good vibes only [Jimmie]

[Oliver Russell Blishwick]

27 August 2028

It was the last week of summer term, but Ollie was actually…kind of excited to start? He’d spent the summer crafting the perfect spreadsheet, the study guide to defeat all others, the unbeatable plan to ace NEWTs year and show the rest of Slytherin House who its rising stars were. His professors had assigned them loads of summer homework in prep for what would be ‘the worst year of your life’ (at least according to the recent graduates who’d somewhat reluctantly all gone out to get jobs and start paying taxes). But Ollie had gotten that out of the way pretty early and then sat down to make a plan. The Plan. To map out every second of his second year at LIFE so he could achieve the perfect balance between his studies, his student job, his sleep schedule, and some semblance of a social life. Y’know, setting attainable goals for himself.

All it meant was that he had to cut down on his hours of sleep and become extremely productive in all hours of the day. So he’d started practicing already in the month of August, waking up at an ungodly hour so he could crack open a book or shadow his mum at work or hunt for any extracurricular activities that could buff up his resume. Easy-peasy. Anyway, he’d carefully marked today in his calendar so he could plan around it. The last family hangout before the new term started. The day used to mean more, at least back when he and Jimmie and Lulu had all been at Hogwarts – but these days, it was only him and the younger cousins. That meant he still got grouped in with the ‘kids’ during the barbeque, instead of being treated like the adult he definitely was.

So it was both an extremely necessary activity, if not an annoying one. He sat listening to his dad and uncle talk business while they flipped dragon-link sausages on the grill (not that most wizards ate dragon anymore, but the name still stuck) until he got bored and wandered off. Not that he would call it wandering, because wandering was walking without having a purpose. Ollie never did anything without a purpose, officially speaking. He rolled his eyes at his mum as she shoved a glass of lemonade into his hands and warned him about the dangers of dehydration, then sipped at it while he continued to wander with a purpose. Eventually he spotted a familiar head of blonde hair and took a seat next to Jimmie. “You’re not a basilisk, y’know. Can’t kill people by looking at them,” he said, entertained as he watched Jimmie glare at their other cousin. He supposed he should be thankful it hadn’t escalated into a duel, even though that would mean getting to go home early. Oh well, the sacrifices they made for family.

Jameson Hera Blishwick

[Jameson Hera Blishwick]

no care in the world.

aug 2028

JIMMIE HAD BETTER THINGS TO DO, CERTAINLY better than playing in the annual summer game of The Blishwick Humble Brag Bash. A family event that happened every summer, and was just an excruciating as it had been all the years beforehand. Except now she had a job of her own, and fielded questions from nameless ancients who wore the family crest on polished silver broaches. To the upturned noses of the younger generations, who found no great admiration in a lowly journalist for a relative - Jimmie suspected those cousins were participating in tax evasion, but that was just her humble opinion. At least once Jimmie would be forced to explain - as she always did - exactly why she wasn't interning under her father. And, to pair alongside it, justify why she had been a girl. Unfortunately, she was too old to throw an epic tantrum and be sent home early, but really all bets were off as the day wore on.

In perpetual Blishwick fashion, they were all eating outside in the sun, but Jimmie's mint lemonade was still served in an expensive crystal glass. She sipped it in quiet agitation, having ducked out from under the sad, sagging arm of her great uncle as he'd told her what a shame 'such a great, terrible shame, darling' that she was of the 'female persuasion'. She could still smell the musky sweat from his damp underarm, and it was putting her off her refreshing mint lemonade. Having moved her glaring from uncle to cousin, Jimmie sneered as Lulu laughed uproariously at something her plus one had said. The spray of the large, marble cherub fountain blowing heart shaped bubbles behind her stupid dyed haircut.

Just as she took a sneering sip of her drink, the wrought iron chair at her side was pulled out and down plopped her gangly little cousin, the limbs of the chair groaning as he did. His voice had broken since she'd last seen him, giving him a rough, croaking expression that sounded nothing as it had before. He'd certainly lost the lisp since his awful teeth had been fixed. Pity, she thought bitterly, turning her head slowly as she chewed on her apple flavoured gum. Jimmie didn't answer him right away, her brow pulling down to convey her almighty disdain, even taking a lingering sip of her drink to whet her lips. "Oh, but isn't it just so fun to try..." She replied deadpan, wondering who taught him his exceptional sense of humour. Turning her head back to the crowd, she set her drink down and leaned back in her seat, rolling her eyes skyward. "What is it you want?" She asked him after a moment, looking at him from the corner of her eye. 

Oliver Russell Blishwick /div]

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[Oliver Russell Blishwick]

Blishwick family reunions were always an interesting study into family dynamics, not to mention a prime case study for the deadly consequences of putting too much ego into one room. Ollie itched to do more than just watch – he badly wanted to put his skills to the test and see if he was as clever as he thought he was. Because he was completely sure that he could ace this thing, neatly fit himself into the ever-shifting web of competitions and personal agendas…if he could just get the opportunity. But his dad was rather unimportant within the family (second-tier status, of course, after all the love weavers) and Ollie was still just a kid. According to his mum at least, who made all the consequential decisions and couldn’t see past Oliver at age six accidentally tipping over his aunt’s china cabinet.

So he sulked around the edges of the barbeque, overhearing bits of conversation as he walked past but not really eager enough to join any of them. His dad and uncle seemed to be the only ones having a genuinely good time, since everyone else he saw looked like they were stiffly trying to list off their CVs as many times as possible to as many relatives as possible. Finally he wound up by Jimmie, who seemed perpetually grouchy and was clutching her glass of lemonade like she wished she could chuck it at somebody. Meanwhile, ‘somebody’ was across the yard sporting a new hair color. He rolled his eyes as Jimmie snapped her gum loudly and barely took her eyes off Lulu to glance at him. “Doesn’t seem like you’re really trying,” he pointed out, taking another sip of lemonade as he clinically analyzed the scene. Jimmie was famously terrible at keeping her thoughts to herself. But here she was, hiding and keeping her distance. Maybe she’d just mellowed out, though Ollie doubted that.

He considered her question seriously, instead of taking it as the sarcastic jab it probably was. He wanted to go home, but he knew that was only a secondary desire. Really, the Blishwick family reunions bothered him because just wanted to be taken seriously. Even Jimmie was giving him that side-eye, like an adult being annoyed by her baby cousin. Ollie leaned back in his chair, balancing on the back two legs while he watched their family relations slowly totter around the yard. “I want our great-uncle to spill his lemonade on himself,” he finally said, eyes trained on their crusty old Uncle Gerard in conversation with some of the other old guard. At least, the others were talking while Uncle Gerard’s head nodded down towards his chest, cup of lemonade held precariously in one loose hand. Ollie folded his hands behind his head and mentally calculated the chances that it would be enough to end the party. Low but entertaining, he finally decided. After a moment, he turned his head slightly to shoot his cousin a challenging look. "What do you want? For real?"

Jameson Hera Blishwick

[Jameson Hera Blishwick]

no care in the world.

aug 2028

THE WORST THING ABOUT 'COUSIN OLLIE' WAS that he was relatively harmless. Even as he encroached on Jimmie's precious 'alone time', and started babbling on about subjects he had no real understanding of, he was still one of the lesser evils that could bother Jimmie all the same. And yet, she prickled nonetheless. Holding back her rage with a haughty sniff as she fielded off his criticism and attempted to aggressively ignore him until he went away. Alas, she had never been very good at the cold shoulder. And it lasted all of perhaps a handful of seconds before she broke and asked him what he wanted.

Rolling her eyes, Jimmie couldn't help her snort of reluctant laughter. Ollie was ridiculous, as always, but it did drag Jimmie's sneering stare away from imagining Lulu's head exploding, over to Uncle Gerard. His head drooping into his glass, he was only roused by a great uproar of laughter, which seemed to imbue him with a newfound energy. He began gesticulating with sagging arms, his glass swishing and swaying with every great swoop of his arm and swing of his thick neck. "I bet you ten sickles he's telling the story about the dragon poacher and the magizoologist that his his grandfather matched."

Jimmie sipped her glass with raised brows just as Gerard finished his old bit with a flare of miniature firecrackers erupted from his free palm, they puffed and wheezed without much flare, but the crowd still applauded all the same. It had been his 'big finish' since before the arthritis curled his old knuckles. He told it at every family event Jimmie could remember. The air smelled like burnt toast and singed hair.

Jimmie tore her gaze away with a triumphant little smirk and she wiggled her fingers at her stupid little cousin. "Looks like you owe me ten sickles, sucker." She challenged him, before she unsheathed her wand and muttered a quick and stealthy charm under her breath, flicking her wand before she hid it back up her sleeve.

There was a delicate little woosh of air that caught the edge of Uncle Gerard's sleeve, whistling up his robes and in the pause between his theatrical retellings, elicited a childish little giggle from him as it jostled his arm and made him drop his precious lemonade - which was certainly spiked with enough juniper gin to set his hair alight. The vintage crystal glass landed with a crash and an uproar of quiet disapproving titters from the crowd that had gathered around him. Perhaps Uncle Gerard had had 'quite enough' for the evening. "I want my money." Jimmie declared with a happy little grin.

Oliver Russell Blishwick /div]

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[Oliver Russell Blishwick]

Ollie gave Jimmie an unimpressed look at her incredibly safe bet. He didn’t like taking bets that weren’t a guaranteed thing, and she was probably right. She’d been to way more of these things than he had, and she came from the only line of the family that everyone really gave a damn about – which meant being involved in everything that had to do with the Blishwicks. He couldn’t hear their great-uncle from here, but it wasn’t difficult to imagine him regaling everyone with their disastrous first meeting and a violent debate about the intelligence level of dragons. Which, primitive or not, still beat out most of the other students in his year. He folded his arms behind his head but quickly lowered the chair legs to the ground when he noticed the glares he was getting from his mother and several ancient grandmas. That wasn’t the kind of attention he wanted.

“No chance!” he said indignantly as the last of the firecrackers popped out of sight and Jimmie turned to him with an infuriatingly condescending smirk. “I never took the bet,” he continued haughtily, “You should’ve gotten me to agree before he finished his story.” There were some areas in which Ollie took after his mother, and he’d watched her negotiate many contracts in his short lifetime. He’d learned from the best and Jimmie wasn’t going to succeed in weaseling a few sickles out of him. Not that he, or she, or anybody here, really needed the money. It was just a pride thing – and if he folded on this, she’d walk all over him for the rest of their lives. This wasn’t his first time having a conversation with Jimmie, and contrary to popular belief he hadn’t been born yesterday.

The reunion continued on and Oliver watched in a disinterested manner. There wasn’t anybody here he wanted to talk to, so he stayed seated by Jimmie while she continued to watch Gerard. He couldn’t imagine why, since the man never had anything interesting to say to her, except to moan about the misfortune of her being born female. That was, incidentally, probably why she hadn’t budged either. He hadn’t brought up her gender in the last five minutes, which automatically set him apart from a good chunk of the family. A suspicious gust of wind suddenly caught Gerard’s sleeve and Ollie’s eyes watched the lemonade cup’s arc as it went flying. The satisfying thud as it hit the ground brought a genuine smile to his face and he nodded approvingly.

“This is for that. Not the other thing,” he warned as he fished out a couple sickles from his pocket. Not ten exactly, not even close – but since when did anyone get exactly what they wanted in life? “That was a nice deflection, but I didn’t forget the question.” Ollie turned to face her and study her with focused eyes. “Do you wish you could see people’s strings? That might be a new way to torture Lulu.” That wasn’t really the way Oliver thought, but he figured it would appeal to Jimmie better than spouting off some ideals about the family and tradition and whatever. She didn’t care about that stuff or she’d have found some way to work at Uncle Jimbo’s place anyway. But she felt things really strongly, and that meant taking it personally. So it was the best way to get a real answer out of her – or so he figured.

Jameson Hera Blishwick

[Jameson Hera Blishwick]

no care in the world.

aug 2028

ROLLING HER EYES AT OLLIE, JIMMIE LEFT HER hands outstretched and waiting for the sickles she won fair and square. "Just cause you weren't fast enough!" She declared with a wiggle of her waiting fingers. If there was one thing about a Blishwick, it was that they paid their debts, come hell or high water. Of course, she had duped her slow little cousin into the safe bet, but that didn't mean she wouldn't cash out or make him regret it squarely.

The sickles were pocket warm when they landed on her open palm, but silver was silver, after all. Jimmie's smile turned beatific and she tucked her winnings away with a pop of cherry gum and conspiratorial smile. "I have absolutely no idea what you're referring to," She drawled in satisfaction, patting her pocket twice before she turned to her drink with delicate, winning fingers. Jimmie's good mood fled no sooner than the sip of her drink, the sour lemon catching at the back of her throat as she choked into a curled palm. Setting her glass down and feeling the blood rush to her cheeks as Ollie's words registered like a backhanded smack.

"Shut up!" She croaked, reaching forward to pinch his arm meanly as she felt a fresh wave of panic sear her senses. Jimmie's 'affliction' had been a closely guarded secret since it had developed in Seventh Year. She remembered internalising it until her head had almost exploded, confiding in her father for fear that eventually it would consume her. It was no great secret that Jimmie hated the Blishwick 'gift'. Had learned to hate it spitefully as she'd been reminded so often how unfortunate it was that she had been a girl, and thus not an appropriate heir for the 'family gift'. It seemed like some kind of cosmic joke that she'd landed with it anyways, and so late, too.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Jimmie muttered angrily, casting her eyes eye and lifting her drink to give her hands something to do. Jimmie knew her father wouldn't tell, because he respected her wishes even when he didn't agree. However, questions led to questions and Jimmie had heard the whispers, the suspicions about a possible female love weaver. Just like her father had warned her, it wasn't a secret that could be forever kept. Hearing Ollie confirm the rumours stung no less, regardless of the warning. "Love weaving doesn't work on half-ghouls," She muttered meanly, looking down into her glass and frowning unhappily as she studiously ignored her treacherous little cousin. 

Oliver Russell Blishwick

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[Oliver Russell Blishwick]

They were so busy rolling their eyes at each other that Ollie could almost hear his father’s voice laughing at him. Do it too many times and they’ll pop out! Just like the house-elf we had growing up… He sat in dignified silence while Jimmie gleefully rolled the silver over in his palm like she was one of the goblins at Gringotts. Still, he could share in her conspiratorial mood like they’d just gotten away with something – which, in a sense, they had. The Blishwicks were an incredibly well-behaved family. They didn’t have any particularly outrageous scandals (except for the one sitting next to him and blowing bubbles with her gum), and they certainly didn’t cause a scene in public. Even in the comfortable anonymity of their family reunions, there were no red flags, no earth-shattering fights. One had to enjoy these little rebellions wherever they could be found.

Like the one he’d just phrased as an innocent question, looking at his cousin with serious eyes while he waited to see what kind of reaction he’d get. Jimmie didn’t disappoint. Ollie could see he’d struck a nerve as she lunged at him to give him a pinch, and he windmilled back so quickly that it was a mixed victory. His arm was mark-free, but he balanced precariously on the edge of his seat and nearly fell backwards. It was a near save, but as Oliver resituated himself he was faintly smirking. That had been totally worth it.

Because she was definitely defensive about something, right? Sure, it might just be the wounded pride of not inheriting the family’s trademark love weaving skills. Maybe there was a little shame, even though Uncle Jimbo had been extremely cool about it (as far as he could see, anyway). But Ollie suspected not. There was probably something deeper happening that she didn’t want him to know about. Like maybe she’d been bullied for it, which wouldn’t vibe with the cool and confident persona she liked to walk around with. Or maybe she did secretly wish she’d gotten those abilities, if not to be used then to at least show the world that she was good enough for her family. He didn’t know. But he was extremely curious to keep (carefully) poking the bear to see what he could find.

“I’m not a Legilimens,” he started by pointing out the obvious. “So I can only know what you choose to tell me. If you wanna be secretive, then you can’t be surprised that I might have questions.” He gave her a shrug as if to say ‘Duh’ then sipped at his lemonade again. Most of it had gone flying when he’d dodged Jimmie’s pinch, but there was still a little left. It was extremely tart, since it’d been lingering at the bottom of the glass, but Ollie enjoyed the tingling on his lips from the sharp flavor. He turned to study Lulu again, since there was only one half-ghoul that Jimmie could possibly be referring to. “Did you learn that from experience?” he asked with a carefully blank face as he gently scooted his chair away a few centimeters from his irate cousin. She could take that one however she liked.

Jameson Hera Blishwick