal for him and his mind. Even if the rest of the world could not shift forward ( the world of Hogwarts, that is ) - that did not equate to him remaining still alongside them. He must move forward for their sakes - and his own. “Some cannot see through the black shadow to the silver lining. And so I think it is the same in relation to God: no one can see through the shadow, the lining, and the lack of definite matter to what is around us to see Him. Therefore, He has put Himself in the world around us. But those seek out more solidified proof than such feeble means.”

Luther’s gaze flickered downwards to the emptied-out point of the quill, then back to her still fascinated expression. “What do you think of God?” He allowed this question to rest between them before he resumed his own writing; there was enough black ink left to write a few more words. “None,” he answered, noting her grimace. It was a frequent reaction he received, and yet he was still unaccustomed to it. “I did not know this. But if she is not dead, then it would be sent into a senseless void, as I know not their living address. It is - foolishness these days.”

He had thought about making the attempt - he truly had. But the FEAR and the knowledge of what he was LOOMING over him halted him from moving forward with it. 

[ursula-flint-blog]

“I suppose you’re right,” she agreed, still smiling. “Speaking its name in a theatre, even a room used for the purpose of theatre is very bad luck. Anyone who utters the name if the play is not being performed or rehearsed is doomed to be the victim of a disaster, unless of course they enact the counter curse which tends to lead to some rather vulgar tongues in the theatre,” she told him with the faintest hint of a smirk on her lips. “So yes, names do hold power, you’re very correct on that one. I’ve never given it enough thought aside from a few isolated cases however, I’m sure I wouldn’t have made the connection that it was not in fact just a few isolated cases, but a whole string of things that end up the same way, or at least similarly.”

It seemed as though him admitting to his lack of knowledge in Shakespeare, or at least Macbeth, only seemed to please the woman further. She was a firm believer that no one held more knowledge on the plays than she did, and even if that was not his reasoning behind saying this to her, she could not help but grin at the idea that he knew what she knew: she knew more than he knew. 

“Ironic, in a way, at least dramatic irony. The audience, having heard about the murders that come to kill her in a scene prior, know exactly what has happened to her husband, and exactly what will happen to her. And yet even if someone screamed loud enough for her to hear it, it would have no effect. That’s the beauty of theatre and the stories it tells.” Her lips were curled into a cat-like smile. Even if he did not possess more knowledge than that, he was speaking her language, the language that she thrived on and craved.

“I know absolutely nothing and therefore rarely think of it,” she admitted, in the same way he did with Macbeth. “I’ve heard some awful stories about his powers to be able to call upon great storms that wreck and ruin, but my father never took much store in them. He found the stories childish while others found them prophetical, and he refused to have me taught the ways of religion, saying it was the common man’s way to make up excuses for doing a number of horrible things that would later be forgiven. “He sounds terrifying but in a powerful way, the way most people associate power. Those with a lot of it are respected, but for what reason?” she asked rhetorically.

Ursula set down her quill and looked down at the indentation that she had created in her momentary mind slip. “It’s true. Maybe. Perhaps it is just an old wives tale, but then everything is unless there’s someone to believe in it until it is true enough to the believers that it is, indeed, true.” She told him calmly, lifting the quill once more to dip it in the ink and finish off her letter with a flourish, the curls of her letters glistening in the light before settling onto the parchment.

“And have you no interest in trying to find it?” she asked curiously, rolling the parchment up and tying a ribbon around it.

[silaslongbottom-blog]

Silas was never much of a dancer. Sure, his mother had made sure he new every step known to man and wizard alike, but after years of being forced to perform like a trick pony, he had cooled to the concept. Still, he liked the idea of an escape from the tedium of classes, and there was something about a disguise that was, well, intriguing, and Silas figured if nobody could recognize him, he might as well do a bit of poking around.

For this moment, he stood in the Great Hall, watching dancers spin by. He was prepared, a flask of cheap Muggle whiskey in one pocket, to sneak sips from on the sly, and maybe offer to a pretty wix who passed. As far as he could tell, the professors were occupied, or at least not looking for him, so he lazily removed the flask from his pocket.

“Care for a sip?”

[ursula-flint-blog]

Circulating the room to find acceptable people to talk to was proving to be more of a difficult task than Ursula had originally imagined. While it was easy to pick many people out by their garment, there were a few women she knew to be lower class who did not look as such, and already she had stumbled upon three of her least favorite purebloods in search of Isla to have a nice conversation with, or even Elladora to rile up slightly. 

What she did not expect was to be stopped on her path of walking by a man who was offering her a sip of something from a flask. Taken aback, Ursula raised an eyebrow at him, mildly horrified and surprised at his audacity. “Hardly,” she answered back shortly, eyes flicking to the flask which smelled vaguely of some alcohol she did not recognize. Like Firewhiskey but not at all. It did not have the same cinnamon smell to it.

[shdwlynx-deactivated20190604]

The way the girl spoke reminded Seraphina of her grandmother; it was something Elizabeth would have most definitely said. But truth rang through the girl’s words, and Seraphina couldn’t help but nod in agreement. They lived in a world where judgement was so easily passed by others, and giving them unnecessary reasons and opportunities to do so wasn’t going to help anyone. It was some advice she would have to take if she wanted to get through these lessons.

“I suppose you are right. Showing others your nervousness isn’t exactly going to make you feel any less nervous.” She breathed in, clamping her hands in front of her. “So, I am assuming you have learned the waltz?”

[ursula-flint-blog]

Ursula nodded at her assumption, brushing a curl away from her face as the dance ended, the room clapping politely as the next couple moved forward to take their positions and the music started up again with the professors talking loudly over the violin, instructing each of the students on where to step, who should be leading, and many other details that had to be fixed as the pair danced clumsily with one another.

“My father insisted I learn from a rather young age, knowing or perhaps thinking that it would be a life skill I would need to have for the rest of my time on the Earth.” She pursed her lips together slightly, in a way of showing the way that she felt about it.

[ursula-flint-blog]

play the part // ursula & phineas

[phineasnigellvs-blog]

To a pureblood male like Phineas, the idea of a masquerade ball was drab– Why pursue the idea of something that Phineas did every day? Put on a mask of happiness or superiority over even the weakest of people. Why romanticize it when he could just live the masquerade? But regardless of how he felt about the event, he had received an owl from his mother after the announcement, informing him to be sure of the appearance that he gave out. That meant a pristine pair of dress robes, a date alongside his future wife, and the attitude to top it all off. The Black family knew how to work a crowd– how to put on a mask after the death of his older brother. He should only do the same.

Fastening his black mask over his face, Phineas held his head tall. He knew that he was better than a majority of these people regardless of the idea of equality behind the masks that Headmistress Mole undoubtedly wanted to paint. Please, what was equality to the person at the top of the pyramid. Slick in his black dress robes, a fanciful black cravat around his neck, the slightest click of his dress shoes upon the concrete grounds outside of the Great Hall was loud enough for Phineas to smirk. What would he see inside? A tacky ballroom with falling leaves that would be a pain in the arse to fish out later? Whatever the case, he had to attend.

A vision in green, his fiancee was. Ursula Flint, perhaps one of the only possibilities that his parents had found suitable for him to wed, held up to her promise as she stood outside the door of the Great Hall. “You look absolutely stunning,” he gave her a tight grin, knowing that they’d both be suffering together for the evening. Although, the instructions he’d been given still lingered in the back of his head. He was sure that they’d both enjoy some time away from the other at that time. But those were plans for later. They had to do this now. It was only a principle for the couple to come into the Great Hall together, arm in arm like the ‘smitten’ had to be. He offered an arm over to his date, relaxing his smile for those inside. “Shall we?”

[ursula-flint-blog]

Ursula was glad that she did not have to wait very long, for Phineas’ voice reached her ears quickly. Turning to him, she returned his tight grin with a small curtsy, a bit mocking of the gesture in its nature. “I thank you very much. You look nice as well,” she returned. There was a certain expectation upon the both of them that she was sure they were both aware of. Despite their feelings towards betrothal and marrying a person that one would perhaps not find themselves so inclined, the world was supposed to see them as a happy couple. Evidence that parents picking the fiances worked and that the pure could be happy like this. She would have laughed if it weren’t so extreme. 

Taking his arm, her smile morphed into one of innocent adoration. This, like anything else that she did, was just another part she had to play. “Have we a choice?” she asked, the words betraying the tone that they held. Then, as the engaged were always expected to do, they walked in together and Ursula let her eyes sweep the Great Hall. Even she could hardly deny that there was something rather beautiful about seeing the sunset in a closed room as though it were from above, the dull oranges and reds making for an interesting, if not warm space. Music played softly from one side of the Great Hall, but few couples danced and those that did were clumsy, nervous in their own rights as the people standing around the sides of the room watched them and chattered among themselves.

“Never before do I think I’ve seen so many ill-fitting dresses,” Ursula murmured almost horrified. While typically not a very vain woman, Ursula always held up to the more firm pureblooded expectations of dress and the sight of skirts that dragged along the floor and sleeves that threatened to slip off of shoulders horrified her. “It does intrigue me, however, that the point of a masquerade is to not know who anyone is, but it is not very difficult to pick a few certain people out from the crowd.” Or at least the classes of people in the crowd. There was an obvious divide as she looked out over the throng of people, of those who had money and those who did not, not only from their dress, but also from who was conversing with who. Those that seemed dressed properly were speaking only to people of the same status. Not surprising.