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[ardentlyarabella]

Character questions

AYE SOME MORE FOR YOU LOVELY PEOPLE.

Send them around!

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1. Think of the last person who said I love you, do you think they meant it?

2. Would you date an 18-year-old at the age you are now?

3. When’s the last time you were aggravated and happy at the same time?

4. Would you ever smile at a stranger?

5. Is there someone mad because you’re dating/talking to the person you are?

6. Have you heard a song that reminds you of someone today?

7. What exactly are you wearing right now?

8. How often do you listen to music?

9. Do you wear jeans or sweats more?

10. Do you think your life will change dramatically before 1979?

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[ardentlyarabella]

With everyone returned safely, if a little worse for wear, Arabella felt like she could relax. She was still a little on edge, but not as much as she had been before. The improvement of the days seemed to be inversely proportional to the weather, however, and it was raining hard outside on that particular day. Isis was looking outside rather moodily, and Arabella chuckled to herself at the sight of her half-Kneazle pawing at the window.  She was about to settle down with a book and a cup of tea when she heard a knock at the door.

She opened the door to a drenched Gideon Prewett, an easy smile on his face and hair in his eyes. Arabella rolled her eyes at him and said, “You know, you could have Apparated to my front door and I wouldn’t have minded.” She took the papers from his outstretched hand and looked over them quickly, recognising most of them as responses to forms she’d sent out yesterday. She smiled, glad that the people she worked for were prompt with their papers. Isis wound herself between his legs, purring as she did so.

“Flirt,” she said to the cat, moving aside to let him in. “Don’t get your water on my carpets, Gideon,” she called out as she walked  to the kitchen to get him a cup. “I imagine you want to use your usual cup? Admit it, dear; you’re using me to fill your stomach.” She laughed a little as she said it. Arabella loved having Gideon around, though she wouldn’t tell him that. It was a relief from the way most of the Order members treated her, like she was too delicate to even converse with. It was refreshing, it was, and she welcomed it.

Catching Up || Arabella and Gideon

'England.' he thought with a little sigh as he watched the rain pour down. 'It's either foggy or raining cats and dogs. Bloody miracle we don't all have gills.'  Gideon quickened his steps, desperate to get out of this awful weather and somewhere dry. Sure, he could have apparated somewhere closer to his destination, but he always tried to use as little magic as possible when around Arabella. The lack of it was hard enough for her as it was, he didn’t have to rub it in her face. So he’d rather apparate a few streets away and walk the last bit.

By the time he was there, he had water running from his hair and into his eyes. He ducked into the entrance as he waited for her to answer the door. A scrawny cat sat on the other side of the road shivering and for a moment he felt sympathy for the poor thing. When the door finally opened he turned around grinning at the young woman in front of him.

"Oh good, you’re here. I was worrying you might be out." Gideon pulled a few stacks of paper he’d kept inside his coat to prevent them from getting wet and held them out to her. "I’m Dumbledore’s new favourite owl and they told me to bring you this. No idea what most of it is, but it seemed important. I assume you know what to do with it?"

[ardentlyarabella]

She was just about to lose herself in the study of blades when she felt a tap at her shoulder. It was a testament to her cool nerves that Arabella didn’t drop the blade or worse, threaten the person with it. Instead, she merely paused, then inclined her head towards the person. It was Regulus, as she should have expected. Why did he want to to talk to her? It wasn’t a pureblood thing to do, being in this shop and tapping random Muggles on the shoulder. She knew Sirius had been different from the others, so to see the younger Black boy engaging in behaviour she’d expect from his brother confused Arabella.

In that moment, she realised what kind of game she had to play. He seemed to be genuinely curious about her, and that did not bode very well. She was more than ten years older, so it couldn’t have been that he’d found her attractive, so it wasn’t that. Arabella cursed what little spark of recognition she’d made apparent; she didn’t know how to deal with a curious pureblood on a day when she’d wanted to play the Muggle. She could still do that, though it’d take a little acting and some quick thinking to get him off her case.

Widening her eyes slightly, she returned to the accent of her youth and said, “’m not from here, really. Here to visit, em, m’mum.” The syllables flowed oddly from her lips, and it sounded almost foreign to her. Good. All the more to confuse him with because it wasn’t as if he needed to know where she was from. In her voice, she tried to inject the most innocence and Muggleness that she could, twisting her hands as if she were nervous. Arabella had always wanted to try out her acting, and this was just the situation for it. She looked him in the eye, watching for any reaction from the Black boy that could tell her why he approached her just to ask such an innocent question.

Arabella realised that he probably expected her to continue the conversation. She picked up another handle, inspecting it as she said, “An’ you, young man? What’re you doing here in a knife shop? Shouldn’t you be at school?” She looked up at him when she said the last words, narrowing her eyes a little. She thought that sounded sufficiently matronly, and her comments should have irritated him enough to make him turn away from her.

She stepped back a little, turning her head to the counter, where the shopkeeper ought to be. She’d observed this place before, and she knew that he wouldn’t be very far off. He seemed to be somewhere in the back room, so Arabella strode to the bell and rung it. The middle-aged man appeared after a few seconds, unhurried and unfazed by the two customers in his shop. “’m lookin’ for a knife, good and proper. What size of handle’d you recommend for me?” As he moved around silently, choosing handles that could work for a woman Arabella’s size, Ara snuck a peripheral glance at Regulus to see how he’d reacted. 

fools and knives require good handling || arabella and regulus || 20th august, 1978

[ardentlyarabella]

"Maybe it hadn't been enough, what we did. I think that was obvious enough," Arabella said, trying to calm the frustrated boy. "What else can we do, aside from regroup? We have injured people on our side, and we can't expect them to do much more than heal."

"The most efficient way for us to do that would be to ask the injured, wouldn't it? Though we'd have to be delicate about it; I'm sure no one wants to be reminded of their time tortured by madmen." 

[She spat the last words out, her disgust at the evil people who'd done this to innocents evident. It was difficult for even Ara to keep her calm in the face of such injustice.]

what's next? || james and arabella

[ardentlyarabella]

Morsmordre - My character's thoughts on the Dark Arts.

[OOC: Arabella wishes she could shine a light on all of it. She cannot fathom its purpose because to her, magic symbolises potential and all things good.]

[ardentlyarabella]

Portus - The best place my character has visited or lived.

April 27, 1972

There was a certain freedom to it, the little rebellions Arabella allowed herself. It had been a while since she’d graduated from a course she realised was not for her, a life that wasn’t meant for a girl who’d seen a whole other world.

She couldn’t stay still. What was there for the world here to offer? On a whim, she decided to travel a little, using the money she’d earned while working part-time. 

There was just something about France, its language and culture and soul, that spoke to Arabella. The magic that ran through the streets was one that she could take part in, and that was incredibly comforting to her. With the fluency she’d picked up in Advanced French, Arabella lived like a native of the country for a fortnight.

Even good things had to end, however, and Arabella felt she’d maximised her stay. Every so often, however, she longs to go back to that time, when magic was real to even her, when it flowed from her so beautifully. 

[ardentlyarabella]

Curses, Jinxes and Hexes Prompts.

Crucio - My character's most painful memory or fear.

Fiendfyre - The first person my character "had the hots for."

Imperius - Ever been forced to do something you didn't want?

Lycocomia - Views on werewolves, vampires, half-breeds etc.

Alohomora - A secret my character has kept locked away.

Cheering Charm - 3 things that makes my character happy.

Obliviate - Something my character wishes they could undo.

Geminio - What my character would do if cloned for an hour.

Morsmordre - My character's thoughts on the Dark Arts.

Nox - 1 thing my character regrets the most.

Portus - The best place my character has visited or lived.

Avada Kedavra - My character's reaction if yours died.

Expecto Patronum - The happiest memory my character has.

Langlock - Something my character wishes they could say.

Unbreakable Vow - A promise my character will never break.

Mucus ad Nauseuam - What my character is like when sick.

Lumos - 1 thing my character is proud to have done.

Confringo - How good is my character at duelling?

[ardentlyarabella]

Arabella was not the type of person who gives up easily. It took a lot for her to admit defeat, and that had happened very rarely. Born resilient, she was; it was why she had come out of the sessions at St. Mungo’s mostly unscathed, why she hadn’t been a rebellious youth. No, Arabella’s coping mechanism wasn’t whinging or drinking or drugs. It was working, being busy and productive, and it was for this reason that she hadn’t given up on the wizarding world. Despite its rejection of her, it was her home, the place she felt most comfortable in. However, it seemed an airtight situation, to her. She’d applied to different departments of the Ministry, gone to different wizarding shops with her head full of business ideas, but they’d all said, with a smile or a sneer or a look of pity, “Thank you, Miss Figg, but we don’t need you.” She had tried, for a brief while, to integrate completely with the Muggle world; it had been nice, the people pleasant and the work easy, but it wasn’t enough. She didn’t know how anyone could live knowing this whole other world existed, but not be part of it.

When Dumbledore had approached her, then, it had been easy for her to say yes. Espionage seemed appealing to her. All she’d known came from Muggle books and movies. She’d grown up in a post-war world, and saw the job through romanticised lenses. It was with disappointment, then, that she’d listened to Dumbledore tell her that she was to do paperwork. She was still enthusiastic about the job, especially considering how much she wanted to help. She’d heard of the tragedies going on in the Wizarding World, and the fact that people could do those things made her angry.

With the excitement of it all came the price: she’d have to live with magic in her flat. Though Arabella had always wanted to do magic, the idea of it in a home space, where she couldn’t control it, bothered her. Having it around would be a reminder to her of the very thing she couldn’t have, and she wanted to avoid the huge, negative hole that had occupied most of her childhood life. Still, it was a necessary evil, and one Arabella would have to deal with. No one needed to know of the insecurities that plagued her; she needed to be useful, and that was all that mattered. Joining the Order was the right decision, she told herself, and she resolved not to regret it.

She waited for the man who was supposed to set up the wards at her flat. His name was Alastor Moody, the letter had said; what the letter had not said was a different matter altogether. He was an Auror, her research had told her, and a good one at that. For Dumbledore to send him over, he had to have earned a lot of trust; Arabella knew that the headmaster wanted to keep her a secret for her own safety. He wouldn’t leave just anyone in charge. She was, therefore, just a little nervous, and her fingers itched to do something. While waiting for Moody to arrive, she occupied herself with making tea and sandwiches. She knew it wasn’t a personal call, but something about preparing the food calmed her down, and who didn’t like free refreshments?

Arabella had been sitting on her small sofa, petting Hadrian absentmindedly, when she heard a knock on the door. Hadrian left her lap at once, and she could see his fur rise a little. “Calm down, boy. It’s a friend.” She opened the door with a small smile on her face. “Hello. I’m pretty sure you’re who I think you are, but for clarification, could you please tell me exactly what the Bumblebee sent you here for?” If he were really Moody, he would know that Dumbledore’s last name was another word for a bumblebee, wouldn’t he? She wouldn’t be able to let him in unless he proved to be who he was.

While she was saying all this, Arabella was looking him over. He looked, in a word, grizzled. He wasn’t old, at least, not by her standards, but there was something about the look in his eye that said he’d seen a lot. He seemed spry but a little on edge, as if he were waiting for something to spring from the bushes at any moment. Hadrian prowled around the man, sniffing him a little, before settling at Arabella’s feet. Hadrian had been alright with the man, which Arabella noted. It was a point in his favour because she knew Kneazles, even half-Kneazles, were perceptive and protective enough to go mad if someone had bad intentions toward their owner. Though she awaited his answer, she was more than a little sure that the man in front of her right now was Alastor Moody.

Society Built on Sorcery ; August 5th, 1978 ; Alastor & Arabella

Who the hell was Arabella Figg?

Dumbledore had mentioned her, almost in passing, after the two of them had spread the warding duties after yet another string of disastrous failures. (For once, Moody was almost pleased; one of his suggestions, that no single person knew all the defenses and thus became too much of a liability should anything happen to them, was actually applied. Baby steps.) She was a new asset to the Order, and would he mind setting up the wards at her flat in Muggle London— an auspicious location should they need to vanish among the Muggles? Alastor was instantly wary about the mention of new people, especially this long after the war had broken out in earnest. Certainly, some more people would come to their side as time passed, just as it was certain more fresh bodies would bolster the Death Eater ranks— but it didn’t mean he had to be happy about it, or lower any of his defenses for the purpose of being a goddamn welcoming party.

So, he’d done what he did whenever he was presented with a stranger and told he had to treat them as an ally: He ran a background check on her. Moody had spent far more time than he cared to admit roaming through the Ministry’s crammed, freezing cold storage units, turning to harried secretaries in messy, stuffy offices for help locating lists of information (of which anything about Figg was safely hidden in a mountain of irrelevant file, just to throw the secretaries off in case they were secretly spies) and then returning to the cooler rooms with nothing but a blank look shot his way and mounting frustration building in his chest. He knew how to do checks and research people, yet for some odd reason, he couldn’t find much of anything on this Arabella. He’d found plenty on her parents (halfbloods, he didn’t recognize the mother’s maiden name, no ties to any suspicious families there,) and even found what appeared to be a birth certificate confirming that there was, in fact, a young woman named Arabella Figg who’d been born September 16th, 1949— but after that, the trail seemed to stop. Did she die? Did someone steal the name? No, there’d be a death record— unless it got lost somewhere along the way?

Mungo’s was next, then, where, after consulting with a few Healers, he was introduced to someone who claimed to be an administrator and informed that they did have records on an Arabella Figg, but as they pertained to information gathered when she was a minor, he couldn’t let Alastor see them without a warrant asking for the information. Knowing he’d never be able to get one and that it’d create too obvious a paper trail for someone else to follow, he’d had to fall back on his usual tactic of intimidation to bully the man into giving him what he needed— he should probably feel a twinge of guilt he was so ready to abuse his badge that way, and Alastor resolved to spend a few seconds berating himself later that day— only to discover that the records, in addition to having been sealed, offered him nothing but dates she’d been to the hospital. No other information was present.

Practically growling, he left the hospital and considered his next step. Moody wasn’t sure if he ought to feel jealous this woman managed to cover her tracks even better than he ever could (Alastor had been slowly removing bits and pieces of information about himself from Ministry records for years, making sure his enemies would find nothing of value in paperwork about him,) or more suspicious than usual she had in fact accomplished that. Who needed to vanish so completely? And how did she manage it? He supposed he could track down her parents and question them, but that would take far more time than was completely necessary, and there was no guarantee they could or even would offer him anything useful. (What if they were the ones who’d hidden her in the first place?)

So— somewhat more on edge than usual— Alastor had gone to the address Dumbledore had provided. The 5th found him standing outside the door to a flat he didn’t recognize, blond brows furrowed ever so slightly as he checked between the address and the one on the door. This was definitely the place, but something felt wrong, and it took him several seconds before he began to have an inkling of what was bothering him: He couldn’t detect any magic. If he didn’t know better, he’d expect he was standing in front of a perfectly ordinary Muggle flat. Tensing, he slipped a hand into his coat to grip his wand, cast one more quick glance around him to search for any potential threats or anything out of the ordinary, and slowly knocked on the door.

It was about damn time he figured out who this woman was.

[ardentlyarabella]

What’s your character’s ranking on the Kinsey Scale?

[OOC: I'd say a two. She's always seen herself marrying a man, but if the right woman came along, I don't think she'd say no.]

[ardentlyarabella]

What talent do you wish you’d been born with?

I'd love to be able to dance. My mum passed down most of her musical talent --- I play the violin and sing, a little --- but her coordination? Not at all. Left-footed on the dancefloor, that's me. 

[OOC: The real answer is magic, of course, but Arabella doesn't like to admit it to anyone, even herself.]

[ardentlyarabella]

Favorite animal and why?

Cats, obviously. They're very perceptive and seem to know so much. 

[ardentlyarabella]

If you had to have a threesome, who would it be with?

What would that even entail?

[ardentlyarabella]

If you could redo losing your virginity, what would you change?

It's none of your business. 

[OOC: Arabella's still a virgin.]

[ardentlyarabella]

After a drunk night out, who would you be most mortified to wake up in bed with?

Dumbledore. Can you imagine waking up to him offering you a pumpkin pasty?

[ardentlyarabella]

Character questions

Some semi-naughty questions to send around especially to Emmeline coughcough.

What was the worst wardrobe malfunction you ever suffered?

If you had to have a threesome, who would it be with?

After a drunk night out, who would you be most mortified to wake up in bed with?

If you had to streak someplace public, where would you choose? 

If you could redo losing your virginity, what would you change? 

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[ardentlyarabella]

[Arabella rarely spoke up at Order meetings. She figured no one wanted to hear from a Squib. Still, James's question today taunted her; she'd been helpless once. She didn't want something as catastrophic as this to happen again.]

"We recoup. We prepare for whatever it is they have in store for us, as best as we can," she said.  

what's next? || james and arabella

James turned back toward the others, letting out a breath of smoke as he said, "So, what’s our next step?  This isn’t the end of it and we all know it." His hand clenched into a fist at the very thought.  Five of their own were sitting in St. Mungo’s recovering from who knew what at the hands of the Death Eaters… the idea that Lily could have been one of them…

He needed to be out there, doing something.  This waiting was killing him.

[ardentlyarabella]