Catch a Cold

[lyconia]

The Three Broomsticks looked unbearably full tonight, not that she ever ventured inside the pub anyways. The pure smell of the place was overwhelming and positively revolting. Too many young men and women on dates looking all clean and fresh and relatively unimpressive with their pounds of cologne, perfume, deodorant, and breath mints. Slipping out without paying would be much more difficult to manage- though this wasn’t why Lyconia avoided the pub. She could disappear from any location without a trace, and she was extremely confident in her ability to do this. It simply wasn’t worth the effort tonight; she wasn’t seeking a challenge. The Hogs Head was much more inviting.

Despite believing that there was nowhere in this world where she truly fit (and being completely content with it), the Hogs Head was a good fit for people like Lyconia: dark, dirty, and pretty despicable. There were never any questions asked, and half the time intimidation could buy you a drink. The door flew open, and Lyconia entered briskly, a very heavy breeze of the rain falling outside following her inside. As Lyconia shut her umbrella and propped it up against the nearest booth, the door slammed shut, the noise echoing around the empty bar. Looking from side to side, biting a fingernail aimlessly, a wild smile appeared on Lyconia’s face.

She shuffled towards the back of the bar, her oversized boots scraping against the wood of the ground, leaving muddy footprints in her wake. Her tattered overcoat rustled against the torn crinoline of her dress, which was perhaps the nicest piece of clothing she owned. Why she’d decided to ‘dress nice’ was beyond her, sometimes she just got the urge. However, the definition of ‘dress nice’ was quite warped. Nothing about her appearance could be considered nice. Her skin was worn tired, and there were dark circles under her squinted eyes. Her fingernails were cracked and broken, filled with the dirt and grime of the earth. Each piece of clothing she was wearing had tears and stains, dirt marks and a subtle scent of age. Even the feathery headpiece pinned into her untamed wavy hair, which was dirty and greasy, had broken feathers and rips. The only clean part of her appearance was the dark pair of earrings hanging off of her earlobes, only so because she’d stolen them off a nightstand by an open window just the other day.

Hopping onto the bar so that she was sitting on it, her back against the far wall, she bent one knee so that her boot was flat on the bar, her other leg dangling on the side, her pale, scarred leg very vivid against the grungy wood of the floor. Looking about, there was almost no one there with her. Two hooded figures were whispering at the corner kitty to her, and there was one single, pale woman at the booth by the door. Giggling, and shrugging, Lyconia leaned forward between her legs and grabbed a beer from the table behind the bar. Yellowing teeth bit the cap away, and she spit it unforgivingly to the side. A long swig was all she needed to relax. She closed her eyes and looked up, pulling the bent knee towards her, hugging it to her chest, and in the process accidentally exposing some of her lacey underwear to anyone who cared to look.

Typical.

WORDS: 564
WEARING: Click!
TAGS: Fenrir Benjamin Greyback
NOTES: CAN'T WAIT BAH.

[fenrir]

There was very little about Hogsmeade that appealed to Fenrir. It was too close to Hogwarts, the school they had never been allowed to attend (nor had he ever wanted to), which meant the village was close to annoying little magical children. He didn’t care much for witches and wizards, as his mother had taught him to. He cared even less for muggles, though. That should be apparent by his obvious loyalty to the Dark Lord’s cause. Therefore, a purely magical village was still a better place to be than in the muggle world, and when he didn’t feel like prowling around the forest or had work to do, this was where he headed.

There was one pub in Hogsmeade where he almost felt like he belonged. The Hog’s Head was shabby and dirty, and most of the customers were equally shady. No one asked questions there. It didn’t matter if you were a Death Eater, werewolf, vampire or just needed some peace; the Hog’s Head was the one place no one could care less who you were and what you were up to. There were no disgusting lovey-dovey young couples to be seen either, which was certainly welcome. They all seemed pathetic to him. Yes, he loved Sadie in his own way, but he was never… romantic. He never would be, either. It simply wasn’t in his nature. In fact, being nice wasn’t in his nature, andhe saw no good reason for that to change.

As he entered the run-down pub, his dark eyes scanned the room before he made his way to the bar. There wasn’t anyone there who had caught his attention. Well, no one he didn’t know. He would probably have noticed Lyconia half a mile and a thousand strange faces away, and here, there were only about three or four other people. He noted with a grunt the way she had posed herself, revealing part of her underwear, but he didn’t care much. Being fiercely overprotective of his half-sister was not something he usually did. If she was in danger, he’d help her out – the thought of losing her terrified him – but he wasn’t going to tell her how to live her life.

Sitting down on a stool beside her, he looked up at the brunette, eyebrows arched slightly. ”Grab me a beer as well, Lyconia,” he said, leaning back towards the bar. They probably didn’t have any money to pay tonight, but he didn’t care. This was the kind of place from which you could get away without paying, especially if you threatened to tear out someone’s throat. Threatening with violence was certainly something Fenrir was used to. Having been raised the way they had, they pretty much had to.

- tag : lyconia effing greyback
- notes : werewolf power.
- words : 456
- credit : template brought to you by THE ACTRESS !. lyrics from IN THE MOURNING by PARAMORE !