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Post by Bridget Whinstle on Jan 16, 2008 20:14:48 GMT -5
The warm sun glistened off of Bridget Whinstle's golden blond hair as she walked through her garden. There weren't many fruits or vegetables, but all the flowers that you could imagine. Fountains and arches make the scene complete. Her parents state that it was all part of a disguise, but if it was why didn't they do it to their house. Yep, Bridget lived on her own, for about a month now. It was amazing. She had her two favorite things, drinking and freedom, without her parents breathing down her neck and suffocating her.
Even with all this freedom Bri's life was still boring. All she had was all the maids, butlers and others. They weren't very social either, just some old buzzards her parents hired. Don't get her wrong, she had plenty of parties, but they only last so long. It's unhealthy to have them all the time anyway.
She reached the wall of her garden and suddenly apparated to the first place to come to mind, Hogsmeade. She loved to walk the streets and watch all the good people do their shopping. Good made her sick. So constricted with way to many rules. Bri always loved the dark arts, something she inherited from her parents and their many donations to the cause. She was all about freedom and the deatheaters gave her that.
Her parents always loved the dark arts. Yet, they weren't brave enough to join the deatheater, like Bri was. No, but they gave a splended amount of money to help out. They raise Bri right no matter the age difference between them. Her mother was thirty-five and her father was sixty-seven. One young, one old. It wasn't so bad.
Bri looked up from the ground she had been staring at to notice that she was at the shreiking shack. She had never been here before. It was dank and dirty, too much so for Bri's taste. She stood there at the fence, looking at the old house. |
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Post by Desdemona Grey on Jan 17, 2008 22:56:36 GMT -5
The Shrieking Shack had been the scene for a many odd series of events over the decades and in the the spirit of tradition, this decade wouldn't be any different. Not many people knew the real reason behind the ghost stories of the shack and Desdemona Grey for one didn't really care. Ghosts weren't anything to be afraid of, after all, what were they going to do to you? The dead were dead and no amount of magic was going to make them any more alive. No, the real fear came from the living, the flesh and blood which could very well bring harm to you.....the ones who could lay hands upon you and send the darkest of magics your way.
Now, just because Demona didn't really care about the shack's history, didn't mean she didn't have a use for it. A vacant building out of the way and off the beaten path was perfect for all sorts of private business deals and very suitable for Demona's dark operations. Demona had been hearing all sorts of tales about this place and so finally, with a free moment in her busy schedule, she had decided to pay the old run down has been of a house a visit, to see if it was indeed usable. This small 'to do' on her list was pushed to the back burner as she neared the end of the trail, laying her green eyes on the figure of girl.
Demona tilted her head to the side, looking the girl over, trying to size her up, and in typical fashion, saw nothing which either impressed or threatened her. So, straightening out her long green dress, Demona took a long slow breath and exhaled softly. She ran her tongue over her green lips, thankful for magical make-up which never faded. She was dressed more elegantly than the occasion called for, as always, but that was just Desdemona. She never dressed down and when she did dress less than appropriately, it was still better than most around her.
"You can either stand there and grow roots, or grow a spine and go in," she finally said, growing impatient with the girl, who seemed either too incompetent to remember how to walk or was far too scared to enter the house.
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Post by Bridget Whinstle on Jan 18, 2008 19:47:32 GMT -5
Stupid house. It was so old, but it was useful. Bri would come here all the time. It was the perfect place for a private party. They could make all the noise they wanted and the villagers would still think it was ghosts. They were all so stupid. Theu also tended to get really messy when everyone was drunk. She was sure it the inside was still slightly messy from the last time they had used it. She had been here so many time that she knew the place by the back of her hand. The land and the house never changed. She still didn't know why she was here. Normally she would just turn around and leave. It's not like anyone came her on their own, who would want to.
"You can either stand there and grow roots, or grow a spine and go in,"
She turned to the voice. Some lady dressed to fancy for a walk stared back at her. To much green. Green eyes, green dress, even green lips. She couldn't tell if she was more suprised to see so much green or to see someone here in the first place, but she thought enough to keep it from her face. "Yes, thank you for the advice" she retorted. That probably wasn't the best idea or retort for that matter. She felt like she had heard of this woman before, but couldn't put a name to the face. She seemed to have a dark aura about her. Bri was more fasinated than afraid and this lady seemed very important.
She also seemed really rich. Her dress reminded her of the many Bri's mother had in her closet. The ones she saved for all those dinner parties that she hosted. Bri had never seen Demona at any of these parties, but then again she never stayed long. |
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Post by Desdemona Grey on Jan 19, 2008 22:21:11 GMT -5
Demona didn't pay too much attention to what Bridget had to say really, no, instead she looked the girl over, studying her. Bridget was young, but not much more than Demona, although, mentally, that was yet to be seen. Bridget had the face of someone who had never had to work for anything she ever had, the look of someone who was soft, someone who would rather glide through life on someone else's coattails. Of course, Demona could have been wrong about that one, but she doubted it, after all, Demona was hardly ever wrong (or at least according to her anyway).
"I hear its the most haunted place in all of Britain," she said, nodding to the Shack just behind Bridget, "but it looks rather disappointing to me," she added, taking several slow steps toward the old broken down fence which at one time must have surrounded the property. Her hands found one another and rested at stomach level, her posture perfect and her gaze upon the derelict old house now. "What do you think?" she asked Bridget, watching the girl from the corner of her eye.
Small talk was just one of the things Demona excelled in, after all, manners dictated that a lady should have plenty of things to say to keep her guests from being bored and while neither her nor Bridget was a guest, the rule still applied. Of course, small talk was just another way to find out things you need to know and while it wasn't no where near as fun as torture, it served its purpose.
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Post by Bridget Whinstle on Jan 21, 2008 0:47:58 GMT -5
Bri turned and studied the house, her forearms resting on the old wooden fence. She didn’t have a very good opinion of the place. “I think it’s old, run down,” she replied, “but with a lot of effort it could be restored.” If the muggles were brave enough to come near it, or if the wizards cared enough to fix it. It was more likely a nice house when it was used. It was a little out of the way, but it had a fence and a decent amount of land.
“I heard that the last Dark Lord used it during the battle at Hogwarts.” Bridget stated. She could feel Demona’s eyes on her even though she was looking foreword. She was slouching slightly and hated it, but she didn’t straighten under the pretense of seeming too eager to impress. She preferred not to care what people thought of her. She refused to be controlled by anyone and was admittedly spoiled. Some people accused her that it went to her head. Well, she couldn't really tell if they were right or wrong. Even if the best person to tell yourself what kind of person you were was yourself, she still couldn't figure it out.
Yet with all the things she could ask for her life was still dull. She did the same thing every bloody week. It was time for something different, anything to get rid of the constant boredom. |
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Post by Desdemona Grey on Jan 22, 2008 22:44:31 GMT -5
Demona listened half heartedly, after all, trivial matters of a stranger's life didn't really effect her in any way, however, one small thing that the girl mentioned did spark a hint of interest in Desdemona. The girl mentioned the last dark lord and while Demona only knew stories of Voldemort, she did know of him. She remembered her father speaking very highly of him and the professor back at her old school going on and on about how powerful the dark lord had been. As for any real stories or true pieces of the history, Demona only knew fragments.
"Do you know much about Voldemort?," she asked Bridget, saying Voldemort's name as if it were any other. Even though the years had passed, no one still spoke of the dark lord's name, some out of fear, others out of habit. "Before my time of course, but I hear he was one of the most influential and most powerful wizards of the day," she went on, her green eyes moving from Bridget and back to the house, looking it over once again. Her mind asked the question of why this run down house to use as a base, but quickly tucked that question away for later curiosity.
The way Bridget spoke of Voldemort as the last dark lord wasn't really peculiar, but it was interesting. She showed no signs of repulsion or fear, but then again that could just be lack of really caring. Some people disrespected things not from their own time because they never had the fortune of having to face those demons of the past. Demona of course had mixed feelings on Voldemort and while she didn't agree with everything he did or stood for, she did give the devil his due.
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Post by Bridget Whinstle on Jan 31, 2008 22:21:58 GMT -5
Bridget glanced at the lady. She actually seemed slightly interested. Not much, but it was still there. Her parents had only ever told her stories about Voldemort. He was powerful and she respected him for that, but he was outsmarted by Harry Potter. Her mother mentioned the few details about the battle at Hogwarts. Her mother left out all those small details, like she was some small child. It was irritating to be treated that way. Like you couldn't even tie your shoes without help. It was as if they were mocking her.
"Only stories." She said simply, "about all of his achievements"
Bri wondered how interested Demona really wasVoldemort did tons of things, half not worth mentioning. His exploits didn't become famous until the first war. Then he lost his body and went into hiding. There was a lapse in her knowledge until the second war. Her parents filled her in about the rest. Well, they simply stated how the battle at Hogwarts ended in about a sentence. Their stories were about as vague as telling a stranger the first initial of your name and letting him guess your full name. |
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Post by Desdemona Grey on Feb 3, 2008 14:53:42 GMT -5
Demona smiled as Bridget answered her, referring to Voldemort's deeds as achievements and not as horrors. The way she sort of grew a bit more inwardly showed a hint of something personal, perhaps a slight bit of shame for not knowing enough about one of the greatest wizards to live. That was pure speculation of course but one thing that was certain was that Bridget walked more toward Demona's side of the line than the supposed right one. Bridget was marked for potential and while Demona knew nothing of the girl's magical abilities or dedication to things, she still drew a hint of curiosity from the Lady.
"Oh, he did many great things," she said, giving Bridget a glance of her own before turning fully to face her companion for the moment, "of course, I suppose that really depends on who is telling the story. Some say he wasn't nothing more than a glorified murderer and deserves no praise for his abilities. You however," she went on, looking Bridget over quickly, "seem to fall in the first category, after all, you said achievements and only someone who respects another would use that word. So tell me, what do you think of Lord Voldemort?," she asked, putting Bridget in a very dangerous and quite delicate situation. The girl had already told Demona what she wanted to hear, whether she knew it or not, Demona just wanted to see how much of a spine her potential knew associate had.
No doubt the school had filled the heads of those who still admired the Dark Lord's ideas with rubbish about him being ignorant and evil. Now, while Voldemort did do some foolish things, he did have more than a few good ideas, although Demona wouldn't exactly follow the ways he went about spreading them. Fear was certainly the best motivator, but willing surrender to her ideas was even better.
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Post by Bridget Whinstle on Feb 8, 2008 18:17:52 GMT -5
Bridget listened almost halfheartedly. She took no real pleasure in standing around and talking, but felt that it was oddly necessary at the moment. She was delighted that someone had finally asked her opinion on Voldemort, however. She had no idea why she had never thought about it before so it took her a few seconds to answer. “I do respect some of the things he did,” she said, “I wouldn’t exactly go about it the same way, but he was able to do a lot of pretty cool things. He certainly went out with a bang.”
Bridget had always been leaning toward the darker of the two sides her entire life. Even when her teachers would shove all the good things down her throat, she had always listened to her parents telling her to ignore them. She had learned all about the great battle at Hogwarts during a history of magic. No matter how boring the class you could always get something out of it.
She turned to look her full in the face and realized that her acquaintance wasn’t much older than Bridget. She had probably graduated a few years before Bridget. Even though she was young Demona still had a strange regal manner about her that you that she’s much smarter than her age would suggest.
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Post by Desdemona Grey on Feb 8, 2008 21:03:22 GMT -5
Bridget had the look and attitude that Demona was looking for and while the girl was still young, so was Demona. Sure she still lacked a few bits of experience here and there in certain areas, but she had spent much of her time learning any dark spell and incantations she could dig up. Her young life had been devoted to becoming number one and while she had done a few so called despicable acts to get the things she needed, she had still gotten them. Power wasn't something you were born with, it was something you took and something you had the heart and determination to wield.
"Powerful, yet stupid," Demona answered simply to Bridget's remark of the former dark lord, "He had the world but threw it all away because of one little boy," she went on, letting out a slight sigh, "He became caught up in his own web of obsession and it destroyed him," she finished, taking a step toward Bridget know, looking her over again and smiling. It wasn't exactly clear as to what Demona's dark mind was thinking and to be honest, it was better that way. She didn't think like normal people did or even like your typical dark witch might have. No, Demona had her own style and level of darkness about her. Even those who had followed Voldemort in the past would find this new Dark Mistress far beyond their level of tolerance.
"How would you change things? What would you do different?," she asked, wanting a better idea of just how Bridget thought before she put her offer out on the table, before she introduced herself and the world she lived in to the fair faced one before her. Demona wanted to see that hint of darkness which lingered behind Bridget's innocent looking face.
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