Post by Kali Byron on Jul 9, 2009 3:41:51 GMT -5
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KALIBETHBYRON
[/color]KALIBETHBYRON
Sunny kept his ring on
red tape so ordinary
love I feel like it was gone, gone, gone, gone
lets do this like a prison break,
I wanna see you squeal and shake
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OKAY, SO GIVE US THE BASICS !
SORRY, NOT QUITE. SO WHAT ARE AND AREN'T YOU INTO ?
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HOW ER... INTERESTING. EVER LOOKED INTO THE MIRROR OF ERISED ?
WHAT MAKES YOU SHAKE IN YOUR BOOTS ?
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EVEN YOU HAVE TO HAVE SOME GOOD QUALITIES, RIGHT ?
AND IT'S QUITE OBVIOUS YOU HAVE YOUR BAD, HUH?
LET'S GET DIRTY. WHAT TURNS YOU ON ?
DO YOU LOVE YOUR FAMILY ?
WHERE YA FROM, BY THE WAY ?
THE DEMENTORS ARE HERE. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF ?
BETTER GET UP A PATRONUS. WHAT ARE YOU REMEMBERING ?
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HI, I AM FILTHYSNAURUS REX AND I AM TWENTY YEARS OLD.
I HAVE BEEN DOING THIS SHIT FOR EIGHT YEARS AND I AIN'T
QUITTING ANYTIME SOON. WELL, I GUESS I NEED TO SHOW YOU I'M THE SHIT,
SO HERE IT GOES.
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HI, I AM FILTHYSNAURUS REX AND I AM TWENTY YEARS OLD.
I HAVE BEEN DOING THIS SHIT FOR EIGHT YEARS AND I AIN'T
QUITTING ANYTIME SOON. WELL, I GUESS I NEED TO SHOW YOU I'M THE SHIT,
SO HERE IT GOES.
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Luckily, (most of) Hermione's neighbors were not particularly nosy. Though she was at the end of the hall, and thus left open plenty of opportunity for disaster, it seemed as though they took any oddities with a grain of salt and that old British manner. In fact, old Mrs. Noble from two doors down was quite fond of peeping on the goings-on around her. If she wasn't in the old, ugly armchair she'd inherited from her mum (who had come over with young Mrs. Noble from Poland in the very early years of The War! and who made her living constructing vaccuums in the factory!), face plastered to the window as she croaked out the goings-on to her nearly deaf husband, Mrs. Noble was pacing about her flat, periodically checking the hallways through her deadbolted door.
Mrs. Noble had, on occasion, seen the strange visitors strolling up the halls towards Norma Jean's flat; now, Norma, she thought, was a perfectly charming girl. Rather too skinny, and never knew what to do with that buschel of hair, but polite enough. But the people who visited! All hours of the night, they'd come. Mrs. Noble's husband had a bad problem with snoring, so she would go and sit with her little doggy Bobo, an obese Corgi and Border Collie mix, and listen to the sounds of the night. But when she heard people moving about the halls, Mrs. Noble would pull her arthritic knees into action and shuffle on over to the door, unlocking it as quietly as her bony fingers allowed, and would peer out, her thick glasses still not enough to amplify her glaucomic vision to perfection. She knew people mostly by their height and hair color, if she didn't get a look at their faces.
Mrs. Noble was rather familiar recently with a tall, broad young man with short red hair that seemed to burn like fire in the night. She knew a shorter, slenderer young lady with the same hair, whom she took to be one of Norma's girlfriends. But the more she watched these late-night callers, the more Mrs. Noble noticed the majority of them were men. She liked to think that she was hip and that she was up on the times, but how scandalous! She had half a mind to say something to Norma herself about how that lifestyle was dangerous! And think of that her mother would say, if she knew about her wild life! Worst yet, she sometimes saw a small group of men waiting outside Norma's door, never quite looking at one another, and never saying more than two words. Talk about rude. If they were all going steady with the same young lady, it seemed to Mrs. Noble, they should at least be feeding her more.
"What do you think those young men are over there for, Jimmy?" she would often ask her decaying English husband. He would never justify her with an answer, unless he was making sure to tell her to mind her own business. "Oh, look! There's the young man who dresses funny!" she liked to call. This boy looked very young to Mrs. Noble, and more often than not had an extremely eccentric manner of dress. He, more than the other gentleman callers approaching Norma's door, looked very out of place and uncomfortable. She had seen once on an episode of that American program, caught entirely by accident, that some people liked to be tied up! Tied up and beaten! She wondered often if this young man was one of those sort.
But as often as she saw these strangely dressed or curiously late visitors, Mrs. Noble never really put too much into Norma's personal life. She cared more about that collection of hooligans that stormed about through the streets screaming about footie, or the man who got off the bendy bus every afternoon at one of the corners she could just manage to see with the aide of her impossibly thick glasses every day, and who would, at 2:26 sharp, begin to harrass the occasional pedestrian about something or other. She could never hear, even with the windows open, what he was saying, so she liked to make up stories in her mind.
She did the same with Norma, of course. "Do you think she's doing drugs, Jimmy? She's awfully thin, and she never leaves her flat!" she would say on some days. "Maybe she's one of those, uh, shut-ins; maybe all those people are bringing her all she needs." Of course, it was rare that she'd see the visitors with bags of groceries, and had infact seen Norma going out and returning with shopping bags herself, so that was truly a grasp at straws. "Maybe she runs some kind of counciling service," was another possibility. "You don't think she's one of those deviants, do you, Jimmy? She always seemed so nice!" This was one of Mrs. Noble's favorites.
On this particular day, however, when Ginny Weasley strolled up to Hermione Granger/Norma Jean's flat, Mrs. Noble did peek out. "Oh, look, Bobo; it's one of Norma's little girlfriends." Bobo raised his head from his paws, his sad eyes peering up at Mrs. Noble, and wagged his tiny, pitiful stump of a tail, and watched as his woman shuffle slowly back to her chair to press up near the window and examine the bustling life below.
The other neighbors had better things to do, and did not see Ginny. So she was perfectly silly to worry about how silly she looked.
"Yeah," Ginny replied, and began to sniff at her arm as Hermione shut the door behind her. "I don't stink, do I?"
Despite the butterflies of anxiety in her tummy, Hermione laughed. "Maybe a little," she teased. Naturally, Ginny suggested tea, and then immediately set about helping to fix it. Like Brendon, Hermione did not often use magic to brew her tea. She'd just grown up with doing it the old fashioned way, and it seemed silly to change that now. While the kettle was on to boil, she gathered up the tea cups and poured the milk in (after a quick sniff test to be sure it was still fresh).
"I'm sorry I haven't stopped by sooner, I've been wanting to for ages. How've you been? Why haven't you come 'round for dinner?" the redhead inquired, and Hermione puffed up at hearing this for the second time in a short period of days.
"Well," she started, shrugging gently, "I told your brother when we last went out for coffee that I'm quite afraid of your mum seeing how 'peaky' I've gotten -- his words, of course -- and stuffing me full of all her food." The older woman noticed that she hadn't called Charlie by name, but thought nothing more of it. "I mean, I would certainly love to come; I'm afraid I've been living mostly on tea and crackers lately, and miss your mum's dinners terribly. I've just been trying to keep myself so busy to keep myself together, you know?"
As Hermione fished through her cabinets for any hidden teabags, she spotted the calendar tacked to the side of the fridge. "Oh," she said softly. "I seem to have missed my birthday." She said this casually, shrugged off her improved age of twenty-two mentally, and found the tin with her teas in them. Brendon had left some his last visit. Nice soothing ones. "So how have you been getting on? Made any good finds with Potterwatch?"
Mrs. Noble had, on occasion, seen the strange visitors strolling up the halls towards Norma Jean's flat; now, Norma, she thought, was a perfectly charming girl. Rather too skinny, and never knew what to do with that buschel of hair, but polite enough. But the people who visited! All hours of the night, they'd come. Mrs. Noble's husband had a bad problem with snoring, so she would go and sit with her little doggy Bobo, an obese Corgi and Border Collie mix, and listen to the sounds of the night. But when she heard people moving about the halls, Mrs. Noble would pull her arthritic knees into action and shuffle on over to the door, unlocking it as quietly as her bony fingers allowed, and would peer out, her thick glasses still not enough to amplify her glaucomic vision to perfection. She knew people mostly by their height and hair color, if she didn't get a look at their faces.
Mrs. Noble was rather familiar recently with a tall, broad young man with short red hair that seemed to burn like fire in the night. She knew a shorter, slenderer young lady with the same hair, whom she took to be one of Norma's girlfriends. But the more she watched these late-night callers, the more Mrs. Noble noticed the majority of them were men. She liked to think that she was hip and that she was up on the times, but how scandalous! She had half a mind to say something to Norma herself about how that lifestyle was dangerous! And think of that her mother would say, if she knew about her wild life! Worst yet, she sometimes saw a small group of men waiting outside Norma's door, never quite looking at one another, and never saying more than two words. Talk about rude. If they were all going steady with the same young lady, it seemed to Mrs. Noble, they should at least be feeding her more.
"What do you think those young men are over there for, Jimmy?" she would often ask her decaying English husband. He would never justify her with an answer, unless he was making sure to tell her to mind her own business. "Oh, look! There's the young man who dresses funny!" she liked to call. This boy looked very young to Mrs. Noble, and more often than not had an extremely eccentric manner of dress. He, more than the other gentleman callers approaching Norma's door, looked very out of place and uncomfortable. She had seen once on an episode of that American program, caught entirely by accident, that some people liked to be tied up! Tied up and beaten! She wondered often if this young man was one of those sort.
But as often as she saw these strangely dressed or curiously late visitors, Mrs. Noble never really put too much into Norma's personal life. She cared more about that collection of hooligans that stormed about through the streets screaming about footie, or the man who got off the bendy bus every afternoon at one of the corners she could just manage to see with the aide of her impossibly thick glasses every day, and who would, at 2:26 sharp, begin to harrass the occasional pedestrian about something or other. She could never hear, even with the windows open, what he was saying, so she liked to make up stories in her mind.
She did the same with Norma, of course. "Do you think she's doing drugs, Jimmy? She's awfully thin, and she never leaves her flat!" she would say on some days. "Maybe she's one of those, uh, shut-ins; maybe all those people are bringing her all she needs." Of course, it was rare that she'd see the visitors with bags of groceries, and had infact seen Norma going out and returning with shopping bags herself, so that was truly a grasp at straws. "Maybe she runs some kind of counciling service," was another possibility. "You don't think she's one of those deviants, do you, Jimmy? She always seemed so nice!" This was one of Mrs. Noble's favorites.
On this particular day, however, when Ginny Weasley strolled up to Hermione Granger/Norma Jean's flat, Mrs. Noble did peek out. "Oh, look, Bobo; it's one of Norma's little girlfriends." Bobo raised his head from his paws, his sad eyes peering up at Mrs. Noble, and wagged his tiny, pitiful stump of a tail, and watched as his woman shuffle slowly back to her chair to press up near the window and examine the bustling life below.
The other neighbors had better things to do, and did not see Ginny. So she was perfectly silly to worry about how silly she looked.
"Yeah," Ginny replied, and began to sniff at her arm as Hermione shut the door behind her. "I don't stink, do I?"
Despite the butterflies of anxiety in her tummy, Hermione laughed. "Maybe a little," she teased. Naturally, Ginny suggested tea, and then immediately set about helping to fix it. Like Brendon, Hermione did not often use magic to brew her tea. She'd just grown up with doing it the old fashioned way, and it seemed silly to change that now. While the kettle was on to boil, she gathered up the tea cups and poured the milk in (after a quick sniff test to be sure it was still fresh).
"I'm sorry I haven't stopped by sooner, I've been wanting to for ages. How've you been? Why haven't you come 'round for dinner?" the redhead inquired, and Hermione puffed up at hearing this for the second time in a short period of days.
"Well," she started, shrugging gently, "I told your brother when we last went out for coffee that I'm quite afraid of your mum seeing how 'peaky' I've gotten -- his words, of course -- and stuffing me full of all her food." The older woman noticed that she hadn't called Charlie by name, but thought nothing more of it. "I mean, I would certainly love to come; I'm afraid I've been living mostly on tea and crackers lately, and miss your mum's dinners terribly. I've just been trying to keep myself so busy to keep myself together, you know?"
As Hermione fished through her cabinets for any hidden teabags, she spotted the calendar tacked to the side of the fridge. "Oh," she said softly. "I seem to have missed my birthday." She said this casually, shrugged off her improved age of twenty-two mentally, and found the tin with her teas in them. Brendon had left some his last visit. Nice soothing ones. "So how have you been getting on? Made any good finds with Potterwatch?"
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