the modern leper | ronnie

[Galen Francis Ollivander]

nothing.

THE HAZE OF BOOZE AND METTALIC BLOOD IN Frankie's mouth made waking up unpleasant. He was aware of a cold hard floor under him, his shirt dry and crispy where he grabbed it and pulled it away from his sticky, sweaty chest. Absently, he was aware that he was not where he was supposed to be. Ungluing his eyes to stare at the vaulted, wooden ceiling. A ceiling Frankie had swept clear of cobwebs on his bitter sister's demand. He was in Ollivander's, that much came to him with startling clarity.

Sitting up with a drawn out groan, Frankie felt pain in every joint of his body. He was aware of swelling at his temple, blood crusted under both of his nostrils. There was a matt at the back of his head, with gentle probing Frankie found a new scab forming where he'd somehow split it open. He couldn't remember how, he couldn't remember fighting. He most certainly did not remember passing out on Ollivander's floor. Looking down blearily, Frankie saw his jeans were torn a the hem and knees, as if he'd fallen more than once. He was missing a shoe and sock respectively, wiggling his dirty toes with a croaky laugh. Around Frankie was a mass of opened wand boxes, torn papers and broken glass. He'd clearly enjoyed himself the night before, but he still couldn't remember why he'd gone to the shop instead of Nell's, or Harper's. Probably embarrassed, or frightened of how they might find him.

A pit was yawning open in his gut, a mixture of post-booze depression and an unconscious awareness of all the mistakes he had made. He reeked of blood and dried alcohol, flammable from head to toe. It was humiliating to think of how helpless he appeared, reaching up to cling to the counter to heave himself to his feet, finding when he did that his knuckles were split and his pinkie was probably broken. "Not good..." He groaned, clinging to the wood as he pulled himself slowly to a standing. When he did, he held his breath, the shop was in a terrible state. Ronnie was going to kill him.

The door to the shop was ajar, a breeze letting it squeak on its hinges. The metal shutter half closed, an empty bottle of beer wedging it open. Inside a path of destruction led to where Frankie had ultimately passed out, he'd thrown papers and glass cases everywhere. Wands pulled from their boxes and arranged to spell 'f-u-k u' under the shelves. He'd been quite creative, it's true. Scratching the crown of his head, Frankie couldn't remember why he'd been so angry. Gods, he was always angry these days. And now he had to clean it up, which was almost worse than the disaster itself. And then he heard it, the tell-tale clack of heels. The smooth sound of her voice changing from curiosity to panic as she found her precious shop already open. Frankie hobbled around the counter, he was so fucked. 

veronica giselle ollivander

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[veronica giselle ollivander]

━ you have bewitched me, body and soul ━

ANOTHER MORNING MEANT ANOTHER DREADFUL day in the shop. As of late, Veronica had been excruciatingly busy with each order, especially since her usual help had called off sick in the last week. Hoping for another day to pass by as she got through another wave of orders, the eldest Ollivander set off early in the morning to work on some of the orders she had half began just the day before, but had promised to herself she would finish tomorrow. Well. Today. Wrapped in a long coat to keep herself warm, Veronica soon began to wonder where the months had passed, along with the faintness of the sun the UK experienced every now and then. Although the positive changes in her life however factored in Gideon as he was now studying at the schooling that had replaced Hogwarts. That and well, Gideon vowed to never return to America - unless for a holiday of course.

Smiling to herself as she pondered on Gideon's wellbeing, Veronica enjoyed the silence of Diagon Alley, knowing that same silence wouldn't last long as the hours would go on by. Though, what she hadn't expected was the door of Ollivanders to be slightly ajar. Surely she had locked it the night before? As she did many nights before? "What on earth?.." She spoke, drawing out her wand just in case. It was then Veronica quietly casted lumos, filling the space of the darkened store before the beady eyes of someone she least expected was staring back at her. Dropping her wand by her side while her eyes could do nothing but widen, Veronica watched as her younger brother hobbled around the counter.

At first, Veronica simply said nothing, but instead investigated her surroundings. The shop had been trashed, with bits of glass everywhere, broken wand boxes and torn papers. The more the eldest Ollivander looked around, the more her initial curiosity and panic rose into nothing but sheer anger. Finished wands had been pulled from their boxes and displayed to spell only something a drunken fool like her brother could create.

Taking in a deep breath as she tried to remain level-headed, Veronica simply waved at her wand, using her magic to start clearing up the mess around them, from the pieces of glass flying to the nearest bin to the wands on the shelves and floor being dusted lightly and returned to their boxes and original places. The papers rose also, returning to their original place - in a neat stack where she had left them. In the way that she liked. She didn't care in that moment if something had hit Francis on its way back to its original place, but it was due to be a better response for the words she had prepared for him.

"What." She began, finally turning her head to face her brother once more, as she was content her magic would do the rest. "Happened?" Veronica knew she needed to hear out her brother first before blowing off her top, but the longer that the silence lingered in the air - as well as her clenched fist grew a paler colour from being clenched so tightly - she knew Francis didn't have long to explain himself.

| Galen Francis Ollivander |

sorry for the wait!

[Galen Francis Ollivander]

nothing.

IN THE WAKE OF HIS DISCOVERY, FRANKIE DID attempt to stand up straight as he stood before his sister. Alas, it was almost more humiliating that he was when Ronnie finally moved from shock to 'corrector'. Her wand slipping into place as she waved it above her head with a  sharp flick of her wrist. He could only stand there, ragged and aching, as the magic whizzed past his ears and singed his very ego. Right, of course, he thought bitterly. Magic could fix anything. Just not him.

As everything slipped back into its place respectively, Frankie felt a tugging down by his bare foot. He dropped his head in a daze, watching a little shard of glass wiggle out from under his big toe and fly back to its place. He didn't even feel the pain it caused when it tore from his skin. How utterly odd, he mused, clearing the bile burning a hole in the back of his throat. He was going to be sick, that was a certainty, the real question was 'when'. And once everything was where she instructed, her wand hand settled into a sharp elbow and finally he felt the full force of her cold gaze. Her stern little mouth, her angular jaw. God, had she always hated him?

"W-" The mere act of breathing was sore and sharp at the back of Frankie's throat, forcing him to clear it twice before he could attempt speaking once more. "What does it matter?" He croaked coldly, feeling stung by the magic and his sheer display of complete disaster. Let her judge him, he thought angrily. So be it. "You fixed it with Ollivander's finest." He swept a hand at her precious wand. "Can I have the day off, please?" He asked her sarcastically. Coughing into his split knuckles as he struggled to breathe through an acute ache in his ribs. "I think I'm coming down with something." He coughed again, weak and miserable, a gag lingering somewhere just behind it. 

veronica giselle ollivander

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[veronica giselle ollivander]

━ you have bewitched me, body and soul ━

WITH SCROLLS, PAPERS, WANDS and even glass whizzing through the air, as they returned to their rightful places, Veronica's lips thinned as she watched her brother could do nothing but stand in the chaos. It was moments like this that Veronica felt stupidly powerful compared to her squib of a brother. Knowing that he couldn't fix anything with a simple flick of his nonexistent wand. Watching as he lifted his bare, disgusting foot to let free a glass shard, Veronica felt like she was being pranked in that moment. Surely she had to be dreaming, that something like this couldn't of happened because an idiot like her brother could not handle his drink well enough.

At his attempt of speaking, Veronica's free hand rose, pinching the bridge of her nose while her eyes closed. To say she could kill her brother was an understatement, but more so she could kill him or even bury him alive if she wished. "It matters so I know whether or not to change the locks and kick you out of here for good." She began, dropping her hand and placing her wand back in her pockets. "It matters so I can determine whether or not to kill you with my bare hands or blame it on the alcohol." She added, her voice raising in volume.

"It matters because not only did you potentially ruin everything, from scrolls, to paper orders, finished wands that need collections, but to then wake up like the drunken mess you are and decide to sit here, joking about having a day off..When the last time you worked here was when we discovered you would grow up to be nothing but an alcoholic with no ties to magic." Veronica moved away then, making the conscious effort to keep her hands busy before the tendency to slap or hit her brother grew any further. "I say this from an outsiders perspective, not from the obligated perspective that comes from being your sister. But you need help Francis."

| Galen Francis Ollivander |

sorry for the wait!

[Galen Francis Ollivander]

nothing.

THERE WAS A PULSE IN FRANKIE'S EAR THAT wouldn't go away. Like a phantom heartbeat, rhythmic and dizzying. He felt it again at the juncture of his throat, where a fat artery fluttered, then again somewhere in his chest. It felt like his very blood was being moved at a fast, panicking pace. And still, his wretched sister spoke. Her tone reeking of disdain and superiority. Her expression so sharp he thought it might cut across the room and slash him. Her pointed chin a blade she used with stern ease as she looked down her nose at him. His hands were shaking- she wouldn't stop speaking. And then she moved, as if to dismiss him, her face turning from him as she busied herself with more important thing. He needed help, she had said. 

"Fire me." He whispered, his face a tinge on the green side. When he realised she may not have heard, or was simply ignoring him. "Fucking... fire me." He raised his voice, shaking at the corners from the booze and the fury that threatened to consume him. He picked up a glass paperweight that had been reassembled on the counter and tossed it with all his might against the nearest wall. "It's all fucking bullshit anyways!" He cried, almost hysterical as he limped across the room toward his emotionless sister.

"You think I like coming here?" He asked her, a cruel tinge to his voice. "Sweeping your fucking floor, clipping your precious paper orders- Like I don't know you can do it with a flick of your fucking wrist?!" He barked a cold, harsh laugh, the noise sounding wet with phlegm and bile.

There was nothing but a wooden trolley standing between himself and Ronnie. He thought she could probably smell the booze and sickness on his skin. He hoped she did. "It's fucking humiliating." He told her, probably the most honest he had ever been. "How little you think of me- how little any of you think of me because I can't do what you can do so fucking easily." His nostrils flared, he felt red and raw with embarrassment. "So forgive me for having a little drink." He yelled, shaking his head and grinning maniacally. "Forgive me for wishing I could drink the very memory of you from my useless, squib head." He spat the word 'squib', had always hated the descriptor. It was insulting, derogatory. It was normalcy in a society that refused to accept him.

He pushed the trolley away from between them, toppling it over in his wake as he limped towards the doorway. "Fuck you, Ronnie." He called over his shoulder. "Next time I set foot in this place." He grabbed the doorway, fingers aching where he flexed them against the wood. He turned to look her deep in the eye. "I'll burn it to the fucking ground." He warned her, a meanness in his glassy eyes. "See if your precious wand can fix that." And then, just as he turned to leave, he felt a roiling in his stomach that he couldn't deny. He bent at the waist and projectile vomited all over those pristine floors. "Oops." He croaked, wiping a hand over his mouth remorselessly. 

veronica giselle ollivander

NEVERLAND at ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0!

[veronica giselle ollivander]

━ you have bewitched me, body and soul ━

ONE OF THE SOLE PURPOSES that Veronica felt inclined to keep her stupid little brother around was bound from a promise between her and her father. With their annual parties, birthdays for their parents and one another, their father had always sensed something off with Francis. Veronica denied such accusations of course, blaming his erratic behaviour on a bad week, or some random excuse. The excuses ran their course of course, and eventually the eldest confided in her father, much to her dismay.

As her lips turned upward, the stench of alcohol and other foul smells that left her brothers lips filling their air, Veronica's brows furrowed as he rose his voice. "Oh shut up!" She yelled. There was no point in speaking like ordinary adults, Francis simply needed to be spoken to like a child. Like how she would discipline Gideon in his younger years. "I know you hate it here. I know my wand can produce a much better result but alas I put up with you as it was his request! He begged me to because he knows something is off with you. We all do!" Chest heaving as she got her words out, the few final pieces of chaos had settled to their original state, leaving the wand-maker rather relieved.

Listening to the honest truth, of how her brother felt like an outsider, Veronica's lips thinned. In actuality, she wanted to smile, especially as she knew she was the main cause of his feelings. But she had only dug the hole, Francis was the one who fell down it. But as Francis began to grin, sarcastically mentioning how he should be forgiven for having a little drink, the eldest scoffed. "A little drink? You've spiralled into sheer alcoholism. It's the fact you're aware of it, and I'm sure Eleanor or even Gehry have tried to provide a helping hand, but like the useless idiot- no I'm sorry, the useless squib you are, you probably shook it off. Like it's no big deal."

Watching as he rose, pushing the trolley away, Veronica felt her eyes roll. She was used to hearing such a thing from Francis, it was no big secret that the two had a big dislike for one another. But the threat to burn down their family's legacy? Too far. "I'd love to see you try!" She called back, foot quietly tapping as she decided to let him go. That was until Francis bent over, vomiting over the floors.

Earning a sound of disgust from the eldest, Veronica waved her wand to slam the door open, a sign for him to leave. "Get out before I do something we'll all regret! And don't even bother coming back to do your job. You can die on the street for all I care!" She called, using her wand once more to gather a mop and a bucket. She was tired of keeping promises, to look after people that simply didn't want 'help'.

"Matter of fact" She decided to add, her hand pinching at her top, to rest over her nose so she wouldn't need to smell the stench. "Step through these doors, or go near my son ever again and I'll make you regret it."

| Galen Francis Ollivander |