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last online May 2, 2024 15:02:47 GMT -7
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Mar 30, 2019 0:52:25 GMT -7
Post by Deleted on Mar 30, 2019 0:52:25 GMT -7
 23RD DECEMBER 2024
LONDON WAS ONE place Veronica appreciated once upon a time. It was at a younger age when she felt more…In touch with her muggle-side, especially as a half-blood. But with the overload of dangerous emotions and the need to resort back to a traditional mind, blood purity had become a sort of interest. Francis’ blood proved no other. Born as Veronica’s younger brother and the first son to their parents, Veronica remembered the day of joy she felt when it was discovered he was indeed a Squib. Born of no importance. A simple gap in their heritage. As cruel as it sounded, Veronica didn’t care for Galen- Francis; unless it showed importance. In other words, holidays. And with Christmas lurking the corners, her fakest of smiles had returned for just one more day.
Pushing open the doors of Club Indigo in the early afternoon of the twenty-third, Veronica felt her lips turn upwards. The stench of beer was heavy in the air, and while Veronica did enjoy a glass of wine from time to time, beer was one thing she despised. Not as much as Francis however. Looking amongst the empty club…Or bar, whatever it was, she approached the bar counter, looking upon the Muggle-bartenders who seemed invested in their conversation. She forced a smile once one turned to her, questioning if she needed help. ”Please. Don’t let me interrupt you.” She smiled, implying to continue their conversation. ”But I am here looking for a certain bartender who goes by the name of Galen Ollivander? I believe you all may know him as Frankie.”
A disgusting name at that. Since the start of time, every male born into the Ollivander family was blessed with their first name beginning with G, a tradition she had never truly asked her parents for the reason behind. It was nice though, giving the family a variety of different G names, many which were uncommon as a whole. Galen was a fair example, but with tainted squib blood of his own, Veronica felt relief in his nickname. |
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last online Apr 29, 2024 17:19:56 GMT -7
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Mar 31, 2019 9:37:17 GMT -7
Post by Galen Francis Ollivander on Mar 31, 2019 9:37:17 GMT -7
 HAVING NEVER MUCH ENJOYED THE FESTIVITIES of Christmas, Frankie was the first person to volunteer to work so close to Christmas Eve. In fact, his boss had seemed quite impressed, right before he'd gotten a pitiful look on his face that had made Frankie grimace. Only sad sacks worked on Christmas. But, Frankie didn't mind it really. It beat running in to his parent's or Ronnie. All scrambling to make their family home as pretty as a picture. If he saw another holly garland he might throw up.
So, he threw himself in to his work instead. He reordered the liquor bottles alphabetically, organised the cellar and wiped down every dusty surface he could find. All the while an incessant reel of Christmas music assaulted his every sense, and he pretended like he wasn't dreading the trip home after his shift every night. His head was still thumping from the booze he'd drank the night before. Spending as much of his time as possible away from home. Away from Ronnie and her perfect little kid. Or Gabe with his moony eyes, who appeared to follow Ronnie around like a baby duckling. It was truly an awful time of the year.
Humphing a large beer keg up from the cellar, Frankie's face was shiny with sweat, his arms pulled taut as he dragged it up to the top of the stairs, the sound of voices behind the bar his only company. For few talked to him directly at work, especially the witches and wizards. Muggles were easier to talk to because they didn't know any different. Those that were magic treated him with the same disregard as they did the Muggles. Snooty, as if they weren't being paid the same wage. But, when Frankie rolled the keg towards the bar, he realised there was something chillingly familiar about one particular voice.
The hairs on the back of Frankie's neck rose as he abandoned the keg and pulled a rag out from where he'd tucked it in to his belt. Dashing it across his sweaty forehead as he turned the corner to see something very unnerving indeed. Ronnie standing in front of the bar, her nose upturned and a slight, grimacing smile on her face. She thought she looked polite, but Frankie could spot her blatant sense superiority from a mile off. "Ronnie..." He said, a wrinkle between his brows. "What're you doing here?" He was wringing his rag between his hands, fingers flexing again and again as anxiety clawed its way up his throat. "Someone dead, or something?" He asked, just to rankle her.
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last online May 2, 2024 15:02:47 GMT -7
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Apr 14, 2019 17:29:50 GMT -7
Post by Deleted on Apr 14, 2019 17:29:50 GMT -7
THE SOUND OF his voice was the only thing Veronica needed to hear before the fake-smile she had on her lips turned into the worst looking frown. Christmas without him for the past decade or so was blissful, especially as year after year she avoided the need to inform her son of his uncles existence. It was probably a stupid thing to do, but it was worthwhile considering how young her son was back then when she made him comfortable amongst her other siblings. But this Christmas was a little…Different. Veronica had heard Francis had bonded with their parents, thus Christmas was looking wholesome this year. Dark eyes scanned the features of her Squib brother, the beads of sweat that trickled from his forehead being the thing she focused on while the stench of beer that mixed with the sweatiness of the Muggles around bothered her.
A gloved hand lifted, her index and middle finger pushing together and resting under her nose. Whatever the scent was, it was indecently foul. Veronica had always hated the shortage of her name, especially when it left the disgraceful mouth of her brother. Ronnie, Ron, Von or Vonnie were all nicknames Veronica refused to respond to. It was either Veronica, Ms Ollivander or Mum. Nothing else. His question left the eldest’s mouth dropping open to find the words until he added in the next question…Which was supposedly a joke. Right? ”Your terrible attempt at a joke or to rattle me has no effect, Francis.” She remarked behind her hand, dropping it but ensuring her glove didn’t touch her…surroundings. She knew that the use of his…Full-traditional middle name would irritate him in some shape or form, especially since she refused to call him by his full name. He didn’t have that privilege as man with Squib-tainted blood.
”I’ve come for a truce. Just for the day of Christmas that is.” Everyone knew Veronica took enjoyment out of organisation, whether it were for an activity or something intense like the family dinners. Things like this took time and at least a day’s preparation. The house-elves had to be informed of things well in advice alongside the staff that wandered the Ollivander Manor. ”Could we potentially talk it out? Without your…” Veronica paused, her head turning to the side, flashing a fake smile to the Muggles who stood, purposely eavesdropping into the start of the Ollivander’s conversation. ”Colleagues? Perhaps outside in the…Nicer parts of London.” A place that didn’t smell like Baby-Gideon’s young mistakes in his nappies. Ah she missed the days when her son was a young baby.
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last online Apr 29, 2024 17:19:56 GMT -7
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May 2, 2019 8:02:50 GMT -7
Post by Galen Francis Ollivander on May 2, 2019 8:02:50 GMT -7
EVEN RONNIE'S POSTURE RANKLED FRANKIE IN A way he could not explain. Her disdain and disgust a palpable thing that wobbled in the air between them, often mistaken for plain tension. She had never had much love for Frankie, even when he was Galen. But, he reckoned that was because she'd always seen him as an unworthy firstborn son. Seeing as she'd been seconded all the way through their childhood until it became clear that Frankie was a squib. Which, he knew in her eyes, was only a confirmation of what she felt she already knew. That he was worthless.
"Aw, Ronnie." Frankie tutted, swiping sweat from his brow with his forearm, his head tilting slightly. "You know I wouldn't joke with you." And there was a shrewd meanness in his eyes. "I already know you you don't have a sense of humour." This was quite typical of any extended interaction Frankie had with his elder sister. She was brutally honest, and he batted her off with snarky remarks and his own, patented half smirk. Anything to get under her skin.
However, Frankie's half-smile dropped as Ronnie explained why she'd bothered to come to his bar. He'd already known it had to be serious for her to step foot in a place like Club Indigo, but he'd thought it was something a little more possible. Like, a death or a grievous injury. He hadn't thought she was capable of something as human as a 'truce'. Flickering his gaze to the other two barmen meandering just within ear shot, Frankie took a step towards his sister and gently placed his hand on her arm. "Why don't we talk out back," He said in a hushed tone, guiding her past the bar and through the back exit where the large, industrial bins were kept in a side ally.
"A truce?" Frankie said, wheeling around to face her once the chilly afternoon air nipped his flaring nostrils. "You know, I think that's pretty adult of you," He began, a slight tick in his jaw brought on by how hard he clenched. "But, how do I know you won't just change your mind come dinner time?" He shrugged his shoulders heavily, his lips pulling down at the corners. "We both know how much you can't stand me." And there was a dangerous glint in his eyes when he caught hers. As if daring her to disagree with him.
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last online May 2, 2024 15:02:47 GMT -7
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May 13, 2019 14:32:48 GMT -7
Post by Deleted on May 13, 2019 14:32:48 GMT -7
NOSE CRINKLED AND LIPS UPTURNED, Veronica knew she needed to get out of the club. It ate away at her skin, the stifling stench of beer while the grimace that settled on her face only growing with more disgust at the beads of sweat that trickled down his face. How could someone she despise so much still be awfully disgusting? Had he have no shame? A squib like himself should remain hidden in the Muggle world, the way Francis had done so seemed to prove to be a simple life for him, even if there were traces of a magical being amongst him. As he wiped his sweat with his bare forearm, the eldest felt the need to gag. Instead her hand rose, covering her nose in pure disgust, as if disgust written across her face was her natural face. ”Ha-ha. So funny.” She drawled, speaking to her disgrace of a brother like a toddler while eyes rolled. The smirk he held was unsettling, picking away at the slight sophistication she attempted to hold in the mist of their conversation. ”I believe our…Tastes just always prove to be different. I actually enjoy humane things while you live a life of…Pure luxury.” If pure luxury was code word for: the scenery of an unclean bathroom.
The gesture was met fairly quickly, as if leaving that smelly death-trap was the only thing that mattered in the Ollivander’s life. She praised Merlin she made the right choice to wear gloves. But with her brother…touching her, eyes darted down to her arm, abruptly lifting it up so his fingers only brushed lightly. She felt the need to spitefully mutter a warning around touching but it would contradict the very thing she had come for. A truce was the best way she could describe what she wanted, to have some sort of civilisation for their Christmas reunion and an actual chance to give Gideon to meet the uncle he wasn’t aware of. To make his own choice if he even wanted to stay in contact with the older man. ”A truce.” She repeated, chin held high as she spoke. ”You know Francis…I can be pretty adult-y. Have been since I’ve had Gideon.”
The bombshell of her son had been one Veronica wasn’t afraid to hold back…Except to her brother. Gideon was fourteen now, and in all of his years of living, he had met Francis from a brief Christmas dinner when the boy was only a few months old to the young age of three. Easily forgetful years. But with Francis falling off the radar — according to Eleanor anyway — and Veronica barely attending the Christmas celebrations alongside their parents as Gideon grew…Maybe fourteen was a good age to release the family drama into the eyes of the Ollivander’s youngest member. ”You won’t know.” She truthfully remarked, gloved hands clasping together and resting in front of her. ”It’ll just be a…random day of trust! Mother and Father hate to see us bicker, especially after thirty odd years around one another.” She added in, grin twitching away at her lips.
While he wasn’t wrong, Veronica knew it would be bad of her to agree to such a claim, instead her brows quirked, lips turning also in amusement. In the long run she couldn’t help but agree with him. ”You’re not wrong there.” She muttered, head turning briefly to oversee the dirt amongst them, before the glint in his eyes was met with her own. ”For the sake of our siblings, my son and our parents…I’ll try to keep my thoughts and comments to myself.” It didn’t mean she could stop her son though.
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last online Apr 29, 2024 17:19:56 GMT -7
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Aug 2, 2019 7:14:34 GMT -7
Post by Galen Francis Ollivander on Aug 2, 2019 7:14:34 GMT -7
THE SLIGHT CHILL IN THE ALLEYWAY HELPED TO clear Frankie's mind, but he couldn't stop thinking about the way Ronnie looked at it. With complete and utter disgust. It was a familiar expression, he saw it every time she looked at him. He stared her face on, refusing to break and drop his eyes until he was ready. She thought about stuff like that, he knew she did. That it would be a sign of weakness from him. They were constantly in battle.
"Oh, I believe it." Frankie said with a dry, thin smile. "You were born a 40 year old divorcee, I think." He flashed his teeth at her, as threatening as it was ridiculing. And it was true, his oldest sister had always been fussy and shrewd. Like an bitter old woman. Frankie couldn't actually remember a time he'd ever had fun with her. He certainly had, there was bound to be a time when both were too innocent to pick on the other, but he couldn't remember it so it surely never happened.
And Frankie didn't trust her. She was bitterly honest, but he knew she was capable of veiling her lies in pretty little truths. Every the British Diplomat. "I dunno if that's good enough for me." Frankie said, his lip curling up slightly as he reached up to scratch at his rough, stubbly chin.
"Plus, I think they sort of like it." Frankie scrunched his nose and smiled bitterly. "I think you do too, Ronnie." He crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. He had a suspicion that Ronnie probably wanted to give him a telling in front of her precious son. Show him how she regarded the 'lesser' of their.
"But, I'll be there." Frankie had probably decided before Ronnie had tried to convince him. He had nothing else to do and he sort of wanted to test her good tidings. "Maybe..." He shrugged his shoulder at this, giving her just enough to unsettle her as he shifted past her and back towards the door they'd come through. "You can see yourself out." He called over his shoulder. "Or stay..." At this he barked a laugh. "Buy a drink!" He tested her, a wicked grin on his face as he opened the door and held it open for her silently, mischief in his eyes.
veronica giselle ollivander i think we could potentially end this soon? do something bit more present and dramatic if you like? i'm easy either way. |
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last online May 2, 2024 15:02:47 GMT -7
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Aug 18, 2019 16:37:19 GMT -7
Post by Deleted on Aug 18, 2019 16:37:19 GMT -7
VERONICA KNEW SHE WOULDN’T BREAK. Not this easily, or at all now that she thought of it. Still, his attempt of a dry joke earned a smile out of her, the same way he was grinning in his direction. She was still taking her divorce with a pinch of salt, overcoming it with dark humour of her own around it. ”Luckily for me I’m only thirty-four. Six years too early for the prophetic divorce unfortunately.” Like a child though, Francis had to retort the way he usually would. Nothing was enough for the drunken except the last drops of his favourite bottle. At least, that’s what Veronica assumed, considering he poured half his squib life away to the dangers of alcohol. ”Is anything ever good enough for you Francis?” She was genuinely curious.
Lips curled up at her brother’s dirty hand reaching up to scratch at his chin. How could someone let their hygiene decline so far? ”I enjoy many things dear brother. Our fighting I do not, by any means.” Lie beyond lie. Watching Francis suffer to a life of working class and even separation from the family at times was enough to overjoy the eldest. Enough to prove her worth as the eldest wizard of the Ollivander children. Veronica’s only wish? She hoped to have another child just for Gideon’s poor sake. At Francis’ drawing conclusion, gloved hands came together in a victory clap, joyed he would bless the home with his…presence. ”Fantastic. I’ll inform the trolls and elves that you’ll be expected. Save you the hassle of being turned away of course.”
At his bark of laughter and a test she knew she wouldn’t fall victim to, her lips curved, forming a fake sort of smile while her nose scrunched with it. ”I’d rather not dear brother. But I’ll be on my way now.” She walked towards the open door, passing into the warmth of the…club? Whatever the atrocity was before briefly turning back to her brother. ”Tomorrow then? Six the latest please. Don’t bother to bring wines, beers or any…gifts, Father will be there after all.” With another fake smile, a gloved hand rose to wave, settling by her side once the eldest Ollivander shuffled past the two workers she had passed through earlier. Merlin, Christmas was about to be filled with chaos.
[VERONICA END?]
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last online Apr 29, 2024 17:19:56 GMT -7
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Oct 1, 2019 6:08:30 GMT -7
Post by Galen Francis Ollivander on Oct 1, 2019 6:08:30 GMT -7
AS EXPECTED, RONNIE DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO take a joke. Correcting Frankie like he was a poorly performing student. Really, Ronnie should have went in to teaching. She had the bitter face and temperament for it. As he'd told her, many many times. "I think it'll take about that for your idiot husband to learn how to read the paperwork," Frankie sniped, his expression verging on cheery as he shrugged his shoulders loosely.
However, Frankie's expression sobered slightly at Ronnie's deft distraction. Was anything ever good enough for him. He pursed his lips as if he were considering it. "Could ask you the same question," He said, without doing so, avoiding a proper answer. He figured Ronnie wasn't really looking for honesty anyways. Merely a chance to see ineptitude in her painfully normal brother. And he didn't believe she didn't enjoy fighting with him. He just knew she didn't like losing, and sometimes he won.
Frankie watched her leave with a wiggle of his fingers. The air warming in her cold absence. He reentered the bar to a few nagging questions from his colleagues, but he gave only the barest of answers. Frankie didn't want anyone to know about Ronnie any more than Ronnie wanted them knowing about her. Their distance was as intentional as it was necessary. Dinner would surely end in tears.
[END]
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