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Quick Saoirse was loyal to Pollux, or smart enough not to allow herself to be drawn into whatever the Thursby siblings were fighting about, or both. Niobe resolved then to make better friends with her. Nothing about Pollux's firm denials did anything to alay Niobe's suspicions, but by battering him, she'd got the door bolted against her.
The deliberateness of how they both returned to normal business made Niobe roll her eyes.
"Done enough for now," she said, equaly as pointed. She saw him clear a red paperback off the counter, reclaim his space, and very transparently banish her across to the other side. She walked this time to avoid the rude 'crack' of a salty jump.
The offer of beer was a diversion (not an olive branch), but if she didn't accept, she'd have no pretense to stay other than being fond of him.
"Whatever's good," she deflected choosing. All the beer was good here. She'd returned to her things on the customer-side of the bar.
"What're ye reading?" she asked, apparently abandoning her terrier-chase. "Did I see Naleda with the same one? Little book club or?"
She wiggled her shoulders at such a tidy little thing to do.
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| 1. | Old and wealthy pure-blood family. The Knights |
14
Knockturn Alley / [3 Apr] Specialized Knowledge
October 08, 2021, 09:34:49 AM
3 April 2012
7:30pm, a Tuesday
Antik Kuno
It could be a strange thing to be acquainted with a journalist. They were never truly off the clock, many of them. Their ears always seemed to be perked up, their dowsing wands always trembling, questions on the tip of the tongue. Some could find this curiosity suspicious. Sometimes it could feel like you were being used, everyone a potential source, anything uttered liable to wind up in the Daily Prophet. Niobe Thursby wasn't an exception. Her friends seemed to accept it. Her acquaintances, however, may not have yet gotten used to it. If you had specialized knowledge or came from different circles than Niobe, it seemed only a matter of time before she came calling.
Entering Antik Kuno, the antiquities shop of Salma Smythson, Niobe shivvered off the uneasiness of Knockturn Ally. She didn't avoid the seedy district as a rule or anything, but she didn't like it. She'd been covering the Daily Prophet's crime beat now for a couple of years and so the hairs on the back of her neck were justified in standing up on these particular cobbly streets.
Salma's shop felt part store, part museum, part hedge-witch's caravan. It was unique in London and Niobe had only ever been one time. Her infrequency to her party-friend's place of business could be interpreted as an insincerity, so Niobe would have to build up some goodwill.
Niobe took her time moving down the long space, stopping often at the display cases to give items in the collection a pause and attention. All together they furnished in a physical form Salma's anti-colonial approach. Niobe was Irish, her family by way of Barbados, she avoided the topic with her mostly white friends and colleagues, who would never have brought it up on their own. It was usually Salma who did. It both relieved Niobe and made her anxious - she'd made compromises to achieve in her career, to rise through the ranks at the very conservative Daily Prophet. Pollux was always better at all of this.
She found the shopkeeper at the end of the path, working with her hands at the counter. Niobe adjusted her bag on her shoulder as she approached.
"What's the word," Niobe greeted.
7:30pm, a Tuesday
Antik Kuno
It could be a strange thing to be acquainted with a journalist. They were never truly off the clock, many of them. Their ears always seemed to be perked up, their dowsing wands always trembling, questions on the tip of the tongue. Some could find this curiosity suspicious. Sometimes it could feel like you were being used, everyone a potential source, anything uttered liable to wind up in the Daily Prophet. Niobe Thursby wasn't an exception. Her friends seemed to accept it. Her acquaintances, however, may not have yet gotten used to it. If you had specialized knowledge or came from different circles than Niobe, it seemed only a matter of time before she came calling.
Entering Antik Kuno, the antiquities shop of Salma Smythson, Niobe shivvered off the uneasiness of Knockturn Ally. She didn't avoid the seedy district as a rule or anything, but she didn't like it. She'd been covering the Daily Prophet's crime beat now for a couple of years and so the hairs on the back of her neck were justified in standing up on these particular cobbly streets.
Salma's shop felt part store, part museum, part hedge-witch's caravan. It was unique in London and Niobe had only ever been one time. Her infrequency to her party-friend's place of business could be interpreted as an insincerity, so Niobe would have to build up some goodwill.
Niobe took her time moving down the long space, stopping often at the display cases to give items in the collection a pause and attention. All together they furnished in a physical form Salma's anti-colonial approach. Niobe was Irish, her family by way of Barbados, she avoided the topic with her mostly white friends and colleagues, who would never have brought it up on their own. It was usually Salma who did. It both relieved Niobe and made her anxious - she'd made compromises to achieve in her career, to rise through the ranks at the very conservative Daily Prophet. Pollux was always better at all of this.
She found the shopkeeper at the end of the path, working with her hands at the counter. Niobe adjusted her bag on her shoulder as she approached.
"What's the word," Niobe greeted.
15
Niobe Thursby's Flat / [18 Feb] Like a Vision [Snapshot]
February 21, 2021, 04:31:57 PM
18 Feb 2012
Evening
Niobe Thursby's flat
“This is pure stupidity,” Niobe Thursby said sinking down into her chair. Her girlfriend Foy was at the kitchen island, smiling. Their old school chum Athena Marrowbone walked back from where she’d hung her purse, she carried three small glass vials clinking together in her palm.[1]
“Well, that’s a laugh,” Athena grinned, head and shoulders taller than Foy. “Niobe Thursby, the voice of reason.”
Niobe, who had a well-documented history of being completely out of her nut with the risk-taking, lolled her head over with a groan. “You don’t know what it is.”
“She’s a healer, lovely,” Foy said. “Think of it as medicine.”
Athena laughed, “aye, no. No one’s said that! Muse has not been approved by the St. Mungo’s safety board. Just my cousin.”
“Her cousin! Grand!” Niobe threw her hands up.
“I’ve met her, yeah, she’s very sane,” Foy said as she got settled cross-legged on the lush shag rug.
“Oh, well sane. Sane as I am,” Athena said, altogether not reassuring. She moved to the chair opposite Niobe, bringing over the vials and a water pipe.
“You don’t have to join us,” Foy said to Niobe a little more seriously.
“We’re not pushers,” Athen added as she set to work preparing the kit.
“Meant to be an amazing trip,” Foy added. Even Foy’s jumpy business parter Giuseppe Stride had tried it.
Niobe wasn’t convinced. “They’re all different. You could get something weird.”
Foy looked to Athena for confirmation. “It’s meant to be unique to you, right? It’s pulling from the individual, yeah?”
Athena shook her head. “Probably? Benny said it reminded her of her Divination course. Like a vision.”
Foy shrugged, “right, whatever gives you pleasure. Like Amortentia. C’mon love, will you try?”
“I will bloody not,” Niobe said.
…
Athena was laid out long in the chaise, Foy kept her meditative pose on the rug and between them, the violet water pipe. Two empty vials lay nearby. Niobe held the third, still filled, in her hand. She’d watched them draw from the pipe and slowly drift off. They were still and quiet like they were asleep and dreaming.
Niobe had heard of Muse separate from Athena’s daring recommendation, as had Foy. It was expensive and concealed with a tense secrecy, not like gillyweed which passed freely from hand to hand. But everyone who’d heard of it said the same thing - there was nothing like it, they’ve never had better.
Behind Foy’s eyes a scene was filling in. It began as a smell - the salty smell of the sea. Then a chill wind hit her face. When she opened her eyes she gasped. She was flying and her first feeling wasn’t fear but joy and serenity. She was suspended by a kite-like wing and was soaring gently, must be a thousand feet up. She flew above a dark blue sea along a jagged pine-forest coastline lined in white granite flecked with mica. A lobster trawler was a tiny dot below her. Out in the sea was a protective string of small islands. Little cottages and cabins peeked out of the thick forests. She flew this way for what felt hours, the natural scenery never ending. She shifted her weight to change direction but there was no urgency and the sea never came closer. Foy had never felt such calm.
Meanwhile, Athena was one of thousands in a pressed crowd. The ground throbbed with a deep, beating bass and sweeping the throngs bright spinning spotlights in pink, green, and blue. Athena instantly noticed she didn't tower over everyone else, but swam shoulder to shoulder. The crowd moved like waves in synch to a driving music. At the front on a raised electric alter, a man in a grinning rabbit mask conjuring music from turntable. Athena danced, twisting and bouncing with her hands in the air, chest to someone, back to another. Eyes closed, she let herself go, sinking in and becoming one with everyone.
---
Later that night, Niobe lay awake watching her Foy toss and turn, muttering names Niobe had never heard before. In the morning, neither mentioned it.
Evening
Niobe Thursby's flat
“This is pure stupidity,” Niobe Thursby said sinking down into her chair. Her girlfriend Foy was at the kitchen island, smiling. Their old school chum Athena Marrowbone walked back from where she’d hung her purse, she carried three small glass vials clinking together in her palm.[1]
“Well, that’s a laugh,” Athena grinned, head and shoulders taller than Foy. “Niobe Thursby, the voice of reason.”
Niobe, who had a well-documented history of being completely out of her nut with the risk-taking, lolled her head over with a groan. “You don’t know what it is.”
“She’s a healer, lovely,” Foy said. “Think of it as medicine.”
Athena laughed, “aye, no. No one’s said that! Muse has not been approved by the St. Mungo’s safety board. Just my cousin.”
“Her cousin! Grand!” Niobe threw her hands up.
“I’ve met her, yeah, she’s very sane,” Foy said as she got settled cross-legged on the lush shag rug.
“Oh, well sane. Sane as I am,” Athena said, altogether not reassuring. She moved to the chair opposite Niobe, bringing over the vials and a water pipe.
“You don’t have to join us,” Foy said to Niobe a little more seriously.
“We’re not pushers,” Athen added as she set to work preparing the kit.
“Meant to be an amazing trip,” Foy added. Even Foy’s jumpy business parter Giuseppe Stride had tried it.
Niobe wasn’t convinced. “They’re all different. You could get something weird.”
Foy looked to Athena for confirmation. “It’s meant to be unique to you, right? It’s pulling from the individual, yeah?”
Athena shook her head. “Probably? Benny said it reminded her of her Divination course. Like a vision.”
Foy shrugged, “right, whatever gives you pleasure. Like Amortentia. C’mon love, will you try?”
“I will bloody not,” Niobe said.
…
Athena was laid out long in the chaise, Foy kept her meditative pose on the rug and between them, the violet water pipe. Two empty vials lay nearby. Niobe held the third, still filled, in her hand. She’d watched them draw from the pipe and slowly drift off. They were still and quiet like they were asleep and dreaming.
Niobe had heard of Muse separate from Athena’s daring recommendation, as had Foy. It was expensive and concealed with a tense secrecy, not like gillyweed which passed freely from hand to hand. But everyone who’d heard of it said the same thing - there was nothing like it, they’ve never had better.
Behind Foy’s eyes a scene was filling in. It began as a smell - the salty smell of the sea. Then a chill wind hit her face. When she opened her eyes she gasped. She was flying and her first feeling wasn’t fear but joy and serenity. She was suspended by a kite-like wing and was soaring gently, must be a thousand feet up. She flew above a dark blue sea along a jagged pine-forest coastline lined in white granite flecked with mica. A lobster trawler was a tiny dot below her. Out in the sea was a protective string of small islands. Little cottages and cabins peeked out of the thick forests. She flew this way for what felt hours, the natural scenery never ending. She shifted her weight to change direction but there was no urgency and the sea never came closer. Foy had never felt such calm.
Meanwhile, Athena was one of thousands in a pressed crowd. The ground throbbed with a deep, beating bass and sweeping the throngs bright spinning spotlights in pink, green, and blue. Athena instantly noticed she didn't tower over everyone else, but swam shoulder to shoulder. The crowd moved like waves in synch to a driving music. At the front on a raised electric alter, a man in a grinning rabbit mask conjuring music from turntable. Athena danced, twisting and bouncing with her hands in the air, chest to someone, back to another. Eyes closed, she let herself go, sinking in and becoming one with everyone.
---
Later that night, Niobe lay awake watching her Foy toss and turn, muttering names Niobe had never heard before. In the morning, neither mentioned it.
| 1. | Muse |