family matters | jimbo

[Jameson Hera Blishwick]

no care in the world.

THE OWL TITTERED AND FLAPPED ITS WINGS ON THE SILL OF THE BLISHWICK HOME. Jimmie had been running a brush through her hair in the living room, staring down at a newspaper that she'd left open on the coffee table, pretending that she could do both read and style her hair. But, as soon as the owl landed, the window open for its drop-off, Jimmie dropped the brush with a noisy clatter and took off towards it. Pages of the newspaper fluttering in her wake.

Jimmie hopped across the living room, charging toward the owl and its letters with breathless enthusiasm. She disregarded the bird as it flapped its wings angrily, scrunching her face as she gingerly plucked the letters from under its feet and attempted to gently shoo it off before it flew at her face in spite. She didn't care to watch it leave as she turned, already consumed by the stack of letters in her hand.

"Jimbo Blishwick, Jimbo Blishwick." She read aloud, walking back the way she'd ran as she looked through pile with a growing disappointment. The letters that didn't have her name found themselves cast over her shoulder every which way. "Dad!" She yelled when she got to the end of the pile and every letter was missing her name. Slumping back on the sofa, she gave a weary sigh and crossed her arms. "Did I miss any letters yesterday?!" She called over the top of the couch cushions, head bent backwards, angling it so that he might hear her better. 

jimbo brian blishwick vi

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[jimbo brian blishwick vi]

Jameson Hera Blishwick

A day off. Finally. They happened once a week, on Mondays to be exact, since Mondays were the worst day of the week and no one ever seemed to want to get matched on a Monday. That was the day of the week where he let his few employees run the show. Should anything pressing or time sensitive come up, his fireplace was always roaring and ready to floo into in a heartbeat. The fact that he had even managed to find an apartment in London that had a working fireplace was mystical in itself. The older, more impressive buildings like this one tended to have amenities that the modern sort didn’t. He disliked the sterilization of the home – something modern architecture lauded over these days. This particular flat had been his for a number of years now, the emptiness of a house during the school year being too much even for him. By living in the city, he felt like a true Londoner, and it placed him close enough to the shop that he could walk there whenever he pleased, weather permitting of course. Today was shaping up to be a quiet day, Jimbo only having to duck out twice to deal with some pureblooded pompousness, nothing too unusual for the start of the week. The client had gotten back from a lengthy vacation to the Bahamas, making sure that Jimbo knew exactly how much they had spent and that they were hoping his fees weren’t unnecessarily high. The best part though? They offered to pay him in muggle money. Normally the exchange rate wouldn’t have him jumping with joy, but the sheer amount they were trying to dump on him was worth it. Silly old-school purebloods, always trying to distance themselves from the non-magical as much as possible. Little did they know that they were paying him almost triple of what he would have charged. Their insistence to get rid of the money was enough for him to agree though, papers being drawn up immediately and deals sealed. Now he was in an excellent mood.

But that was all this morning, and Jimbo had the rest of the day to himself, unless another big time customer rolled in. He doubted that would happen though, and was already getting comfortable for a quiet afternoon at home. Jameson had shown herself to him sparingly today, and was currently occupying the living room, Jimbo taking up his residence in the small office down the hall. Everything had been relatively silent, that was until he heard his daughter’s voice reverberate off of the walls. Jimbo raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair to see if she would call again for him, or leave whatever it was be. There were a few seconds of silence before Jameson yelled once again, asking if she had missed any letters from the previous day. Conveniently, yesterday’s mail, or the leftovers of it rather, were stacked neatly on the corner of his desk. Was she expecting something from Hogwarts already? It was getting closer to when the supplies list would be sent out, but he was positive that wouldn’t be for another week or two. Regardless, Jimbo scooped up the pile of letters, even the opened ones, tapped them on his desk to put them into a neat, even stack, and headed out into the hallway, only stopping once he reached the edge of the living room and saw that all of what he could only assume was today’s mail, strewn across the floor. Inching his feet closer to the couch, he spotted Jameson’s hair peeking over the top of the cushions. He dropped the stack of letters on her, freeing up his hands to start collecting everything that was on the ground. “Let me know. I haven’t had the time to look through everything yet,” Jimbo explained as he stood back up slowly.

[Jameson Hera Blishwick]

no care in the world.

THE CLAP OF EXPENSIVE SHOES ECHOED ACROSS THEIR POLISHED HARDWOOD FLOORS. Jimmie could pick her father's gait from a recording alone. He always wore the same expensive dress shoes. She didn't deign to move from her slumped position, simply pushing her head back to look over the couch's top as her father's shadow lengthened and he dropped something in to her lap.

"Oh!" She sang, a smile overtaking her face as she snatched the pile up and turned, knees squishing the cushions as she leaned over the back to face her father. "You didn't think to tell me?" She asked a little snippy, wrinkling her nose as she rifled through the pile. All addressed to her father, in that same heavy paper. Wax sealed and some... perfumed? She discarded them on the cushion at her side and leaned her forearms on the couch's back, blinking up at her father, slightly disappointed.

"Aren't you gonna ask what I'm waiting for?" She said with a pursed smirk, bouncing on the cushions a little restlessly. "Or are you only interested if it's a love letter..." She quirked a single brow, watching her father for a sign of admittance, or question. She didn't keep much from her dad, no matter if they didn't see eye to eye on... most things. "I'll save you the bother of asking by adding that it is not a love letter." Crossing her arms, she leaned her chin against them, drumming her fingers restlessly. "It's much better..."

jimbo brian blishwick vi

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[jimbo brian blishwick vi]

Jameson Hera Blishwick

Was the mail really that important? Jimbo could understand if his daughter was maybe eleven or something like that, but the majority of their daily mail was addressed to him, and only him, and typically consisted of a bunch of useless things (mostly muggle junk, like credit cards or sales at local stores). Still, it was interesting to see Jameson in a state where she was sifting through the mail as if her life depended on it. She uttered something about him not telling her there was mail from yesterday, and Jimbo shrugged, unsure of how to answer. From her reaction to the letters in her possession, it looked like whatever she wanted wasn’t there. So that was now two days’ worth of mail hurriedly snatched away and tossed to the side as if it meant nothing. For all she knew, there could be vital information inside those envelopes. Like bills or the tickets to the Arrows game he had purchased a few days ago. Quidditch tickets should never be mistreated, in his professional opinion.

Jimbo raised an eyebrow at his daughter’s smugness. Someone had a nice bowl of cheekiness this morning for breakfast, complete with a side of sass. Before he could respond about her love letter comment, she said that she wasn’t waiting for one. Not that it would matter to him. If a love letter came through the mail directed at her, he would know in an instant. It was his job to know those sorts of things, after all. “Now I wish it was a love letter,” Jimbo teased, tapping Jameson on the head with the stack of letters that she had thrown on the floor earlier. “Let’s see…it’s still too early for the supply list to come from school, and you say that it isn’t a love letter. You have your poor father stumped, I’m afraid,” he said as he crossed around the couch and took a seat in his usual chair, crossing one leg over the other and intertwining his fingers together in front of him – this being the same method of interrogation he used with clients. “There can’t be anything much better than a love letter, is there?”

[Jameson Hera Blishwick]

no care in the world.

JIMMIE SQUINTED HER EYES AS SHE WAS PATTED on the head with a stack of letters. Reaching up to smooth out her hair when he pulled away, nose wrinkled in displeasure. She knew for a fact that he'd have preferred it to be a love letter. That was just who her father was. A hopeless romantic, she would say. Which to her was one of the biggest wastes of time there ever was.

Turning on the sofa, Jimmie sat down heavily, facing her father with a carefully blank look on her face. She wanted to know if he could guess, but it was highly unlikely. More likely was the fact that soon enough she would tire of his guesses and tell him anyway. She knew that he knew that.

"I can't think of anything worse than it being a love letter, dad." Jimmie said, giving an exaggerated roll of her eyes as she sighed - world weary. Grabbing a cushion, she held it to her chest, pulling her knees up to perch on the end of sofa as she looked at him. "I sent piece to the editor of the Daily Prophet." She said, beaming with pride. "If I'm going to be a reporter I need a professional opinion about my work." Her tone was all business. And not that of a pushy teenager - which she certainly was.

Eventually, however, she deflated. Blowing out a breath as she leaned back on the back of the sofa and looked at the ceiling. "But it's been a whole week now..." This, to Jimmie, felt like a lifetime. "I only asked for constructive criticism." She crossed her arms tighter around the cushion trapped against her chest, constricting it. "Not like I wanted it printed..." She shook her head, looking at the letters she'd discarded on the sofa beside her. "What should I do?" She asked, frowning slightly. She may not always see eye to eye with her father, but his opinion was still important to her. "Should I send another...?" 

jimbo brian blishwick vi

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[jimbo brian blishwick vi]

Jameson Hera Blishwick

Snorting at his daughter’s comment about love letters being the worst probably wasn’t the best reaction for Jimbo to have, but he also couldn’t help himself. Her disdain for the family business was no secret; showing her discomfort at any possible moment was something that he had grown accustomed to over the years. He couldn’t blame her though, it was a strange thing to be born into, and certainly not something she had much control over. What Jameson did have though, whether she realized it or not, was the ability to do whatever she wanted with her life. Whilst Jimbo could have technically done that, there was no denying that there was a much bigger calling for him in the form of the business. He wouldn’t have it any other way now, but that didn’t mean it was always like that. “Hmmm,” he hummed. “They aren’t that bad once you’ve seen several thousand.” Or hundreds of thousands. There was a point in time where he had tried to keep track of them all, but that quickly became an impossible task.

His eyes widened slightly when she finally admitted that she was waiting on a response from the Prophet. For something she had written and submitted to them. Jimbo wanted to play the twenty questions game, a fun tool he used on his clients a lot, to figure out what the article had been about, but she continued on, stating that it had been a week and all she wanted was criticism on it in the first place. Jameson’s question, what should she do now, rang through his head. That was a good question indeed. He had a number of ways to help, none of which consisted of squashing her aspirations and dreams (not that he would ever do that to her, even if she decided to follow a less desirable career choice). “I think you should go get your shoes on,” Jimbo said, standing up from his chair. “We have some business to attend to at the Daily Prophet.”

[Jameson Hera Blishwick]

no care in the world.

JIMMIE PRETENDED TO MELT IN THE SOFA cushions. Her father's unwelcome proclamation about love letters in bulk made her want to gag. She dramatically lolled her tongue out and gave a long drawn out groan. "I'd rather have my soul extracted by a Dementor," She grumbled after putting her tongue back in her mouth, rolling her eyes back to the whites before she re-inflated herself and sat up. Jimmie had other, more pressing thoughts on her mind.

Admitting to her father what she had really been waiting on was easy. She had secrets, of course she did. But, a subject like this was one Jimmie desired her fathers opinion on. In an ideal world for him, she would maintain the Blishwick Business - a successful monster in its own right. But for her, she honestly couldn't think of anything worse. Her various attempts at alternative careers had all flopped, but she loved to write. So, the article she had submitted was important. She needed to know, if only to settle a question in herself.

Looking up at her father expectantly, Jimmie wondered if he would ask what it was about. Instead, she was surprised to find him hopping to his feet spritely. She ought to get her shoes on! Jimmie didn't need asking twice, she stood at first on the sofa, making her about the same height as her father before she hopped down. "Really?" She asked, her face pinched seriously. But, she was already rounding the sofa, retrieving her polished brogues from a rack by the door. She bent down to lace them, a thrill going down her spine.

"What are we going to do?" She asked giddily, looking up as she tied her laces. Double-knotting before she stood up. By the time she did, her face was pulled seriously. "If we're going, I want to go in on my own." She declared, squaring her shoulders as she pulled at the front of her pinstriped shirt. "I can't waltz in there with my father, they'll never take me seriously." She grabbed her coat from a wooden hanger, plucking her fathers up as she did and handing it to him. "You- you can wait outside." Not entirely confident, but it was coming to her slowly. 

jimbo brian blishwick vi

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[jimbo brian blishwick vi]

Jameson Hera Blishwick

This whole exchange about all of the love letters he had read over the years was hilarious. Jimbo hadn’t expected a different reaction out of his daughter; if anything, he thought it would be more dramatic than it turned out to be. Still, a few laughs rolled out of him as she stuck her tongue out in disgust and commented that a Dementor’s kiss would be better than his preference to love letters. Kids had the best lines sometimes. “That’s the only thing you’re not allowed to bring home to introduce to me,” Jimbo warned, teasing her of course, all while wagging his finger at her. If discussing love letters wasn’t embarrassing enough for her, bringing up the concept of future significant others would be. She should count herself lucky – they weren’t in public. Jimbo knew how to create shades of red that were unknown to mankind, especially with this overly self-conscious daughter of his.

But for all the times he liked to poke fun at Jameson and her quirks, it was the reactions like this that made everything worth it. Catching her off guard with the fact that he would take her to Daily Prophet if she wanted to check up on her piece, and then how fast she went from sitting, to towering on the couch, and finally to slipping her shoes on at lightning speed. “Well you have your shoes on already, so I guess we have to go now,” he said as he followed her around the couch to get his own shoes on, albeit a lot slower than she had been. Jimbo didn’t look up from lacing his shoes as she continued with her train of thought, wanting to go in on her own and that he could stay outside. Chuckling at that, he pulled tightly one last time on both of the knotted laces and stood up, wiggling his feet around in his shoes to make sure they were on comfortably. The worst feeling in the world was a sock rolling down and underneath the foot, or a shoe that was on a little too tight. “If I have to wait outside, then you have to turn in this week’s advertisement for the paper. Deal?” Jimbo posed the offer as he reached out and took his jacket from her. That way he could get his work done, and she could as well. It sounded like a perfect deal to him.

[Jameson Hera Blishwick]

no care in the world.

THOUGH HER FATHER APPEARED LACKADAISICAL when it came to who Jimmie brought him, the girl often wondered if that were true. Or, if he was disillusioned by the many years she'd decidedly not brought another home to meet her father. And quite purposefully too. From her slumped position, she lifted her head, one brow a half inch higher than the other. "If we keep talking about this, I might just take the risk," She threatened, but even she wasn't crazy enough not to have a genuine, and smart, fear of Dementors.

Alas, Jimmie's demeanour was quick to change. Her father really was full of surprises, but she supposed it made him better at his job. He'd never let her down so far. Hopping giddily in place, she passed him his own coat and struggled with one sleeve of her own. Her elbow wedged at the opening as he bargained with her. Jimmie stopped, one arm in, the other bent in the air above her head. It slipped down in to place as she stilled. Her eyes narrowed and she considered his offer. Ever the business man. She held out one hand, "You've got yourself a deal."

jimbo brian blishwick vi  
i just left it here so you can decide if they walk or apparate

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[/quote]

[jimbo brian blishwick vi]

Jameson Hera Blishwick

The mental image of his daughter bringing home a Dementor, for some reason leading it by a rope leash, was hard to push away because of how utterly ridiculous it was. The real trick would be finding one of the creatures first, having long been cast out of their home in Azkaban. Skipping through the woods in the middle of the night could possibly drag one out from its hiding place, assuming another dark creature didn’t get there first. Jimbo had always been worried that his cheerful nature would be a succulent snack for the shades, though he had managed to avoid them during his school years and into adulthood. Having one’s soul and happiness sucked out didn’t sound appetizing in the slightest. “While it’s an intriguing offer to have a Dementor-in-law, I’ll take a pass this time. Might make Christmas dinner slightly uncomfortable,” he answered. Getting this child to take over the family business was going to be difficult, especially if she was putting crazy road blocks like this one up.

Watching her struggle with her jacket, Jameson agreed to the deal to bring in the advertisements, Jimbo attempting to hide the small smirk on his face. Bribing her to do work for the shop had seemed to be the only way to get her to do anything, aside from sitting at the front counter occasionally. “Excellent,” Jimbo said cheerfully as he shook her hand, accepting the deal. “No getting cold feet at the last second, got it?” He was mostly talking about her own questions she had for the Prophet and less about turning the store’s ads in – he could do that any day of the week before opening up. Quickly ducking into his office that was off of the front entrance, Jimbo snagged the stack of ads and shoved them into his jacket pocket before returning. “Looks to be rather dismal out today, so we’re going to apparate there,” Jimbo announced, holding his elbow out for his daughter to take hold, making sure that the papers in his pocket were secured tightly. Last thing he needed was for them to get lost in the void. Snapping out of their apartment and to the Prophet’s entrance area, Jimbo quickly pulled the ads back out of his jacket and held them in front of Jameson. “Use these to get past the front desk and to someone that will take you more seriously. The secretaries here are masters at blowing off rookie journalists and people casually walking in. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen the same people sitting in the waiting area, hoping to have a piece picked up. Good luck.” Giving her a light pat on the back, Jimbo stepped off to the side of the front doors, preparing himself for however long or short this could end up taking.

[Jameson Hera Blishwick]

no care in the world.

JIMMIE'S FATHER WAS ONE OF THE FEW PEOPLE fully equipped to deal with her bitter sense of humour. She'd yet to win a verbal spar with him. Her only ammo being her lack of interest in the business and her love life. And those was often exhausted topics. "It might cheer grandpa up," Jimmie said with a snicker. The man was the stoic type, and never failed to remind Jimmie that she should have been a boy.

"Me?" Jimmie said, raising her brows as she shook her father's hand briskly. "Never." Though, she'd certainly come to regret the deal, she wasn't the type to turn and run. As for their jaunt to the Prophet, well that remained to be seen. But, Jimmie was an all or nothing kind of gal. At least for the first 24 hours of any venture. As long as they got there, and fast, she'd be sure to at least walk in. Her frustration at a lack of answer made it worth the journey.

Pressing her hand in to the crook of her fathers elbow, Jimmie closed her eyes as they apparated from the front of their home. She'd never been able to keep them open, no matter how many times. Hair stuck to the damp skin of her lips as they landed and she pulled the tangles away, exhilarated all of a sudden. She blinked dry eyes as her father pressed something toward her.

Plucking it gently and suspiciously from his hands she saw it was ads for the business. She flicked through them briefly, catching on to her father's idea and smirking slightly the more he spoke. Though Jimmie knew her father would much prefer her by his side, matching and making, she felt a twinge of happiness that he was encouraging her with this. Helping her. She rocked in place, nodding firmly.

With a hard pat on the back, Jimmie stumbled forward, as if to move through the revolving doors. She looked back briefly, nose wrinkled. "Maybe I should- should I have sent an owl first?" Her hands curled in to fists, scrunching the ads she held. "Never mind." She said, steeling herself with a smile as she disappeared through, flashing her father a thumbs up before he was gone and it was just her and her last nerve. 

jimbo brian blishwick vi

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[jimbo brian blishwick vi]

Jameson Hera Blishwick

While Jimbo desperately wanted to add his own wisecracks against his father’s attitude about everything, he gave his daughter a stern look. He knew what she meant without her having to explicitly say it out loud. Being there from the beginning, there often times where Jimbo had grown tired of it and lashed back, probably one of the reasons the business was solely in his name, his father retiring earlier than his grandfather ever had. Jimbo V wanted nothing to do with a ‘failing’ business, as he was so apt to call it, now that there was no true successor. He seemed to forget that his own son would be able to run it on his own for a number of decades more, and that meant Jameson could do whatever she pleased. If anything, they were lucky Jimbo enjoyed the career choice and had always wanted to be in the shop since the moment the ability manifested itself. Just because he created a fluke in the system didn’t mean it was done either; Jimbo had hope that his child would come to her senses eventually and at least attempt to be serious about the trade. If not, there were always apprentices he could take on. Ones that weren’t fakes and actually cared about helping people find true love. Throwing the family business on Jameson when she clearly didn’t want it because it was tradition would never work. She wasn’t him, or his father, or his grandfather. As for her response to getting cold feet, he couldn’t help but grin at it. That was the Blishwick attitude right there. Even if she didn’t want the shop, she was still cut out for it, whether she knew it or not. They all were, in the end.

That was also why his plan to get her through the front lines of the Daily Prophet building seemed to click almost immediately. Jimbo thought she was going to have second thoughts when she stopped at the door, asking if he thought sending an owl first would have been better. Before he could say anything though, she apparently figured it out on her own and continued on inside. All she had to do was be persistent and pushy with the secretaries and higher-ups. That was what he had done over the years, and was also one of the reasons he had ended up with a permanent ad in the paper. Annoying them always worked. Spotting a small bench nearby, Jimbo slowly made his way over and sat down, hands stuck in his jacket pockets to keep the cold of the rain from getting to them as he waited to hear the results from Jameson.

[Jameson Hera Blishwick]

no care in the world.

THE PLAN WORKED IN THE BEGINNING, AS MENTION of the Blishwick business, and the very prestigious looking flyers allowed Jimmie up a good four floors of management. She passed desks with unmanned quills creating spirals of paper. Some journalists rattling of words so fast they were almost soundless. And others, their quills moved without a word. As if prompted by their owners very thoughts. It was glorious, and she had to restrain herself from stopping and chatting until her tongue dropped off.

Slowly, she was passed a little further up. Using the very business she hated to punt herself further and further. Her largest goal was quite obvious; editor and chief. But, that was perhaps a little lofty as eventually Jimmie met a dead end. Nobody was giving her the time of day right at the top. And, she didn't know where their office was. So, she watched herself be bounced from intern to intern. Each slowly figuring out just how desperate Jimmie was until almost two hours passed by with her wandering around the same floor asking the same questions.

"Look, kid," Someone eventually said, halting her with a very firm hand on her shoulder. "Maybe you should head home..." And she almost gave in right then and there. But, that stubborn fire roared behind her ribs at the pitiful look the journalist was giving her.

"'Look, kid...'" She retorted, stepping toe-to-toe with them until their features became neutral. "Point me to someone that matters or I swear to Merlin-" She drew in a deep, sobering breath. "Your next hatchet job on Blishwick's, 'TrEw Love' will be met with so many red-faced lawyers your head will spin!" And maybe she'd said it with such fury that her face was red and delirious, but the journalist almost seemed to consider taking a step back.

Jimmie tried not to skip when she was pointed toward the Editors PA. A meek looking girl with milk-bottle glasses. Except up-close her mouth was severe and her eyes were shrewd behind the mask. She had appeared to hear almost the entire exchange Jimmie had had with her colleague and Jimmie was sure security was the next step for her. But, she'd go down with a smile because damn, being pushy was fun.

"You got two minutes before I pretend you sneaked in..." Was the answer she was given instead and Jimmie almost stuttered, her eyes wide. "1:56..." She muttered and Jimmie powered past her, unfurling a copy of her famed article from the pocket of her coat.

The Editor sat straight backed, head bent over rolls and rolls of parchment. For Jimmie it was like looking at a mirage, until they looked up and everything came in to stunning focus.

And when, Jimmie finally emerged from the Daily Prophet, her face was almost grim. She'd left her father standing for over two hours but there he was. Still in place. She only maintained that grim arrival for a second, because as soon as she had her fathers full attention her face erupted in to a gleeful, glowing smile and she hopped, skipped and hugged her father fiercely around the waist.

"You won't believe it, dad!" She said, words almost muffled by his coat as she let go and looked up at him, blue eyes glittering. "It was... bonkers- The place, it goes on and on and on and your flyers worked!" Her mouth barely formed each weird, rolling sentences together and she gestured wildly with her hands. "But, then nobody would take me seriously and I was just... walking around like a loose Nargle and then this one writer was like-" Her face screwed up and she mimicked the journalist, using her hand to snap as their mouth. "But I held my ground!" She almost jumped in place, pride oozing from every pore. "It was... glorious!" She exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. 

jimbo brian blishwick vi

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[jimbo brian blishwick vi]

Jameson Hera Blishwick

Jimbo was going to need an insanely strong dosage of Pepper-Up Potion by the time he got home. The chill from the summer rain was seeping into him slowly; he could feel it in his bones. That was one of the only times he ever felt like he was getting old. The stiff back on cold mornings and the need for a masseuse once a month to get that one crick out. Like clockwork every fall, the impending frost and sub-zero temperatures spelled doom on his muscles and bones. Whilst he felt like a spring chicken the rest of the year, warming up (pun intended) to the latter months were tough. No doubt this bout of cold weather would be gone within the week. It never did last long. Regardless, Jimbo was cold and he only lasted thirty minutes or so before his wand was puffing out hot-air charms into his jacket. Those provided a sweet relief unlike any other, and made even the most miserable of icy summer rainstorms seem like any other day of the year.

Time ticked by, one hour, and then a second, Jimbo noting that it was a good sign Jameson hadn’t shown back up yet. The Prophet didn’t detain trespassers, he would know, and if she had been denied entry to a certain part of the building, she would have dragged herself outside by now. Or she was lost. That was a possibility in there, rooms upon rooms of copy machines and magicked quills, mass producing the next day’s copy of the paper and all of its innards, his own advertisement included. He imagined that the only difference between the Prophet and a muggle newspaper was the machinery to magic ratio. While they, meaning the Prophet, utilized Quick Quills and the likes to create everything, muggles punched in a few numbers into their computers, and bam! Thousands of copies. The Prophet did have a much smaller audience, considering the magical community was minute compared to muggle London, but that didn’t make their process any less daunting. Someone had to charm all of those quills after all, and a writer had to dictate the article as well. If anything, the magical way of doing it made it that much more of an art than their counterparts. He had gotten caught up in it years ago as well, during one of his first visits to the building in lieu of his father, and spent hours wandering around learning as much about it as possible. Jameson doing that as well was plausible.

Alas, the third hour of waiting was never reached, his daughter cheerfully launching herself at him as she exited the building. Of course his suspicions had been partially right; she had gotten lost in the magic of journalism during her trip to the tippity top, though the holdup sounded like it came in the form of her hand mocking one of the journalists that had managed to get in her way. Jimbo chuckled at her reactions to the experience, clearly all of them ending on a positive note despite whatever was said and done inside. “And what about your piece? I’m assuming you found someone to talk to about it?” They could talk for an eternity about the intricacies of the Daily Prophet, but the intention for coming was for her to find out about the submission. More than that, Jimbo wanted to know how well she stood her ground. Going toe to toe with a group of interns, who’s only job consisted of taking coffee orders or copying papers, was less of a success than talking to a secretary or journalist. Even a minor writer there would be able to give her some sort of constructive criticism on the piece. They didn’t necessarily have to be the Editor in Chief or a department head to do that. “Over lunch though, seeing as I was left out in the cold for the past two hours. I think that’s only fair enough,” Jimbo reasoned as he motioned that they were leaving the Prophet and heading towards their next destination. He doubted Jameson would be able to contain herself until they reached the restaurant though.

[Jameson Hera Blishwick]

no care in the world.

JIMMIE WAS PRACTICALLY VIBRATING IN HER coat, shifting from side to side, a great big grin on her face. This felt like the best day, she thought. Of all her mad hatter ideas and one finally pays off. She hadn't given in, like she usually did. And she hadn't regretted it. An all round success in her eyes.

"I didn't just find someone..." Jimmie said, wiggling her brows as she looked up at her father. "I found the Editor!" She hopped in place to enunciate the importance of it all. "Top. Dog." Jabbing him in the arm with every period. Jimmie looped her arm around her fathers, all too happy to march on to lunch where she could gush until her throat turned hoarse. "Lead the way!" She declared, glowing with happiness. "Somewhere fancy..." She added, looking up at him with a suddenly serious look. "I'm practically a professional now." Jimmie wasn't sure she'd last much longer. 

jimbo brian blishwick vi

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!