| Thursday 17 September 1942 |
[Mar. 13th, 2009|10:55 am] |
I'm in. Things to do:
1. Live through tonight. The Squad hasn't been briefed yet, but everything I've heard from that class has been bad. And Miss MacAlister's last drill was not exactly inspiring. Not that I've ever sought inspiration from Caerleon before, but I will not turn it away tonight. I'll just have to make sure Thea doesn't turn Misses Loveday and Starn out alone in the castle to be crushed by stone for their many sartorial sins.
2. Repay Nat. Moved down from number one only because I can't imagine that non-urgent post will be sent tonight.
3. Work out what we owe Dashwood, which I am sure will be substantial, and work out what his normal rates of interest are, which I am sure will also be substantial and yet just low enough that objections will be fruitless. Repay that.
4. Adjust our interest rates and repayment system to be just this side of outrageous also.
5. Find out who has been cheating Aurélien. There has to have been someone.
6. Have them repay us. |
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| Thursday 17 September 1942 |
[Nov. 18th, 2008|12:14 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  still pissed off | ] |
I suppose Séverine Leffoy must be a blonde too. Valeria Malaspina certainly is, I can imagine exactly how Nat thought she was fun. And it must be nice to have a girl who Martin didn't have first, for a change. People say they can't imagine how she's in Avalon, but those people are the same people who think that I am a wind-up Jeannot toy. I wonder what Nat would think about her and Forrester? Men like to believe that they weren't merely the nearest warm-blooded male in the building, even Nat, and they're so often wrong. I'd do Forrester too, and perhaps I will now that apparently he's there for the asking. Aurélien would hate it too, and that's a very very good reason right there.
Saint-Germain doesn't want any part of his business any more, and Dashwood is happy to see me in. Aurélien I don't know about. We have always had a deal, of sorts, and it goes like this: I don't judge him, he doesn't judge me, together we judge everyone else. It's as good a deal as he is going to get for a long time, especially now.
And it's off if he ever calls me whore.
In other business, last night Celerity got a good shot across the bow: I haven't done anything for Callista yet. The very last thing I want to do right now is talk to anyone about their dead family, but she did seem to do rather well yesterday and so might not be as embarrassing as that terrible Lady Campion. I will go to her this morning and hopefully that will begin to make it right. As for Celerity, I suppose Cassie Campion is better looking than Alma Greengrass or blonder at any rate, and a pacifist's daughter is the next step up from a traitor's as the traitor's daughter was the next step up from... Prudence Bainbridge. But she's clever for all that she has abysmal taste in friends, and she won't forget that I owe her one in a hurry. And nor will I. I pay my debts. |
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| Wednesday 16 September 1942 |
[Nov. 3rd, 2008|10:50 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | pissed off | ] |
Martin wouldn't have done this. He would have listened to everything Colette had to say, with wide eyes, staring right at her and nodding. And he could have explained how to hold her head high, and fight with her eyes, and her smile, and the truth, or the lie everyone wants to hear. And then he would have had her, and she would have loved it and when it all fell apart she'd have turned around and he'd have been gone. But she would have done a lot better that way for a while, all the same. That was the thing about Martin.
The thing I think I mind most about Claire was that it would have been so easy, doing all that to her. Easier than Colette would be, far easier than Miss Malfoy (any of them). I thought I was so special, because he chose me, but I guess he didn't agree.
More the fool him.
Aurélien always wanted what Martin had; this is one of the things Martin taught me how to see. I used to think he was smart enough to want it because of what it could do for him — like I do — but it doesn't look like I was right about that. A few more days of this and Saint-Germain, Rookwood, Dashwood, Warrington, they'll all turn on him and he'll be right alongside Crockford: one-on-one is one thing, but he hasn't always fought that way, so neither will they. Stupid.
I could save this for him: but am I as stupid as he is, for even wanting to? It's a good business though. |
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| Tuesday 15 September 1942 |
[Sep. 10th, 2008|07:02 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  ambitious | ] |
How I do loathe waking up early in the morning. I suppose it would be just like the Germans to keep terribly uncivilised hours and raid us first thing and therefore it makes sense to have a drill in the morning, but if we do I will continue to unrepentantly take it all out on darling little Miss Walsingham as long as she keeps giving me an excuse by behaving like the world is going to end if she is seen outside her room without her hair done. If we are actually raided, and Kat and Dio manage to prise Lavvy away from her and turn up and tell me that she was killed in an unfortunate tapestry collapse or something, it's just a question of how many points I give them.
Thea is an annoying vain bitch, but she's been almost tolerable since Jenica dragged her out hunting for Giselle. If only it wasn't for her army of spoiled princesses, that is, and today Cori is the worst of them. At least Maeve and Patty are trying to make sure husband-to-be of the week thinks they could run his castle.
Meanwhile, Dashwood's become a Malfoy and is at home helping to heal the prince (well, if absinthe helps, I suppose Dashwood is your man) and Auré is not back on his game. I wonder if they could use a business partner? The question is, how to ask. |
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| Saturday 12 September 1942; later |
[Mar. 11th, 2008|10:31 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | amused | ] |
Kat Lovegood seemed awfully worried that I was going to hex her little present to Lucius Malfoy, or at least set the preservation charm in such a way that it was going to be hard to lift. The game of wondering how some people made Slytherin gets tedious quickly, but really. There is probably exactly one person who could get away with hexing the future Lord Malfoy at the moment, and that's only because it's sort of cute when little redheads who have a tomboy crush on you play their little pranks. And besides all that, if nothing else, she really ought to appreciate that, actually, it's entirely possible that I can't set a charm that Malfoy couldn't lift, or a hex he wouldn't notice and trace, even leaving aside the people they certainly should have checking the mail. (Nat could be the mail boy, in fact.) She can keep up with him on a broom, but how can she have not realised that that doesn't mean that they're equals?
Still, one has to keep in mind that Kat is already Malfoy's very favouritest person in the entire school (unless that's Riddle?), which is quite an achievement when they've only been allowed to speak again for five days and before that her father was trying to kill his mother (I suppose that's the term). The real question in this case might actually be how the rest of us made Slytherin. I wonder how long it will be before Maeve and Patty decide to have a try at Quidditch and cricket? Maybe I'd better warn Nat to keep an eye out for guano in his bed. Of course, there's always whoever is going to be Lord Dashwood instead, which would require either becoming Hadrian Kyteler or Mercuria Casaubon, depending.
I wonder what the story is with this brother Kat said the frogs were for. That would be this Artisson as was, who is apparently Arianwen's patron and guiding light, among other things (naturally). Very impressive, that she can have that, and Gresham too. I suppose a Malfoy would not expect a woman to be exclusive to him, they seem evenhanded in that regard, but even so. |
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| Thursday 10 September 1942 |
[Nov. 13th, 2007|09:26 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  determined | ] |
Entry well warded, even by Ianthe's standards
I haven't had a reply from Nat yet. Of course, in the end she didn't kill herself after all, but I can't put that in an owl. Even to the Ministry. Even to Nat. I don't know if it matters anyway. There's probably not a lot of difference between being killed by your memories of Martin and being killed by a demon pretending to be Martin. He would have killed her in the end, somehow.
They say Aurélien's fallen apart. That was stupid of him. He can't let himself do that. If I can't put him right, Nat and I will have to do it together. Whatever it takes.
I wouldn't mind talking to Martin. He was able to destroy Claire. He might be able to destroy Aurélien. He won't be able to so much as touch me ever again. |
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| Saturday 5 September 1942 |
[May. 24th, 2007|09:24 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  bored | ] |
Nice as it would be to be able to choose not to go to Hogsmeade because it's so passe, my parents made the choice for me, which is by no means the same thing and it's not even terribly easy to pretend that it's the same thing, which would be nearly as good. Ah well. I will take the chance to be a good prefect for perhaps the only time and get my firsties away from the Ravenclaws and brief them on how to not find themselves on the other end of a switch from me on a regular basis. It should be a short meeting really. I explain that Slytherin problems stay in Slytherin, they either believe me or not, and those that don't believe me either believe me after their first switching or turn into Dolloway. And then they take tea with Celerity, and if they can figure out how to become friends with her they get a prize. Possibly not a very entertaining prize, but a prize none the less.
I wonder how Auré did with his boys in their meeting last year.
At least little Miss Lovegood (it's hard to remember to address someone with red hair and a Quidditch fetish with any other name than Weasley, or Gryffinbore for that matter, but I am justifying Chattox's bizarre faith in me by trying) isn't nearly as tiresome as we all had every reason to believe that she might be. She is who she is, and she has a brain in her head, which is all you can ask really. And she has Lucius Malfoy's attention too, which has given those bitches in Ravenclaw some ammunition against Bella when Dolloway is down on her game (really, Dolloway's losing her touch this year, there haven't been any itching charms on Olive's clothes all week, despite the birthday cake affair), but which is all good anyway, since it is driving Maeve around the bend.
It seems like I might be switching my classmates more than my firsties, this week at any rate. Still, with the exception of Dolloway, the world's dumbest Slytherin, and Olive who has done her usual silly thing of airing her entirely justified hatred to the other Houses, it was mostly people getting caught in the crossfire. Or happening to remind Dumbledore that they exist, one or the other. Some things can't be helped. Personally, I think we ought to be able to count points taken by Dumbledore against a beating. |
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| Thursday 3 September, 1942 |
[Apr. 5th, 2007|11:13 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | angry | ] |
Nat was here last night, and he's still... well, still Nat. Just like Auré is still and always Auré and Martin was always Martin. And they all wonder why they're so welcome in my bed. Well, Martin never did wonder, but that wasn't part of being Martin.
I've warned Nat about Maeve too. I need to take her more seriously myself: it turns out she knows when to strike to get what she wants. It's depressing, as Nat said, that what she wants is so very very dull. But we have to stop her from finding out exactly how much power she could have over us with the right information.
Nat brought up some new girl from Romania who was involved in Martin's death somehow. Jenica Popescu. She is pretty smart for a Gryffindor, I could practically smell Nat's interest (and if Martin had her, then so did Nat), but I don't think she's actually his girl. He was even engaged for some time a while back apparently, that ended much as you'd expect. Jenica's going into training to be an Unspeakable, or something like it, which is interesting. I'm not sure if there's anything more I can find out from her.
Lady Bathory came up to school today. She is apparently some kind of cousin to the Karkaroffs. Apparently stupid Igor doesn't even burn letters, and I've spent the entire evening trying to work out if there's a curse on the letter somewhere. But if I can't even find it I can't imagine that I can defend against it. I will have to proceed assuming that she was genuinely sorry about his not knowing to burn it, and hope that either she was genuine or that when whatever happens, happens, that I can work out what to do then. |
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| 31 August 1942 |
[Nov. 13th, 2006|03:26 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | frozen | ] |
Martin's dead. At least they let me have the news. Even if Maeve was sitting there blubbering away as if she actually knew him, or would even have liked him if she knew him. I have never ever wanted to slap anyone so much.
Anyway. At least they let me have the news. I couldn't have borne it if Auré had to tell me on the train after he'd already written. I'm sure he's too stoned to care now and probably will be for days, but even so.
I can't start crying. If I start crying now, I will never ever stop. And Martin and Nat would have both laughed so much at the thought of me crying, I would have had to laugh harder back.
I can't start crying. I can't I can't I can't. |
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| Sunday 30 August 1942 |
[Oct. 19th, 2006|08:01 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  scared | ] |
Well, today should be one for the history books: My parents are downstairs trying to decide whether to get a diviner in to determine if I'm still a virgin.
Maeve has apparently not told them quite enough interesting facts about my personal life this morning that they'd understand that that was not only quite unnecessary but, also, I'd think, positively dangerous for the diviner. And perhaps for my family, if the diviner just cuts to the chase and goes straight back to the start. Maeve doesn't know half the gossip about me that she really should. Selective deafness is inherited, evidently. I made use of it myself, when they started screaming.
I assume Maeve wants to cut some kind of deal. She's stupid as usual, because it's not as though I have any money to give her now, and I very much doubt she wants to be paid out in the usual coin. |
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| [Ianthe's journal] 28 August 1942 |
[Jul. 24th, 2006|07:41 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | still pissed off | ] |
What does Aurelien want from me anyway? He must have had some inside information about Hadrian; Hadrian sure didn't act like he was an invert, last term. Although, I suppose he could have been hiding it from himself. Goodness knows why, it's hardly as if he's a Muggle.
I don't like having my strings pulled like that. I wouldn't let Martin or Nat get away with it, and I certainly won't let Aurelien. He can protect me and bed me because I choose him. I'm not his puppet and I'm not his plaything, and he should bloody well know that by now. |
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| [Ianthe's journal] 26 August 1942 |
[Jun. 30th, 2006|03:34 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | pissed off | ] |
Colette wrote today, and it seems I owe darling Aurelien a fairly large sum of money over the Kyteler thing. That will rather limit the amount of fun I can have in the first month of school. I wonder if I can persuade Maeve that she doesn't have any use for her allowance? I expect not.
I really wouldn't have picked beautiful Hadrian as an invert. Hasn't Endymion been following him around like a puppy for years now? Still, I really should have known something was up when he resisted me all last term. And I believe Arianwen's been living with him all summer and I didn't hear a peep about anything between them.
Damn. How can I have been so stupid? Aurelien is going to be laughing all the way to the bank. Or at least all the way to the Hog's Head. Damn. |
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bemused