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Post by Torii Damien on Nov 22, 2009 19:42:44 GMT -5
Pain. It's described as physical injury or mental torment. Something that fades with time, only to leave invisible scars known to none but the bearer. But what it is it really? Pain is a blow made by no weapon. Pain is a broken heart that no amount of duct tape can heal. Pain is watching your best friend crumple beside you, protecting you from the onslaught of spells; you can feel the blood drench your hands, even though no mark was made on the body, no physical injury of any kind. What is pain? Pain does bear scars. They are not invisible, nor do they fade. The scars as as plain as the bruises under one's eyes after they cry themselves to sleep over a lost comrade. As plain as the faded marks on their arms as they try to numb, if not end the pain entirely. To end the war, the join their friend somewhere that is not of this hell on Earth. What is pain?
A single figured wondered this very question as she trudged through the street of Knockturn Alley, the slums of the Wizarding World. She tugged on the sleeves of her sweater, not to protect her arms from the first frosts of a London winter, but to hide the thin, faint lines on her wrists and lower arms. She then pulled her cloak tighter around her rapidly thinning figure as a heavy gust blew into her face, knocking her hood back.
Torii Damien was not the woman she once was. She had experienced pain firsthand and her gaunt appearance proved so. Hair usually so full and flowing was ragged and unkempt. Face typically bright and cheery was lined with scars from spells that could've taken an eye, an ear, a life. She was thinner than ever, her skin wan and dead-looking. She could've been mistaken for Inferi. Her break away from home had left her with the "invisible" scars if pain. She fought side by side with wizards and witches alike as she tried to slow the spread of Voldemort's forces to other countries. She'd seen those wizards fall and die around her, as if they were nothing more than vases in a house full of toddlers. Voldemort couldn't be stopped. Torii couldn't even face her family anymore, to let them know that she had failed.
The faces swam in her mind, painful, like a slap in the face. Molly, Sirius, Lupin, Arthur, Ron, Hermione, Neville...were they still alive? If they were, would they be able to take the pain of knowing that the war was lost? Harry had been their only hope, and he'd been dead for years. Nagini still lived. Voldemort still lived. The Order was finished. There was no hope left for them.
Torii wandered the streets, going nowhere. She peered half-heartedly into the battered windows of the shops she had loved as a kid, pausing to stare up at one shop, the roof stained by the letters that had long since been pulled down. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Memories of the old store brought an alien smile to Torii's face. For a moment, she was gone from the frozen streets of Knockturn Alley, to a warm day in the middle of the Christmas holidays, wandering into the store next to Colin, laughing and smiling as they pointed out all the pranks, reminiscing about their earlier years at Hogwarts, long before the war was first lost. The memory was gone as soon as it arrived, the smiles and cheery voices vanishing like a wisp of smoke.
The woman wandered on, her steps getting heavier and heavier, as if the chilled ground was thick with snow and molasses mixed together. With each step, she whispered a name, the names of friends lost, and those left to die. A single tear trailed down her face as she hit the ground, hope and strength sapped from her. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a single Galleon. She tapped in with her wand, inscribing only one word in the coin with her unique handwriting. Help.
Who would find her, she knew not. Maybe one of the Order would get her distress call. Or maybe the enemy would find her laying there and take her. Then the futile fight would be over. Maybe they would kill her there, put her out of her misery. She smiled a bit at the thought. But it faded as she pictured the frightened, tear-stained faces of her family. Her heart swelled, giving her the strength to stumble to her knees. In a quick shiver, the hopeless woman's appearance was changed to one that knew no pain. Bright orange fur that flowed to brown at the paws. A cunning face, marked with bright eyes. The symbol of wit. The fox. She crawled back to the entrance of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and lay there, curled in her now-oversized traveling cloak. She wouldn't die on the streets like some common dog. She would wait to be found, then surrender it all to fate.
((Yes, it's uber-long, overly dramatic, and makes no sense. I thought I needed to make up for my hiatus by making a long post and the drama queen in me won out. So...yeah, this open to anyone. I have no preferences to good or bad, just hoping for a reply. Again, sorry for the uber-long-no-sense-making-ness. ^^'''))
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Post by Victorie Weasley on Nov 23, 2009 14:54:19 GMT -5
Victorie wandered aimlessly down the street, not watching where she was going. Why should she? Her life was in ruins. Lord Voldemort had triumphed, and the Order was reduced to hiding out at St. Mungo's. She couldn't be with Teddy, as it would only present a better target to the Dark side for torture before death. Her baby sister, Domino, whom she dearly loved, was a bit of a weirdo, she had to admit, but she and Louis were about the only good things in her life right now. And she hardly ever even saw her parents anymore....
Robes blowing around her, and her blond hair with the pink highlights flying in her face, she cursed and used a Muggle hair-thing, called a scrunchy, to pull her hair back. Her cloak was flapping up around her as well, as she was doing her best to hold the hood up. Although, as depressed as she was, Victorie might very well welcome a battle or two with the Death Eaters. It would certainly shake the monotone that was her very existence as of late.
Victorie gazed up at the shops as she passed people in the streets. Mayhap she would be fortunate and find someone to talk to. She stopped at the in between the stores that used to be Quality Quidditch Supplies and Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. A faint smile came to her face as she remembered getting her first broom from QQS. Then came the memory that her father had told her, of her uncles starting that shop with the money 'Uncle' Harry had given them from winning the TriWizard Tournament in his 4th year.
A burning sensation occurred in her pocket as she continued on, memories flooding her. It was her magical Galleon that each member of the Order carried for communications...had to be. She pulled it out and saw Torii's handwriting. It said, simply, 'help.' Victorie clutched it in her hands and let the magic of the tracking device in the coin do its thing. She weaved left and right, purpose flooding her. Finally, something worth fighting for. She had to turn around to find her, and finally spotted an orange fox with brown paws curled up in a cloak. This had to be Torii. She knelt down, placed the coin back in her robes, and whispered, "Torii? It's Vikki. Come on now, change back."
((Wow, that post of yours was deep. ;D But I think this shall be a depressing topic, yes?))
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Post by Torii Damien on Nov 23, 2009 18:28:55 GMT -5
The creature stared up at the sky, mournful pain in a prideful eye. She watched as London frost pooled on her nose, stinging the dark flesh uncovered by fur, melting to allow the uncaring wind to burn the even more sensitive skin hidden underneath fur. Pain on top of pain. Although the physical pain was numbed a thousand fold by the emotional pain. A sigh misted into the air from her narrow muzzle and she rested her face more comfortably into the brown-black of her paws.
She watched dully as feet passed by, sounds muffled by the wind. Occasionally a pair would stop and turn slightly, as if studying the wounded animal laying in the shadow of the abandoned building. They would continue walking away almost as fast as they had stopped, concluding that the creature would die in the cold, not bothering to question the human-sized cloak draped over it, nor the tip of a wand protruding from under the cloth.
She watched for who knows how long. Minutes? Hours? It was impossible to count the amount of pendulum swings lost to time. A single pair of hurried feet approached Torii. The sound vaguely familiar, but her frozen ears couldn't place the body the sound belonged to. She didn't bother to look up. Maybe someone had finally taken pity on her and would put her out of her misery. Maybe they would use the Killing Curse. That would be quick and painless. Maybe they would beat her like the animal she looked like.
A soft voice rang in her ears, like a waltz in the middle of a funeral procession. She was able to make out the words and struggled to lift her head to look into the eyes of her savior. The gentle blue was startling to her enhanced senses. She was expecting hard, cold eyes or possibly a bright scarlet. She rumbled "Vikki?", but her feral voice box turned the name into a to garbled whimper.
She stretched her stiff legs and rose to her feet, buckling slightly under the weight of her cloak. She shrugged it off and sat straight, head hanging slightly. With a shiver of her pelt, the same haunted woman crouched in its place. Azkaban inmates had nothing on Torii.
"Vikki..." her voice cracked and she coughed for a moment to clear her airway. "Thanks."
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Post by Victorie Weasley on Nov 25, 2009 14:32:44 GMT -5
Victorie watched silently as Torii transformed back from a fox to a half-dead woman. Her hair was ragged and messy, like she could care less about her appearance. She was thin and gaunt, like she hadn't been eating properly. And maybe she hadn't. This was not the woman her mother had described to her, the woman she had met once as a small child. She looked a mess, and Vikki was going to nurse he back to health, come hell or high water. They couldn't afford to lose any more members, as Voldemort was killing people right, left, and sideways. The elements be damned--they could fight that.
Her own problems flying out the window temporarily, she held out a hand and helped her up. As Torii spoke her name, she shook her head. Even her voice didn't sound right, like she hadn't used it in a long time. Victorie sighed. What were her problems with Teddy, and not seeing her parents, when a fellow comrade lurked on the edge of death? Nothing, that's what. At least her and hers were alive and reasonably healthy. Happy though--she couldn't say for sure.
Vikki took Torii's cloak and fastened it securely around her, making sure it stayed closed. Putting an arm around her shoulders, she gave a hollow smile. "It's nothing, Torii. But what in Merlin's name are you doing out here like this? You were this close to dying." She pinched her thumb and forefinger together, illustrating her point. "Come on, let's get you to the Three Broomsticks and get some alcohol and warm food in you."
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Post by Torii Damien on Nov 25, 2009 17:17:32 GMT -5
((I think you mean the Leaky Cauldron. The Three Broomsticks is in Hogsmeade.))
Torii stood unbalanced on her feet, leaning slightly to the left even though both of her feet were planted flat on the ground. The sudden upward movement made her head spin and she was blinded for a moment, regaining her sight when her cloak was tightened around her. She tugged on her sleeves again, pulling them down as far as possible without jostling her cloak. She swayed again, but managed to keep her footing.
Torii nodded and began walking toward the town's pub. As she walked she opened her mouth to speak, her voice cracked by the lack of use.
"I was moving between France and the United States, trying to rally witches and wizards against Voldemort's tyrannic rule. Warn them, get them to fight, get them to protect the Muggles; I was doing anything I could to slow, if not stop, Voldemort from breaching those countries as well.
"Little did I know, Voldemort was about five steps ahead of me. He had Death Eaters, wizards, witches, even a few of the Desmodus stationed in the countries. Any resistance to his reign was struck down as easily as a hurricane busting up a stick house. We fought, willing to die to stop his armies. Many of them did. Friends that I had made, crumpling before my eyes while I struggled onward, fighting so many enemies that I didn't even have time to mourn their deaths. After the worst of the battles were over, the resistance went into hiding, and cemeteries were filled to the brim. I don't even know if they're still alive."
As she spoke, bloodcurdling screams pierced Torii's ears, along with shouts of rage. She relived the nightmare in her mind as only she knew it; the only thing betraying her agony was her eyes, the eyes of a person being burned at a pyre. A single tear free-falled from her face, staining the cobblestone street below. She sniffed and brushed her hand across her face, stemming the flow of any further tears, and continued walking.
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Post by Victorie Weasley on Nov 29, 2009 15:40:51 GMT -5
Victorie helped Torii steady herself as she stood upright. When she tugged on the sleeves, Vikki moved her hand so she could do so. Then she listened to her talk as they walked towards the Leaky Cauldron. The older woman--well, older to her, she was only 17--had obviously been traumatized severely. Her story broke the younger girl's heart--nobody should have to experience that. Or indeed, go through this at all.
This was all the Dark Lord's fault, Vikki thought furiously. Him and his stupid quest for world domination. It was his fault families were being torn apart, his fault family members turned on each other and betrayed one another. All his fault indeed. She wiped furious tears from her eyes and fought to get her emotions under control. It wouldn't do to unleash her temper form in the middle of the street. Most didn't know she was part Veela, and she wanted to keep it that way.
Victorie nodded at these words. Her home country, the place of her ancestors, under attack by Lord Voldemort? Unacceptable! She was grateful to Torii for doing what she did, especially for her brethren across the ocean in the United States, who really had no clue of the goings-on in Europe. As she finished and sniffed, Vikki gave her a quick hug and said, "I appreciate you for what you did and are doing, especially for the country of my ancestors. And the Americans--well, they really just don't know, do they?" They had reached the Leaky Cauldron now, and Vikki held the door open for Torii. "Go on then. Pick out a booth, and order whatever. I've got it."
((Yeah I did. Oops.))
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Post by Torii Damien on Dec 6, 2009 12:43:24 GMT -5
Torii watched from her peripheral view as her companion struggled with thinly contained emotions at the story Torii had just told. She almost wished she hadn't told the dreadful tale. Veela were rare in London and the only known ones belonged to the Order. If Victorie went bird-faced in the middle of the most populated wizarding bazaar in all of Europe, they would be dead, more pain to be added to those left behind. She stifled a small sigh at the thought.
The older witch squirmed uncomfortably as the younger hugged her. She hadn't been in such close proximity with another person since she left America for the last time. And she wasn't quite ready for it yet.
She nodded at Victorie's thanks. When the younger witch mentioned the American's lack of information, she paused at the open door of the Leaky Cauldron and shook her head. "More than you think, actually. But they learned too late and have been chased into hiding like us, like the rest of the Order. It won't be much longer, and they'll all submit to Voldemort's rule." She shrugged and walked inside.
The smell was just as she always remembered, warm and sweet, despite the number of foul creatures that lurked within its walls. The tantalizing smells of butterscotch and heather danced around Torii's nose and, for once, the pain an devastation was gone, and she felt what could only be described as happiness. She quickly walked to a booth in the far corner of the pub, pulling her hood tightly over her face, shrouding her haughty features in shadow. Despite her unrecognizable appearance, she wouldn't risk being caught. The barman wandered over and she recognized with the the chiseled face that was Tom. She muttered a quick "Evenin'" in her throaty rasp and proceeded to order a spiked cinnamon firewhisky. Despite the excessive alcohol doing her no good, the warmth of the drink was the only thing that brought her solace.
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Post by Victorie Weasley on Dec 9, 2009 13:24:05 GMT -5
Victorie had finally got herself under control, after a few moments of struggling. She always did her best not to go all bird-faced--ruined a perfectly good outfit. And if there was one thing Victorie Elaine Weasley despised just below evil, it was the destruction of good clothes. Shallow? Yes. But then, her mother was much the same way, always putting her appearance first. Lately though, the younger witch hadn't been dressing fancy, but rather just cute and practical.
She quickly let go of Torii after seeing her squirm a bit. "Oh, I'm sorry. I--I wasn't really thinking that you might not be in the mood for a hug. It's just--well, my mom taught me that it could fix a lot," Victorie stammered out uncomfortably.
As the older witch spoke, Victorie nodded. "I fear for them, though, even more so than us. At least we've seen the real thing up close and personal. They've probably only seen Death Eaters, and haven't a clue just how bad the Dark Lord himself can really be, you know?" With that, she followed Torii inside.
Victorie sat down across from Torii and pondered what she wanted to drink. As Tom came over, she gave a half-hearted wave, followed by a "Evening, Tom. I'll have the--hmm, everything sounds good. But I think I want the gin and juice, heavy on the gin." Then she too pulled the hood of her cloak up, so as not to get recognized and caught. If either one of them were spotted, it wouldn't take much brain power to figure out that the other was a member of the Order as well. And she had heard horror stories about Lord Voldemort and his idea of 'fun'. Well, torture wasn't her cup of tea, that was for sure. Whether it was performing it or being on the recieving end of it, she didn't care. It just wasn't in her plans. Not today, not tomorrow--not ever.
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Post by Torii Damien on Jan 6, 2010 14:31:45 GMT -5
Torii nodded slowly, stirring her drink around with a draw that happened to be lying on the table, probably an abandoned memento of the previous bar-goer. They never mix these things well enough, she grieved inwardly, taking a swig. There was an obvious difference between the added alcohol and the original firewhisky.
"They don't know. Those that kept up with Potterwatch know a little more than some, ever since George got it up and running again. But even they don't know enough. The others are hopeless." Torii watched as a few ants scrambled across the table, looking for a quick meal. "They plunge into battle, expecting just another dark wizard. Another target that can be overtaken with enough force and a few good wands. Then they're snuffed out. One-" she crushed one of the ants under her finger-"by-" she crushed another-"one." She crushed the last ant, grinding it against the table.
She took another swig of the firewhisky, making a nasty face at the divided flavors once again. She hastily wiped the foam off of her mouth and stared at the table. Her eyes narrowed shut and tightened, blocking out all traces of light. It almost blocked out the screams, the green light, the inevitable rush of wind, of Death. It almost blocked at the cruel, high--pitched laugh.
Torii slammed her fist down on the table, making her drink jump and slosh about angrily. She needed something to keep her mind off of everything. Food. She needed food. She waved Tom back over and ordered "the usual", shoving several galleons into his gnarled hands. He backed away, almost fearfully, catching the slightly manic look in the witch's eyes.
By the time she finished her firewhisky, her meal arrived. The savory smell of potato soup wafted upward, making her mouth water, along with the rich aroma of a cinnamon roll topped with maraschino cherries. To top it all off was a large bowl of vanilla ice cream, drizzled with caramel, a thin stick of cinnamon sticking out of the top. The elegance of the food in such a shabby pub was a definite site to behold. She almost couldn't bear to eat it. She dug into the soup, reveling at the delicious flavors, flavors that she had not tasted in a long time.
"I used to come here every day with my dad," she murmured, stirring the soup around while taking a bite of her roll. "He always teased me, saying I would end up having as many teeth as Tom if I kept eating so much sugar. But it was fun, all the same." She sighed, reminiscing over the old memories. Memories of her dad were shadowy, as she tried to put them out of her mind after her father's disappearance.
She finished off the soup and took another bite of the roll, poking at it with her fork. "Vic, honestly, how have things been since I've been...away? Is everyone still alive? Is Sirius still trying to pick fights with everyone? Is Molly still making dorky sweaters for everyone? Is that God-forsaken cat of Domino's still getting into my doughnut stash?" So many more questions were begging to be asked, but she settled for those few already spoken.
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Post by Victorie Weasley on Jan 7, 2010 15:39:21 GMT -5
Victorie nodded sadly. The mention of George saddened her, because she knew he had lost his twin in the battle that killed Harry Potter. She had met the Weasley twins when she was little, and had liked them. They were smart and funny, and made her laugh with their silly products. Oftentimes they would come over to baby-sit her while her mum and dad went out for a romantic evening.
She watched as Torii crushed the ants, wincing. Not for them, but for the images of the few, proud, the brave witches and wizards that were sent into battle, knowing they were going to die. Knowing they would never see their families again. It was truly heartbreaking to think of, and Victorie wiped away an angry tear. “That murderous--that filthy monster.”
Victorie wanted so badly to hug the older witch until all her pain was washed away. Sadly though, she knew some wounds ran too deep for healing, and Torii had already proven she didn’t like to be touched. Taking a sip of her own fire-whiskey, she didn’t so much as bat an eyelash as the alcohol burned its’ way down her throat.
As Torii slammed her fist down, Victorie jumped. She had been lost in her own thoughts, and as Torii put money in Tom’s hands, Victorie ordered some shrimp, with garlic butter on the side, and a steak, well-done. She gave him more money, and then put galleons back into the older witch’s hands. “I said I have this, and I do. No worries this day.”
As her shrimp arrived, Victorie eagerly dug in. Oh, but how she loved shrimp. Especially in garlic butter. That was a fine sight to behold, and she still couldn’t believe the Leaky Cauldron had it. Neither witch said anything for a few minutes, too busy enjoying the food. When Torii finally spoke, Victorie listened with rapt attention. She had always loved listening to her elders, and Torii was no exception.
Finishing her steak, Victorie swallowed and spoke. “Yes, everyone is still alive.” She didn’t feel the need to add ‘for now’. “Sirius is always trying to pick fights, and Grandma keeps insisting I’m cold and underfed, trying to make me wear those sweaters of hers.” She snorted.
“Like I’d ever be caught wearing one--those things are a fashion disaster. As for Tibby--yeah, I swear that cart has a sweet tooth, because he’s always in your doughnuts.” Victorie looked Torii in the eye. “When you disappeared, everyone panicked. We all thought you were dead, and I--well, I’ve always looked up to you. I cried for days.”
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