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[dearriita-blog]

Rita Skeeter was not known to sit in dimly lit bars, let alone converse freely with plebeians-- and yet here she was. The young brunette sat haphazardly on the stool, a sloppy grin uncharacteristically plastered on her lips, “Another, please!” Her sing songy tone drew a cheer from the patrons she had gotten to know as she had been celebrating an especially successful return to the Prophet. It seemed as if her little dig at the Pyrite family was not only just what the Prophet needed in terms of readership-- It was also the wake up call needed for those who deemed themselves ‘untouchable’. Rita could and would find out anything and everything and she wasn’t afraid to let her words flow out freely to the public. There were so many owls, letters pleading for perhaps an opportunity for one to explain themselves, wonderful gifts to keep her mouth shut, the works. In this climate she knew appearances were everything, public perception had the ability to make ones world lavish and wonderful or crumble. And who better to help with said image than the press? 

The mere thought was enough to let a giggle escape from her lips before taking the shot that was placed before her. Playing ‘holier than thou Rita’ was a bit of a thrill and no one was safe from her path to notoriety. The liquid burned, making her close her eyes in order to keep herself from doing anything embarrassing-- Rita knew she could handle her liquor, or at least she would appear she could. Placing the glass down, she kept her eyes closed, resting her head in her hands and letting a chuckle out. Her musings were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps, a sigh escaping her lips before opening her eyes and tossing a glance behind her. The sight was almost enough to send her into a hysteric fit of laughter.

This was going to be fun.

[dearriita-blog]

[dearriita-blog]

Oh dear!?

Hello dearies-- I know I’ve been missed and I’m so terribly sorry I’ve been silent these past few days. But the story today will make you forget how neglected I’ve made you all feel.

Now let me paint a picture for you--

A tragic and mysterious man, known for his chaotic and decadent ways raising a precocious little girl in the midst of a war. Not only in the midst of a war, all on his own. A man who seems to get into more trouble than not.

And all this-- without a mother.

I know what you must be thinking, ‘How absolutely terrible and irresponsible!’ and to that I say-- You’re right!

What kind of “father” would think it’s okay to let his daughter roam the terrifying state of this world without a maternal touch? Especially a father who is so tumultuous, so turbulent, he can’t even live a steady life himself?

I know you’d love to know exactly who this man is, but that would be just a bit too much to give away now my dearies.

Besides, I doubt the Pyrites would appreciate the extra attention-- Oops, was that too much of a giveaway? 

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[dearriita-blog]

A scoff hardly escapes Rita's lips at the girls words, the twitch of her brow giving away her clear annoyance at the brunette next to her, "Cute. Or at least a sad attempt to be." Her eyes go from the girls face back to her typewriter, her annoyance only growing at the sight of her unfinished paragraph. Writers block happened, yes, but not to Rita Skeeter-- It was an unfathomable thought. A sigh tumbles out and her hand instinctively reaches up to rub at her temple, a headache had been building up and was finally reaching its peak much to her chagrin. Another glance is tossed at the girl next to her--Oh what the hell--and with a roll of her eyes, she gestures at the barkeep, begrudgingly murmuring an order for two drinks. If she couldn't write, she could at least distract herself with some small talk or other. 

“This is unfortunate. Someone knocked into me and spilt my drink all over my new jacket. Considering you were the one nearest to me, you can buy me another. Regardless of whether you committed the offense or not.” Hestia gives them a lazy grin and shrugs her shoulders before waving her wand at the leather in hopes that the stain goes away. Obviously it did, but she enjoyed milking things out. A hum escapes her and she waggles her eyebrows at the person beside her before leaning against the bar. It was the one place you’d find her apart from work, anymore. She spent very little time at home. It was just empty and cold. Taking people home for warmth in her bed was the only good thing she could think of that came out of spending her evenings in pubs after long and very bloody days at work.

[dearriita-blog]

(LANA CONDOR, 24, SHE/HER), have you seen (RITA SKEETER ?) SHE is working as a (GOSSIP COLUMNIST) who, rumour has it, is also (NEUTRAL) but don’t tell anyone. Some people say she can be (NONCHALANT) and (OBSERVANT), but she can also be (INTRUSIVE) and (ARROGANT) so watch out!  ( fiorella, 25, she/her, pst )

Suits and pearls. That’s the immediate answer that would fall from Rita’s lips if asked about her childhood. And she wouldn’t be lying. As the daughter of a politician and a pureblood socialite, Rita knew how to handle the spotlight, how to handle the steady gazes of the elite, and how to navigate their intricacies-- it didn’t take long for her to learn, what with a father who knew how to perfectly curate his immaculate facade an a mother who could weasel any secret even from the tightest lips. The Skeeters wasted no time in grooming Rita into the driven and meddling woman she is today.

The brunette always had a fascination with playing the game, particularly how her mother did all the hard work while her father reaped the benefits, it didn’t take long for her to realize she never wanted to be in her mothers position. So, she began writing her observations down-- every little glance, twitch of the lips, hushed secret murmured. Tiny eyes and ears were able to catch what most grown ups couldn’t, a fact that didn’t fly past her parents eyes. Nobody would bat an eye at a child mindlessly playing with her doll nearby, would they? And that’s how it began. Her benign observations turned into information her parents could use to keep themselves one step ahead of the game. And Rita loved the gifts and adoration she received in return and yet the thrill of a trip or a new fur coat waned as quickly as it began. Rita was quick to learn that favors were in her best interest rather than instant gratification. Self preservation became her game and there was no way she would let anything or anyone get in the way of that.

Long gone was her need to please mommy and daddy, especially the older she got. She knew she would need protection of all sorts and she intended to receive just that. With a sensationalized piece or two tossed in of course, she was Rita Skeeter after all. Sometimes she would cash in a favor quickly, wanting-- or rather needing access to the most exclusive events. A coy smile, an innocent batting of the eyes would quickly get any soul to spill perhaps the vaguest of leads and Rita would be able to turn that into the talk of the next few weeks. The knowledge that she would be able to make kingdoms rise and fall had given her a huge sense of arrogance, one that would take too much to tear down.

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