[perfection] is not enough
Born: 17 June 1988
Website: No Information
SECOND IMAGE: http://i50.tinypic.com/wh5ea.gif
OOC NAME: Steph
CLASH: Viridian Guild Leader
Joined: 2-April 12
Last Seen: Yesterday at 08:23 am
Local Time: May 24 2013, 12:56 PM
504 posts (1.2 per day)
( 1.59% of total forum posts )
Jan 30 2013, 11:44 PM
[dohtml]note: all god-moding in this thread was preapproved.<br><br><div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify;">
There were those days when the castle seemed so full of people that Fiona thought she would drown. Sometimes on those days, the air seemed so thick that the badger couldn't breathe, would feel as though all of the air had been robbed away. Like there were so many people and not enough oxygen to sustain them all. And then there were other days when it seemed like there was hardly a soul in sight, when human companionship was a thing she had to quest for. Maybe if she found so many discarded scraps of parchment she would earn some sort of social token that unlocked whatever room everyone was hiding out in.<br><br>
That was what happened in games, wasn't it? Muggle video games. It had been so long since the fifth year had played one she was starting to feel as ignorant of them as some of her pureblood classmates.<br><br>
At any rate, Fi always wondered where people went during those weird off times. Was there some big social event that she didn't know about? Surely someone would have told her, even if it was something she wouldn't want to attend. The witch had parked herself in the middle of the communal common room with her Transfiguration textbook. She'd been there for a good hour, and the only company she had was a Slytherin boy she didn't know. Fiona wasn't really sure if she had a desire to be social so much as a desire to be reassured that the rest of the world hadn't ended while she'd been in the loo. Truth be told, the Hufflepuff was feeling a bit <i>off</i>, so really she ought to be grateful for the lack of social interaction.<br><br>
Burrowing down against the couch's cushions, Fiona raised first one hand and then the other to blow across her knuckles. It was <i>cold</i>. The fire had burned down to little more than dully glowing coals. It wasn't quite so cold that the girl could see her breath, but still she was shivering, the sound of her teeth chattering distracting from the fifth year's efforts to study. It wasn't helping the queasy feeling that filled Fi's gut, but by now she was starting to get used to that. It felt like those times between the little episodes that plagued her were getting shorter and shorter. The badger didn't think there'd actually been a whole day where she hadn't felt on edge, ready to topple back over into some abyss.<br><br>
Fiona really thought she couldn't take this for much longer--the queasiness, the phantom ache in her chest, and most of all the fear of even the smallest thing, because who knew what would tip the scales too far the wrong way?<br><br>
Eventually, Fiona had to give up. It was too cold to concentrate, even if she <i>could</i> still feel all of her extremities. Shutting her book, the badger unfolded herself from her seat. Perhaps it was warmer in the Hufflepuff common room. Pulling her book close to her chest as though trying to trap all of the available heat--or perhaps trying to shield from the draft going through the room--Fi started toward the door, passing by the room's only other occupant. To get to the door, though, the witch had to pass behind the boy's seat and one of the room's tables. The Hufflepuff aimed for the spot right in the middle, trying to move across the stone floor as silently as possible. Her feet only made a soft sort of scuffing noise as the witch sidestepped her way past the snake. Still, she apparently misjudged the distance between her body and the back of the chair, because as she passed, the girl's hip caught the side of the over-stuffed armchair, catching her off-guard. "Sorry!"
Jan 23 2013, 02:47 PM
[dohtml]<div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify;">
<i>permission from Cat for Emric's actions</i>
<p>All Fiona really wanted was some peace. She didn’t need complete solitude. She didn’t need to find some hole somewhere to crawl into. The fifth year was <i>okay</i>. She’d had a good cry in the corridor outside her room that morning when no one else was around—the badger had come back early from breakfast to get a book she’d forgotten—and now she was fine. Mostly. The thought of going into her room again made the girl tremble a little, but she was <i>fine.</i> The Hufflepuff just wanted something to distract her that wouldn’t traumatize her forever, that was all. Something to distract her so she wouldn’t march upstairs to Gryffindor Tower to give Emric Bolstridge a piece of her mind. Or, more likely—because Fi was a coward when it came right down to it—something to distract her from finding her boyfriend and telling him what a rude, awful boy his brother was. The only thing that had kept the girl from finding Alric that morning had been the fact that he wasn’t in the common room, and by the time Fiona had made it back upstairs to the Great Hall, she’d already lost her nerve.<br><br>
The sixteen year old understood that her boyfriend and his brother didn’t get along. She <i>got</i> that. It wasn’t the best situation, but these things happened. What the Hufflepuff didn’t understand was why Emric seemed hell-bent on making her life miserable. What had she ever done to him? He didn’t have to be rude to her whenever they saw each other. The badger wanted to give Emric the benefit of the doubt, wanted to just assume that she kept seeing him at bad times, but this was it. She didn’t know <i>how</i>, or <i>why</i>, but she was sure that somehow he managed to sneak some kind of… green… lizard thing into her bed. Fiona wasn’t sure what exactly the thing had been. She hadn’t stayed long enough to really get a good look at it.<br><br>
Fi knew it was silly, knew that she shouldn’t freak out about something so small—there wasn’t the slightest bit of logic to any of it—but <i>still</i>. It was something green and scaly and it was in her <I>things</i>, in her <i>bed.</i> Without her permission, without her even <i>knowing</i>.<br><br>
What had she done to that boy to make him hate her so much? It wasn’t Fiona’s fault that he and his brother were fighting. She hadn’t even known Alric when this all started. She had no part in it. So what? Was the fifth year just that repulsive? Fi couldn’t think of another reason besides there just being something inherently wrong with her. What else was there?<br><br>
The worst part was, the Hufflepuff felt like she couldn’t <i>do</i> anything about any of this. She could tell Alric, but the last thing the girl wanted to do was be yet another wedge between the two brothers. She was only Al’s girlfriend—they’d barely been together for two months. It wouldn’t have been right. And then what if he decided that his brother was right? That there was something awful and wrong about the fifth year? Fiona didn’t really like that possibility either.<br><br>
Now, the Hufflepuff was curled up on one of the sofas in the common room, eying the door to the girls’ dormitory, and wondering what the chances were that her roommate’s cat would just eat whatever that lizard thing had been. It seemed cruel, but there was no way that the girl was going to go back into that room when she knew that thing was still in there. Who knew what it was doing? Or if it was hiding and would crawl out when she was sleeping or… or… She shuddered, drawing her knees closer to her chest. She’d just wait for someone to come back and take care of it.</div>[/dohtml]
Jan 15 2013, 09:32 AM
<link href='http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Stalemate' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'>
<div style="width: 490px; border: 5px solid #B89C8E;">
<div style="width: 480px; border: 5px solid #D7B987; background-color: #F2E5D5;">
<img style="width: 300px; height: 200px; border-radius: 100%; opacity: 0.3;" src="http://i45.tinypic.com/2m2tgyu.jpg"/>
<div style="width: 490px; font-family: Stalemate; font-size: 50px; color: #6D6E71; text-align: center; line-height: 100%; position: relative; top: -100px;">Fiona Little & Alric Bolstridge
<div style="width: 300px; font-family: Calibri, Georgia; font-size: 13px; line-height: 98%; text-align: justify; color: #6D6E71; padding-bottom: 5px; margin-top: -50px;">
You--yes you! Or your characters, anyway--are cordially invited to the wedding of Fiona Little and Alric Bolstridge this Friday, January 18th.<br><br>
It will be made of superduperawesomesaucosity so be there or be square.<br><br>
…No but, seriously, Ricona is getting hitched. <333 And Cat and I want all your lovely people to be there, because it’s HAPPY and LOVELY and FULL OF LOVE and we can all return to our regularly scheduled drama after. Promise. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a camel in my eye. <s>Don’t ask</s><br><br>
But yes. Basically… if you want your characters to be there, we can find a reason for them to be there! Even if it needs retro-plotting! Friends, colleagues… dates of people who have a reason to come… WE WILL FIGURE SOMETHING OUT. <333<br><br>
But seriously. Come watch these two be all lovey and happy. <s>This is the calmest we’re going to see Fi. Thank Harry and his amazing potion skils</s>.<br><br>
Leona Santos (maid of honor)<br>
Landon Hastings (best man)<br>
Harry Berkwood (best man)<br>
Lily Williams - Flower Girl
Dec 21 2012, 09:47 PM
The theater was an odd choice for a place to study. Half the time, really, Fiona even forgot it was there, for how infrequently she went inside. On a day to day basis, though, the place was deserted, and when a person wanted solitude, you really couldn't ask for a better spot. It wasn't off-limits, it wasn't particularly mysterious--it was none of the things that tended to lure students into exploring a place's depths. It was just the theater, with its rows and rows of seats, its big stage with the curtains and the rafters and the little platforms that hung out of the way. It was empty most of the time, except for when someone was of a mind to put on a play, but it never felt spooky or anything like that, the way deserted places tended to feel. So, for that reason, the badger thought that it was a perfectly logical place to seek out when she was craving some solitude.
With the holidays fast approaching, though, the usual throng of students was starting to thin out. The fifth year had had a letter from her parents that morning, outlining the family's plans to spend Christmas Day in London with Mrs. Little's sister and her family. They did this most every year, and Fi didn't really need a reminder, but it was still nice to always know that some things stayed constant. The sixteen year old had opted to stay behind for a few extra days before going home, just to take advantage of the quiet. The witch knew from experience that time spent at home usually meant a serious decline in her studying, so the best thing to do was get as much done as possible at the front end of things.
The trouble was, the Hufflepuff was just so tired. She'd parked herself on the cold, hard stage of the theater just so that she would be too uncomfortable to fall asleep over her Charms textbook. It wasn't working very well. She should probably just give up and head to bed. It didn't matter than it one in the afternoon. Fiona was tired. She'd been running on four hours of sleep at most for a while now. Between classes, studying, working in the hospital wing and finding time to spend with Alric, the badger had to fit it all in somehow, and that usually meant going to bed late and getting up early so that she could study a bit more before breakfast. It didn't matter how much information the fifth year tried to cram into her brain, she still always felt like she was behind.
Sitting cross-legged and hunched-over her book so that her back was starting to ache, Fi told herself that she could quit in a little bit. She'd just look over another chapter or two. Then she could go relax and maybe sleep like she desperately wanted to. The fifth year's head was starting to droop, but she kept jerking it back up and blinking her eyes furiously. She could stay awake for one more chapter, couldn't she? Of course she could.
Dec 10 2012, 03:57 PM
It's a funny thing, the way the human mind works. Sometimes, it is capable of recalling every detail of a moment. Good or bad, those moments that are vital to remember because of some lesson learned are all stored away for later recollection. And then, sometimes, when an event was just too awful to even be worth contemplation, the mind had a way of blocking it out--either to be revealed at some harrowing moment later, or never at all. Sometimes there were just things better left forgotten.
Fiona's memory of everything after the first explosion was fuzzy. She remembered the screaming--that part was firmly rooted in her sub-conscious, overlaying over everything else. She remembered the pain, concentrated mostly in her chest and legs but really there wasn't anything that didn't hurt, and the witch was vaguely aware of maybe having been stuck under something, but she couldn't recall what, or how she'd gotten there. Had she fallen? The twenty-four year old thought she must have done, since she'd been high up in the stands before then--or had she already left her seat? Had she been up and moving before everything had gone to hell? The woman couldn't remember. Every time she tried to recall what exactly had happened, it was like she was running into a brick wall. She didn't try to get around it for very long. What could be remembered--those brief glimpses of chaos and pain and horror--were enough.
The retired badger's first relatively clear memory was waking up to that healer trainee she'd met last week, the one whose name she couldn't remember now, hovering over her head. The younger woman had quizzed Fiona on allergies, whether or not she was pregnant and whether or not she happened to be taking any muggle medicines--all in a rapid-fire fashion which left the witch dizzy. That was the last time anyone had said anything to her, though. There had been a lot of dashing around, a short debate over the fact that something in Fi's usual anti-anxiety potion counteracted something else in the pain killer potion they wanted to give her, and... that was all. Someone had put the former Hufflepuff's left leg in a cast, and she could see it through her slitted eyelids, elevated in one of those slings. She could feel bandages around her chest and stomach. The fact that this was all very odd compared to how things usually went at St. Mungo's was barely registering in the healer's brain. Everything was kind of foggy in there, really. Anti-anxiety had won the argument--if only because no one wanted to deal with a hysterical patient when there were other patients who needed attention.
The potion made Fi feel mostly numb. Her body still ached, but the part of her brain that cared and worried about that had been temporarily silenced. Somewhere in the back of the woman's mind was the thought that Harry had made it too strong, that she shouldn't feel like she was floating through a weird sort of limbo, but it was hard to argue with a lack of serious pain.
That had been the entirety of the last twenty-four hours. A few blurred, nightmarish hours, a relatively short flurry of activity around her bed in the hospital, and then a long stretch of nothing. Well, no, not nothing. There was a brief visit from Alric's father, who stopped in for the ten seconds he could steal away. Fiona wished he could have stayed. Al was away for work, and she didn't know when he'd be back--if he'd hear about everything and come home, or... or just anything. The retired badger didn't have the slightest idea what was going on beyond her room's door. She could hear bits and pieces, but nothing distinct.
After a few hours, the potion started to wear off, and the pain--or at least the acknowledgment of the pain--returned. There was no one in the room with her at the moment, and although Fiona was sure there was a way for patients to call for help, she couldn’t remember where the device to call was. Everything was so strange and foreign on this side of things, and the witch’s mind was hardly in top working order, anyway. The healer could feel her breaths coming in short little gasps as she shifted on the bed, turning her head to look at the chair where her things had been laid. There was a bloody jacket draped over the back--Fi had the vague memory of someone using it as a makeshift bandage. Strange that she could remember that, but not the person’s face. Her purse was perched on the seat of the chair, and the twenty-four year old was sure she had an extra vial of potion hidden away in there somewhere. Under normal circumstances, the retired badger could have reached her purse from where she was lying, could have scooted and rolled her body until her hand snagged the strap that hanging over the side of the chair. It was impossible to reach that far now, but maybe she could reach the chair leg and drag it closer.
Fiona placed her hands firmly against the bed and pushed, lifting her torso with a painful slowness. It felt like someone was sticking her with daggers up and down her chest. Hissing through her teeth, the witch angled herself toward the chair, turning so that she was lying on her right side. Tears were starting to build up in the woman’s eyes, blurring her vision. She would not cry, damn it. She would not cry. There must be people who had it so much worse. People were dead--must be, she thought, though she had nothing to base that assumption on just then besides a nightmarish blur of memory. Still, the thought caused the former Hufflepuff to tremble so violently that her hands could barely hold her up. She eyed her purse, wishing now that she’d spent time learning wandless magic, because of course her wand was in her purse, too. Taking a deep breath, Fi leaned out as best she could, letting out a pathetic sort of whimpering sound as her efforts caused more stabbing pain in her abdomen. Gritting her teeth, the witch edged her body closer to the edge of the bed, this time causing her leg to shift painfully in its sling. She was nearly there. A few more inches and she could get it. Her torso was half-hanging off the bed now, one hand positioned under her, holding onto the bed. She could feel something warm and sticky against her wrist, realized suddenly that her efforts were causing her to bleed through her bandages--and through the flimsy hospital gown she was wearing--the retired badger tried to pull back. Her movements caused her hand to slip, though, and before Fiona knew it, she was hanging down off the side of her bed, her head hitting the floor, and her injured leg nearly pulling itself out of its sling. The pain now was unbelievable, concentrated mostly in her chest where she’d stupidly reopened a wound. The witch couldn’t pull herself back up. She could only lay there, panting and unable to stop the tears from leaking down her face--or up her face, really, since gravity seemed intent on pulling her tears into her hairline. Someone would come to check on her soon, right? Things weren’t so bad out there that everyone would forget about her, right?
OHAIII YOU ARE AWESOME. END OF STORY. I LOVE YOU. <33333333333333333
Apr 23 2012, 01:20 PM
Fiona! I had a dream I wanted to tell you about!
Okay. So I was walking to the bathroom early early earrlyy in the morning. You know, the time when everything smells like wet rocks? Yes. That time early. Anyway, eventually my dream went from me going to the bathroom and then finding a duck! I named him Mr. Handsome. :]
Apr 10 2012, 11:18 PM