::: belladonna, n. ::::

[Reply to owl Professor Flave.]

[Reply in comments to owl members of Venice House.]

Just a little something that popped in my head and wouldn’t let go.

“I’m stating for the record that I’m not sad, just terribly disappointed. Since when does anyone in this family let a little attempted murder muddle the familial waters? The occasional attempt on one’s well being is practically how we show affection. For example; Benedetta poisoned me when I was fifteen. It was a motherly reminder to respect my vulnerability –very effective. Never handled the Ifrit Irises without the proper protective gear again. We had tea the next morning. Point is, if we let a little thing like attempted murder slow us down we’d never get anywhere or have any fun. So. Little Ashworth. Are you going to frowny-face me for the rest of the year, quietly plotting my demise, or are you going to help me distract the guards in the noble pursuit of flooding the Ministry of Magic with Itch Blooms?”

.

God, NP is making me so sick I don't even want to bother.

Yes, I know. I'll get it over it.

.

So very, pissed.

There was a much better way to go about this. I'm just saying...with a fucking bat in hand.


- Sammy

The loveliness is compliments of akavertigo, long live her quote obsession.
<3 <3

Just a heads up kitties, I'll have herbology up and running sometime tomorrow.

Note: Sadly, there will be no gender tomfoolery in this month's class. But keep the faith. ^_^

Gerry’s chambers are a controlled chaos. The stone walls are hugged by creeping plants, and book shelves crowed by tomes, apothecary jars, and sundry items ranging from quills to hunks of jade. One corner of the room is taken up by an L shaped work bench, where large pots are being used to house new stains of plants, and glass germination tubes sit beneath a complicated network of funnels, condensers and flasks. At one end of the work bench is a flat black alchemy tablet, chalk, coal, crystal and bits of salt littered around it. A cabinet of dark blue glass sits at the end of the bench, where Gerry’s private stock of dried herbs, salves, and potions are kept.

The other corner is occupied by a large desk and chair. On the desk is what looks like a heavy looking copper puzzle box, the lid secured with a snake shaped locking mechanism. Inlaid in the lid is an orchid. Inside the box are letters, (the majority hailing from Venice over the course of two decades), muggle photographs, (one of her mother as a young woman hanging on the arm of a man whose face is lost from over exposure), a drawing sketched by a young American, (Gerry sitting on a window ledge, body facing away, but looking over her shoulder, the line of her back and the angles of her shoulder blades bare, a rumpled sheet around her hips like an afterthought) a pressed black orchid, ( “-this is the secret to true black Gervasius. Like mixing black ink, you must go full circle through the spectrum-”), a Venice House letter seal, (dark blue Murano glass handle, and heavy copper stamper, a gift from Gavino when she left for Beauxbatons), and a silver crucifix, (“Don’t give me that look sis, it’s also a lock pick. Ten to one you’ll end up in cuffs at some point.” – “Aww, all ways looking out for me, Sal.” – “Someone has to keep tabs on you.”)

Near Gerry’s desk is a fireplace, darkened with soot, the blue of the stone work scorched and smudged. A sugar jar painted with fireflies sits on the mantle, a spill of tell tale floo powder around the lip.

Hanging above the fireplace are two swards, an Italian style rapier, and a gently curved katana. These are the only visible weapons in Gerry’s room.

Instead of a door, a heavy blue silk curtain separates the work area from Gerry’s bedroom. The bed is in the center of the room, the headboard against the wall. The bedspread is a deep purple with sheen. Not immediately visible, is a large labyrinth in the stitch work.

The armoire is kitty cornered on the left and “organized” only by the loosest definition of the word. The doors are open, with robes and muggle clothes hanging from them, a top hat perched off the edge of one of the doors. A vanity table and bench is kitty cornered in the right of the room. There is a jade jewelry box, black fingerless gloves, and a pocket watch on the surface (the watch has six ticking hands and is missing the number two numeral).

On the right wall down from the vanity is a nook, a small breakfast table and two chairs snug under the window.

((continued from here ))

http://community.livejournal.com/hihnow_playing/65279.html?thread=11726847#t11726847

Jean: It was nice snogging with you
Sammy: like wise!
jedi lora: (Man, for me it's almost like internetcest. Jean-bff since kindergarten. Sammy-newish friend online, but almost like My Evil Twin's sister.)
Sammy: (awwwww *hugs* Repress)
jedi lora: (Hey, the interwebcest is HOT, man.)

*points* Look at the pretty!

*loves on Mandy*

Professor Flave had a many and various moral objections to 5AM, and usually avoided them in protest, but this morning she was irritatingly conscious and vertical. She was still in her nightgown and robe when she walked into the greenhouse. Only it was more of a purposeful stalk, complete with ominous robe billowing and a miasma that said, “Come your own terrible conclusions” as she could manage before coffee. At the far end of the second bench, her quarry shivered. Finally she stopped and glared down at the Dawn-Blooming Chokevine. Eyes narrowed, she pointedly cast a withering look out at the dawn rearing it’s ugly head, and then back down at the plant that was decidedly not blooming.

“So,” she addressed the defiant vine, “Are you too proud or too timid?” Flave leaned down and drummed her fingers (a sharp, rap, tap tap) along the rim of the pot. Farther on down the plant bench two black Diamond Headed lilies trembled, bloomed harder and clung.

“You can either make with the blooming or…,” Flave brandished her wand, muttered and one of the small gray buds on the chokevine suddenly expired into brief flame then crumbled sadly into ash, “there’s more of where that came from.”

The Dawn-Blooming chokevine was still. Then…trembled. Flave grinned sweetly at it. With one last surrendering shudder the gray buds began to open. The iridescent flowers caught the dawn light, and then glowed.

“Ah, that’s more like it.”