herquill-blog

[herquill-blog]

[herquill-blog]

( It would have been lovely thing, if the world worked in the ways Hestia suddenly imagined, where instead of substances created in laboratories, in secret, people passed along daises and sunflowers as if they were precious things, something to be in the veins, secret flower meetings, discussing gardens instead of meetings in the dark, though Hestia would have to leave the planting to another, it could be a beautiful thing, perhaps, and fairytales were something to be believed in. )

“Do you remember who it was you saw?” What they were doing was an obvious manner, though Hestia might be able to tell who they were if they were connected to the mafia party she knew, all the conversations she could overhear, all the information she found in other ways, anything else however, perhaps with Janus, she’d have to turn to another. 

Her tone held other aspects beyond that of curiosity, there was concern as well, and quite clear as it can be a stressful thing watching anything with suspicion take place, especially in front of one’s own establishment.

          “There were two people standing outside shoppe today looking really uneasy and handing things to each other. Do you think they were exchanging seeds? Why were they outside Smarty Plants? I simply don’t understand.”

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The incident before her wasn’t something to be ignored, rather, such behavior was impossible, gazes followed the commotion, some hands trained to their own weapons, waiting, some silent, others, already speaking out, others letting it play out, confrontations seen as something usual to some, however, everything was also drowned away by the chattering hum of the Shade, the walks of life it held. Hestia was a strange eye sore among them, able to fit in among glances, though she watched with hitched breath, believing she would never be used to witnessing such acts, would always wish to do something, as she did now, however, there was also the greater aspect of any blown cover. Rather, she decided to do anything when the other man began to run away, a table toppled over in his wake, the splash of whiskey on an already dirty floor, he seemed sickly anyway, though this was a nice way to put it and the only way Hestia could think of the subject, of the way he smelled, how much weight he held on his bones.

It was a cautious thing, the way she stepped forward toward the woman, biting at her lip, making sure to quit the habit as she was visible now, a mixture of emotions, concerned as she was curious on the matter, wishing to know everything that occurred among the Shade and other places that held the same people, “I don’t think he’ll be coming back,” she spoke, a prompt that the gun could be put away, as she dared to step on a line, though decided to chose her words wisely, wanting to ask what happened, but decided to mirror other conversations she heard here, “Is he always like that?”

5 April 2016

The Shade

Open

“Look, are you trying to take someone out or not? If you are, I’ll need more details. If you’re not, get the fuck out of my face and stop wasting my time.” As if to prove her point, Amelia cocked the gun she’d been polishing, finally gracing whoever was bothering her with a look and a point of her gun. “What do you want?”

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And in all the span of a moment, the greater of the world fell silent, as well was the voice that called above her as Hestia found her way to the ground, a bike on her leg, a hand on her head from the fall, brushing away the bit of gravel and grass that stuck to her hair, her body consuming the part of the sidewalk meant for planting trees, though her feet were still on the concrete, and stuck under the stopped bike she tripped over, should have been watching her way, but rather, her observations were across the street, recognizing someone from the casino, pondering why they were on this street, however, as the sounds of another grew, Hestia became more aware of the world and heard the voice of another woman, and once finding her, a commotion ensured, Hestia working to stand, though decided to simply sit, her head spinning, though did manage to set the bike right before turning to the woman, “I’m so sorry about this, I can pay for anything that was broken.” A pause, also wondering if the woman just stated ‘ clover  ’ as a curse, which almost brought a laugh, finding such things wonderful in places as this. “Wait, wait, more important, are you okay? I didn’t hit you, did I?” She spoke more quickly here, not thinking of her words so much with the circumstance.

“Clover! Are you okay?“

[herquill-blog]

kierazorel:

look-a-rp-meme:

Send… 😊 for a flirty text 😍 for a love text 😱 for a hyper text 👎 for an irritated text 😳 for a sexy text

Here’s some more because I obviously love emojis and text memes:

😂 for a drunk text 😏 for a snarky text 😝 for an excited text 😞 for an anxious text 😠 for an angry text 😅 for an accidental text 🤐 for a gossip text 😵 for an exhausted text 👻 for a scary text 💀 for a morbid text ❗️for an urgent text 💩 for a shitty text �� for a creepy text 💔 for a heartbreaking text

[herquill-blog]

send me ‘♡’ for a ship aesthetic of our muses.

      alternatively ‘ ♫ ’ for a friendship one.

[herquill-blog]

The simplest fact to relay in this moment was that Hestia had no clue what the other woman was saying, and it was almost evident in her reaction, a small smile only in response to the other’s love for the bike, anyone able to see the care she put into it, and Hestia knew how to enjoy a nice conversation. “It’s a beauty,” she gave, her eyes moving from the bike to her again, a pause as she continued, “I don’t think, I deserve the honor, though,” she didn’t wish to take over another things, or be the reason damage was caused on something another loved, she also was a bit afraid of riding any motorbike, but that was another matter altogether and one she wouldn’t mention, “How long have you had it?” It was a nice thing to hear another talk about things they loved, that is why she kept on asking questions.

May 2nd, 2016 Outside The Shade

“Yeah, she’s beautiful, isn’t she? Harley Davidson Sportster with an air cooled Evolution engine and split 9-spoke cast aluminum wheels with machined highlights.” Marlene sighed, patting her bike with the familiarity and affection that a jockey might pat their horse. Her bike meant everything in the world to her and she never passed up on an opportunity to show it off or brag about it. “So, what do you think? Want to take a spin?”

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James Potter wasn’t an unfamiliar sight some days, or rather one she began to recognize in the past while she found herself in her position, needing someone to relay the most peril of information to, not in her nature to overhear business that would end in gunfire and not do something about it, that was why she found herself here in the first place, hoping to do some good with words alone, though they may not be written yet. 

There was some shock, however, for she was only at the store to be able to buy a few cheap instant dinners she tended to eat at three in the morning, but there was a smile at his words, knowing the consequences if she was found speaking comfortably with the police, however, she was more willing to take risks for a conversation as this.

“The best donuts, you need to go to the store across the street,” a pause, speaking in a quicker pace than she usually would, “And the strawberry ones, the icing, not strawberry filings, those are the best. They’re twenty-hours.”

midnight / convenient store [open]

“You want a donut? I know…I know. Totally stereotypical of me. But I WANT one, need to boost my sugar intake around this time and get a coffee. What are you doing up this late? Up to no good?” he was teasing, though with James he always spoke in a way that clearly meant he wasn’t entirely playing around. As an officer who worked mostly nights he found himself always needing to be on alert. Even when making coffee in a gas stop– but that didn’t stop James’ personality to seep through and make everyone around him some how lured to his side. He was always seen buying the homeless treats, and making them sandwiches. The nice guy vibe unavoidable. 

“Come on– my treat. Speak up so people can hear ya! What do you want?”

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Before these past months, or the last couple of weeks, Hestia wouldn’t have thought she’d be making her way inside a place as decorated as this, even if it was only meant to be for a moment, and even then, she would have appeared an eye sore, black beanie against portraits, the walls of the club resembling more painting than anything else to her eyes, the men and women seated enveloped in an atmosphere that contrasted greatly from the parts she was used to, and even after this, usual afternoons were spent among papers and so much writing her hands were stained with ink.

Only there to pass along a message to someone, the errands she found herself completing, there was some shock to the response, Hestia picking suddenly at the hem of her sleeve was all she gave to the fact of her own embarrassment in reaction to the words, not knowing if he was joking or not, just yet, though needed to assume he was, “I wouldn’t, if I were you, the place seems far too nice to leave,” a compliment given with a small smile and another look around the room.

April 28th, 2016 The Tyche Club 3.24pm

Evan had been going over some of the more recent Rosier estate purchases, more out of boredom than necessity, the glass of whiskey in front of him keeping him more than comfortable in the quiet atmosphere of the exclusive club. Exclusive, however, did no longer mean private and so the entry of someone drew his attention. The smile was an easy reflex as he called out to greet them. “You know, I had a feeling this place was losing its reputation but if they’re letting people like you in, I might have to look into changing clubs sooner.”

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The Shade was a place Hestia had to learn how to fit into, had have the look with a glance, was quieter than she used to be, spoke the short sentences, held herself without animation ( and would still always be one that offered to buy prostitutes and those who appeared as if they slept at a bar overnight breakfast ), did so in the time she spent in parts as this, though she would only arrive at the Shade for business, to pick up a delivery, to be the messenger, wait for the other at the bar as she was now. Overhearing the conversation of the one beside her, she did imagine mentioning that a person shouldn’t be spoken to in such a way, to say they speak as that, though she was now too working to piece together the person he sought, she knew a number of them now, not all by name, by reputation, by influence, by what she could gather by what she wasn’t always meant to hear.

There was a bit of surprise when she was turned to, “Can’t blame a long day,” this was given with a shrug, a glance at the bartender and those around him, wondering if anyone was concerned for the drunk, “Who’s the guy you’re looking for?”

the shade 5th may 2016 8:30pm

“No.” Severus sighed heavily, beginning to get annoyed with the person next to him at the bar. “I was asking if you had seen him. Short, wears a beanie, talks shit most of the time.” Clearly his line of inquiry was far from making any ground with the drunk next to him. Heaving another sigh he turned away on the barstool, his chin resting in his palm. “Is that guy always that out of it?”

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It wasn't clear how long Hestia had been speaking to Alastair's secretary, Hestia sitting in the chair before the desk before allowed beyond the office doors, enjoying the woman’s company, or at least being quite kind to her, believing it might be nice for something quiet and kind in places as this, offering lunches and if she would like parts of the flower clippings she came across, though these were quiet words, using the information she could decipher from her words from simply listening in on conversations, not so much worry for a young girl meant for errands. ( Such behavior was the same she displayed to the women on the sidewalks, those on the bottom rung where she found herself. )

It was a slow movement, her making her way inside of the office, the throat clearing done by the secretary while Hestia was still standing there and the secretary could be seen beyond the archway, sitting at her desk. Once the door was closed, however, Hestia did take a seat, the drink in hand a surprising fact, only taking the glass to not seem rude, only glancing at the whiskey she was quite sure what to do with. "It's just a quick thing, sir," this was a bit of a question, if this was what she should call him, Mr. Gerwulf, Mister, Alastair, it was all a question, as in her writings, he was referred to with initials or his surname, "The deliveries were just picked up, they're downstairs."

06 April 2016 Imperium Casino, Gerwulf’s private office 23:45 OPEN

“Yes… yes… naturally, you piece of shit!”, he laughed into his phone before hanging up and sliding it onto the expensive surface of the desk. His chair didn’t so much as budge as the door opened. Half expecting his secretary’s overly sugary voice, Alastair was taken a back by the unfamiliar clearing of someone’s throat. “Well, well, well. What a pleasant surprise.”, he greeted, having finally turned around. “Go ahead and have a seat”, he continued, reaching into his desk and pulling out a bottle of whiskey along with a second glass, then filling it as well as refilling the one before himself without even asking. “What brings you here, hmm?”

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There's a great movement with then, Hestia bringing together her hands and a bounce on her heels, unable to simply stand still, all accompanied by a grin that erupted at the mark of the click of the lock, the way it sounded and the light that seemed to halo the gate, though only in her mind, there's was also a tiny bit of singing, but that was another matter, as she picked watched the way Amelia's worked with her bobby pin, the motions retracing in her mind several times over, creating them to be steps so they could be remembered, so she could use them the next time around if she herself couldn't open a door or break a lock open, though she would also need to carry around bobby pins, surprising she didn't do so already, actually. ( She even played out the movement of the lock pick, discreetly, as if scratching something on the side of her leg. )

"Indoors, I'll tell you indoors, how about that?" This was a question if Amelia would go with her, and to say she'll only find out if they venture together, her head moving as if on a swivel, her gaze on the home and back to the woman beside her, or rather, behind her now, as while she spoke, Hestia was pushing at the gate to open, just enough to squeeze past a small space she could give due to the heavy weight of the metal. "Do you think the locks will still be like this one? Wait, wait, if they are, I'm opening them, you've done so much, and thank you, thank you for that." These were spoken rapidly, excitedly, for the job to be done, for something to discover, that perhaps it all wouldn't be done alone, though while these were the reasons for her behavior moments ago, it all escalated as they were far more real now that she was standing on the lawn.

One look at the bush was answer enough for her, and Amelia wrinkled her nose, letting out a brief sigh and nodding to herself. Right, so it was protected against magic. She wondered why that was the case; what use did an abandoned building have in being locked against spells? Perhaps it was the previous owner’s doing, and the ward was simply never taken away. There was no way of knowing the motives at this point, of course, but this was now a mystery, and Amelia’s mind was ticking away. “Right,” she said slowly, taking her bobby pin and heading toward the lock again. “Not exactly the best lock pick in the world, but it’s worth a shot. Unless you can find something that can break this thing open.” Technically that could be considered breaking and entering, but that was a minor detail. Minor.

Amelia set to work on the lock, tongue pointing out a bit out of the corner of her mouth as she jiggled and wiggled the pin, willing it to come undone. This was why magic was simply easier, and this was one of the reasons that Amelia admired Muggles. They got by without magic, and some things that they had to do without magic were a struggle. Muggles figured it out, though, and persevered; definitely admirable. Amelia figured they could learn a few things from Muggles. “So,” she finally said, not looking back at Hestia but acknowledging her presence. “You’re doing all of this for a few files, you said? And pictures? What’s this article about that you need all of this?” One, two, three… A click sounded, and Amelia grinned widely, straightening. “Got it.”

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There was a great moment of silence as Hestia stared wide-eyed at the woman before her, gazing so long that a part of her recognized the form from some place long ego in the halls of Hogwarts upon shades of green, all while reasons for such words went through her head. Perhaps the woman worked all through the night just as Hestia did, and from there, she grew creative, placing the woman in scenarios of grandeur and struggle and while there were practical reasons, many found themselves in another direction in the midst of it all ( battling a monster created only from shadow, or created with the form of cats itself, defending her entire family from a night trolls, or she was delivering knitted robes to a sorcerer who only lived atop a mountain and the only way to reach there was by riding the animals ).

An adventure or a tragedy where words were no longer the concern and while still shocked by the response, still rattled, the concern for the woman was far greater than that, and said, "We don't have to then," this was given in a calm voice, a concerned one, if the situation were more dire, Hestia would have said something quite direct on her thoughts of mistreatment of animals and would ask if the woman was alright, and did still plan to, though not yet. She continued with a question, "Would you care for breakfast then, you could come with me, I mean, or at least some hot chocolate, or maybe coffee, that would be your choice, it'll all make for a better day if there's a good morning." Hestia would also still be searching for the cat afterwards, though standing so long she should have lost the place the cat ran off to, rather spending part of the day placing a food bowl outside of the building that held her apartment.

It was an unfortunate side effect of being Alecto Carrow that kept her from always realizing that her words could come as a shock to someone, or more importantly, that her words could be misconstrued on purpose. She strove to take everything at face value, and if someone said they wanted something or someone dead, she opted more often than not to believe them. She said she wanted the cat dead because she truly did want that nuisance out of her life in the most permanent way possible (she could only hope it didn’t choose now to be the one cat that really did have nine lives), but when the other woman replied, it became clear that Alecto’s intentions and feelings toward the feline were not fully understood. How could one live a life like that, not understanding someone else’s anger and annoyance even when it was spelled out? Anger was, frankly, the only emotion she could ever find herself fully understanding and empathizing with in others.

“I would rather snap its neck,” she stated, blunt in intention, though her bluntness always shot out of her mouth like a freshly sharpened arrow. Beating around the bush was never something she found interest in, but there was some bit of satisfaction in being almost purposefully and exaggeratedly crass in front of someone like this. “I want no part in seeking out that cat.”

[herquill-blog]

mafia au week: hestia jones

investigative journalist, undercover in death eater mafia, working as an errand girl/in training, out of contact from those she knew before, becomes recruited into janus mafia

[herquill-blog]

There would always be comfort found in the presence of Emmeline Vance, as if returning to the place that was meant to be her home while at Hogwarts, and beyond her sister’s, the first stories written of Hogwarts, the articles of discovery and interviews were surrounded around the other woman now, the other young girl who slept in the bed beside her and seemed as if gardens could grow from her skin. In the first journal entry that contained Emmeline, she wrote about such things, an eleven year old’s handwriting, trying to create a home, wishing to create one for others, mentioned that the other Hufflepuff girl and those she knew must have made roses a bit jealous. Hestia wasn’t quite so poetic when she did speak in person, more wishing to discover the hidden passageways of Hogwarts or how in the world she did that spell, though a consistent fact of any of this was that a story would be told or created with them as the main characters and if in person, to tell such things, she’d end up jumping across the beds, diving on the floorboards just to make a point.

As such, Emmeline could bring about the same emotions now, as if she was about to stitch together a tale or returning to a safe house. “Oh, wait, wait, Dandelion, that’s a wonderful name, though Daisy would be fun, she could be ‘Junior’ or ‘Little Daisy,’” with only the smallest of pauses, Hestia continued, seeming to speak all in one breath, “Tilden has a cat now? Wait, no, I think she’s a stray, look at all the dirt on her, poor thing.” It was as she said this, Hestia took a bit out of one of the candies, picking one of the pink ones, of course, and from here, as she did try to say everything at once, the order they arrived wasn’t entirely correct:

“The talkative cats are some of the best, how else do you expect to carry on a conversation, he talks, I talk, it’s a great thing,” a true pause this time, another bite of the sweet that caused her to realize she hasn’t thanked her yet for it, “And thank you so much for the butterfly wing, I should have said that first, I’m sorry, and thank you,” she shook her head, finally turning to look at Emmeline, knowing there would be a pay back day where Hestia bought over candy. “Should we make them a door?”

Perhaps it should have been an unusual sight seeing her friend Hestia sitting on the ground talking to something….someone…herself maybe? Instead the sight brought a smile to Emmeline’s face as she crossed over to join in the conversation. Hestia was always going on adventures of sorts. This was surely yet another. Even the question, unorthodox as it were, wasn’t entirely odd for her old roommate. “Daffodil, Daisy,Dahlia, oh what about Dandelion that’d be cute for a cat! Has Edgar gotten you a cat like he did Tilden? I think that’s brilliant.” Looking around to make sure they weren’t in the way and then down to make sure she wasn’t going to sit on something Emmeline finally sank down on the ground next to Hestia.

“Would you like a sugared butterfly wing?” She held the carton out to Hestia while wondering if she should ask why Hestia had chosen to sit in this particular spot to come up with a name for her new cat. “It’s a lovely day isn’t it? Perfect for sitting on the ground and coming up with cat names.” Coming from someone else the comment might have come across as sarcastic or messing with Hestia. But Emmeline’s bright friendly smile gave away that she meant her comment only to be supportive of her friend’s confusing behaviour.

A loud meow from under the building they were in startled her while shedding some light on why Hestia had chosen this spot for her decision. “Rose bush! Is that your cat? She’s…he’s.. They are very vocal aren’t they? Hello kitty,” Emmeline peeked under the building looking for the cat. “Oh, it’s going to the loo. Sorry.” After apologizing to the cat she gave Hestia an apologetic smile. “What a lovely cat you have.”

[herquill-blog]

Returning to a spot so often, one could grow used to the way they leave, causing Hestia to forget to check beyond the door of the bookshop, startled by the almost collision, a quick intake of breath that was halted with the sight and words of the other, mostly with the mention of the age, all causing a reaction from Hestia that created a bitten back grin and a shake of the head, a wave of the hand to say that he had no reason to apologize, and she would have said so right away if it weren't for the shock of running into another, though she was already building up with several things she did wish to say about his birthday.

( While she wasn't the greatest of intuitives, she did have a good amount of empathy. Also, for such a sensitive person, she could tend to find herself appearing quite silly, wishing these moments could find an alternative way to pan out and yet finding herself there again and wondering again how she could have saved the day, and it was through this that she did hold another tendency with those who fell into their own embarrassment, far too willing to appear as a fool to take away the attention from the other, even if it may be terrifying, and of all Hestia’s years in Hufflepuff, the way he held himself was something she's seen before, which was why she would make note of the hat when she did speak. )

"Do you want some help?" She began more animated than she expected as she was still on the thought of him revealing his age, and being a woman who grew inspirited in support of people, though she was quieter as she continued, "I mean, with the box, wait, wait, except on one condition, if you let me wear the hat down the street, or we both wear one, I do like that option."

hogsmeade, soctland 15th may 1982 1:15pm

Tilden exited Madam Puddifoot’s, a kitsch pink cardboard box clutched somewhat haphazardly in his arms. He was having a small get-together with his friends later that evening to celebrate his birthday and naturally his favourite chocolate cake had to be involved. It was as much of a staple of his birthdays as the ridiculous party hat that had been charmed onto his head, care of Nana. Every year he hoped that the damned thing would not be included in the package from his grandparents and every year he was unlucky. He could only hope that not too many people would comment on it - he was well aware of how silly he must have looked.

He stumbled backwards as the door to Tomes and Scrolls suddenly opened, narrowly avoiding colliding with the person behind him. “Sorry! You’d think that by twenty-two I would have learnt to not knock into people on a daily basis.”

[herquill-blog]

a dorcas and hestia aesthetic @msdorcasmeadowes

person a: can play 12 different instruments, got accepted into Harvard, is organized

person b: once ate 15 cold hot pockets in a row, tripped over their shoelaces, claims they can fight 2000 bees