Prompt 16- Bloody Vengeance
Title: Bloody Vengeance
Author: summoning_muse
Format & Word Count: Ficlet, 1266 words
Rating: PG13
Prompt: #16, lipstick/mirror
Warning: Angry Tonks. Abused mirrors.
Summary: She stares into the mirror of her childhood and sees the vestiges of her blood. ........ So, naturally, she attacks the bloody mirror with lipstick.
Author's Note: This is sort-of a sequel to my version of Prompt 12- Deliverance of Fear (GOD I don't like that name.) I wrote this up after I had finished editing Two Step, so I wasn't in the best of moods. It transfered over here as well. I suggest for anyone who's angry to attack a mirror with lipstick- it's very theumatic. I was going to do such after I wrote this... but I couldn't find a tube I was willing to throw away (or, well, any.) And I didn't want to clean it up afterwards as well. And, hm, I wanted to put this during DH to show the difference between the child thing, which is very important to both of these entries..... but I can't imagine Tonks being this feisty in that time period, at all, so HBP depression it is! And I don't remember what, if any, music inspired this. I think Wanted and Unsung by Vanessa Carlton. And maybe Black Horse and the Cherry Tree by K.T. Tunstall. The cut lyrics are from Unsung.
Bloody Vengeance
She stared at the elegantly simple mirror, at the morose brown locks and lifeless features staring back at her.
She stuck out her tongue.
She had known this mirror her entire life. The simplicity of it, only a few lovely wroughts and turns carved and twisted into the wooden framework. It had always hung on the bureau in her Mum's room of her childhood home. It was still in her Mum's room, she just wasn't a child anymore and had come for dinner because Mum was worrying that she was wasting away- which was, partly, true- and wanted to get a good, home-cooked meal into her. She was more than a bit annoyed at the incessant mothering from both Molly Weasley's side during Order meetings (whom, admittedly, she did see more than her own mother) and Mum, when she saw her- which she had been largely avoiding since she didn't really fancy constant reminders on how bloody miserable and depressed she looked and acted- but... Mum was a really good cook and she couldn't handle one more lifeless lump of slough from the Hog's Head's stringy little kitchen that Aberforth swore was really, completely edible.
Depression caused by stupid high-strung idiotic, loveable gits was a terrible thing and all, but a girl did need to eat, you know.
She scrunched up her nose, and deluded herself for a moment that she was six again, and trying to morph in front of that mirror. Maybe she was trying to become Mummy- tall, beautiful, lovely Mummy with her soft, flowing brown hair. Not at all like this limp piece of shite- oh, wait, that wasn't acting six. It had always been hard for her to control the morphs when she was young, hadn't it? Perhaps now also, if she only deluded herself-
Nope. Still as limp and flat and bloody brown as always. She couldn't delude herself she was six- if she was that young, she wouldn't be having the current problems she was- torrid affairs with ridiculously mental werewolves whom convinced themselves they weren't worthy of her when things had been bloody well perfect last year you STUPID GIT-
She growled at the mirror angrily, and then shook her head. She would not be defeated by silly, stupid, evil and demented mirrors. No, she was Nymphadora bloody Tonks! Auror, youngest member of the Order of the Phoenix, well no, not anymore, since the twins had officially joined even if their mother still tried to bar them from as many meetings as possible- she would not be bested by a bloody mirror!
She wondered, ideally, what she would have thought if someone had told her two years ago what she soon to get herself into. She probably would have laughed and said, well, she always did like to live on the edge didn't she? Bring on the dark wizards and lupine loves and insane family!
She wished she could still think of it all that optimistically.
She looked around the room and spotted Mum's cosmetic kit in the corner- she had never, personally, needed the stuff since she could always morph herself however she felt like, and these days when she could decisively not morph she really wasn't usually in the mood to paint her face up with lucid colors. If her hair wanted to be plain, so could her face. She didn't feel especially bright or beautiful currently. She didn't have the time or patience- or coordination- for the stuff, anyway. She grabbed a tube of Sorceress's Shasta's Special Spell-binding Lip Stick! which advertised on Wireless jingles to last through 'All sorts of events- from snogs and shags to spells and songs! Will last throughout the day with no smearing of spreading, perfect for any young witch looking for a day out on the town!' in a deadly shade of pink and smiled wickedly at it. It couldn't beat her.
She returned to the mirror, and stared at her reflection- the gaunt features, the limp lifeless hair. In some odd parallels she looked strikingly like Remus himself- and she felt a quick, acute deep terrible ache for him but covered it up quickly with anger that this was all his bloody fault- but there was something else in that expression that startled her, disturbed her. She saw her Mum's face in those lines, in the deep set eyes that had seen more suffering than she should have, in the color of her hair if not the texture- but that was not what truly disturbed her. What scared, terrified her were the lines below her Mum's, the desecrated face that still haunted her nightmares with memories of June- June, that had only been barely two months ago and yet felt like a life time away. The cruel, twisted face that had murdered her cousin- murdered Sirius, because she had fallen to her while dueling her. She stared in the mirror, and the saw the vestiges of Bellatrix Black staring back at her.
And Bellatrix taunted her. Those lines, those heavy-set features, they mocked her. They said- this is your fault. It is your fault I killed him. It is your fault that he left. You could not hold onto anything- let alone a vile, husk of a half-blood monster. All you ever deserved, abomination of my flesh, was a vile monster, and even he will not accept you anymore.
She glared and hissed, purposely picking up the tube threateningly. The image- well, herself she supposed- quirked her eyebrow as if to say- You wouldn't.
Ohhh, yes she would and will, you bat-shit insane, vile loathing bitch.
And she, with purpose, attacked the mirror with the tube.
She was no artist, and a tube of bright pink lipstick against a cold glass mirror was hardly the best of mediums, but she was vigilant at her task- Mad-Eye should be proud of her! Even in times of despair his student was combating the dark arts in all possible ways, in all ingenious ways possible, she was such a crusader she had found the medium of lipstick as a worthwhile weapon! She was 'attacking' the stupid reflection in the mirror with a tube of lipstick, true, but still....
It had to count for something didn't it?
After a good few minutes, she drew back and positioned her head just so, so that she could see her reflection with the lipstick covering up her hair. See her hair as it it used to be- bright and pink and uncaring and happy. The tube was dead and smushed in her hands, and she hadn't, exactly, colored within the lines- she had something that resembled a pink mustache etched across her nose- and parts of the lipstick were clumped together while others were too thin and improperly distributed.
All together... art was definitely not her profession.
But still, she looked in the mirror, at her pink hair, and her reflection didn't look, necessarily, happy- who would be happy with a bunch of goopy pink lipstick for hair?- but she didn't look so bloody morbid.
She felt extremely accomplished, if she did say so herself.
'Ha Auntie. Ha Remus. Ha Stupid-Depressed-Dora. I WIN.' She stuck her tongue spitefully out again. "You can take away my love, you can take away my cousin, BUT YOU WILL NEVER DEFEAT ME-"
"NYMPHADORA!" Her mother screeched, waltzing into the room and abruptly halting in the doorway, "THAT IS MY MOST EXPENSIVE LIPSTICK- WHAT ARE YOU, FIVE YEARS OLD?"
Like any self-respecting child caught wrong-doing, Tonks did the only thing she could.
She ran.
And tripped.
Of course.
Author: summoning_muse
Format & Word Count: Ficlet, 1266 words
Rating: PG13
Prompt: #16, lipstick/mirror
Warning: Angry Tonks. Abused mirrors.
Summary: She stares into the mirror of her childhood and sees the vestiges of her blood. ........ So, naturally, she attacks the bloody mirror with lipstick.
Author's Note: This is sort-of a sequel to my version of Prompt 12- Deliverance of Fear (GOD I don't like that name.) I wrote this up after I had finished editing Two Step, so I wasn't in the best of moods. It transfered over here as well. I suggest for anyone who's angry to attack a mirror with lipstick- it's very theumatic. I was going to do such after I wrote this... but I couldn't find a tube I was willing to throw away (or, well, any.) And I didn't want to clean it up afterwards as well. And, hm, I wanted to put this during DH to show the difference between the child thing, which is very important to both of these entries..... but I can't imagine Tonks being this feisty in that time period, at all, so HBP depression it is! And I don't remember what, if any, music inspired this. I think Wanted and Unsung by Vanessa Carlton. And maybe Black Horse and the Cherry Tree by K.T. Tunstall. The cut lyrics are from Unsung.
Bloody Vengeance
She stared at the elegantly simple mirror, at the morose brown locks and lifeless features staring back at her.
She stuck out her tongue.
She had known this mirror her entire life. The simplicity of it, only a few lovely wroughts and turns carved and twisted into the wooden framework. It had always hung on the bureau in her Mum's room of her childhood home. It was still in her Mum's room, she just wasn't a child anymore and had come for dinner because Mum was worrying that she was wasting away- which was, partly, true- and wanted to get a good, home-cooked meal into her. She was more than a bit annoyed at the incessant mothering from both Molly Weasley's side during Order meetings (whom, admittedly, she did see more than her own mother) and Mum, when she saw her- which she had been largely avoiding since she didn't really fancy constant reminders on how bloody miserable and depressed she looked and acted- but... Mum was a really good cook and she couldn't handle one more lifeless lump of slough from the Hog's Head's stringy little kitchen that Aberforth swore was really, completely edible.
Depression caused by stupid high-strung idiotic, loveable gits was a terrible thing and all, but a girl did need to eat, you know.
She scrunched up her nose, and deluded herself for a moment that she was six again, and trying to morph in front of that mirror. Maybe she was trying to become Mummy- tall, beautiful, lovely Mummy with her soft, flowing brown hair. Not at all like this limp piece of shite- oh, wait, that wasn't acting six. It had always been hard for her to control the morphs when she was young, hadn't it? Perhaps now also, if she only deluded herself-
Nope. Still as limp and flat and bloody brown as always. She couldn't delude herself she was six- if she was that young, she wouldn't be having the current problems she was- torrid affairs with ridiculously mental werewolves whom convinced themselves they weren't worthy of her when things had been bloody well perfect last year you STUPID GIT-
She growled at the mirror angrily, and then shook her head. She would not be defeated by silly, stupid, evil and demented mirrors. No, she was Nymphadora bloody Tonks! Auror, youngest member of the Order of the Phoenix, well no, not anymore, since the twins had officially joined even if their mother still tried to bar them from as many meetings as possible- she would not be bested by a bloody mirror!
She wondered, ideally, what she would have thought if someone had told her two years ago what she soon to get herself into. She probably would have laughed and said, well, she always did like to live on the edge didn't she? Bring on the dark wizards and lupine loves and insane family!
She wished she could still think of it all that optimistically.
She looked around the room and spotted Mum's cosmetic kit in the corner- she had never, personally, needed the stuff since she could always morph herself however she felt like, and these days when she could decisively not morph she really wasn't usually in the mood to paint her face up with lucid colors. If her hair wanted to be plain, so could her face. She didn't feel especially bright or beautiful currently. She didn't have the time or patience- or coordination- for the stuff, anyway. She grabbed a tube of Sorceress's Shasta's Special Spell-binding Lip Stick! which advertised on Wireless jingles to last through 'All sorts of events- from snogs and shags to spells and songs! Will last throughout the day with no smearing of spreading, perfect for any young witch looking for a day out on the town!' in a deadly shade of pink and smiled wickedly at it. It couldn't beat her.
She returned to the mirror, and stared at her reflection- the gaunt features, the limp lifeless hair. In some odd parallels she looked strikingly like Remus himself- and she felt a quick, acute deep terrible ache for him but covered it up quickly with anger that this was all his bloody fault- but there was something else in that expression that startled her, disturbed her. She saw her Mum's face in those lines, in the deep set eyes that had seen more suffering than she should have, in the color of her hair if not the texture- but that was not what truly disturbed her. What scared, terrified her were the lines below her Mum's, the desecrated face that still haunted her nightmares with memories of June- June, that had only been barely two months ago and yet felt like a life time away. The cruel, twisted face that had murdered her cousin- murdered Sirius, because she had fallen to her while dueling her. She stared in the mirror, and the saw the vestiges of Bellatrix Black staring back at her.
And Bellatrix taunted her. Those lines, those heavy-set features, they mocked her. They said- this is your fault. It is your fault I killed him. It is your fault that he left. You could not hold onto anything- let alone a vile, husk of a half-blood monster. All you ever deserved, abomination of my flesh, was a vile monster, and even he will not accept you anymore.
She glared and hissed, purposely picking up the tube threateningly. The image- well, herself she supposed- quirked her eyebrow as if to say- You wouldn't.
Ohhh, yes she would and will, you bat-shit insane, vile loathing bitch.
And she, with purpose, attacked the mirror with the tube.
She was no artist, and a tube of bright pink lipstick against a cold glass mirror was hardly the best of mediums, but she was vigilant at her task- Mad-Eye should be proud of her! Even in times of despair his student was combating the dark arts in all possible ways, in all ingenious ways possible, she was such a crusader she had found the medium of lipstick as a worthwhile weapon! She was 'attacking' the stupid reflection in the mirror with a tube of lipstick, true, but still....
It had to count for something didn't it?
After a good few minutes, she drew back and positioned her head just so, so that she could see her reflection with the lipstick covering up her hair. See her hair as it it used to be- bright and pink and uncaring and happy. The tube was dead and smushed in her hands, and she hadn't, exactly, colored within the lines- she had something that resembled a pink mustache etched across her nose- and parts of the lipstick were clumped together while others were too thin and improperly distributed.
All together... art was definitely not her profession.
But still, she looked in the mirror, at her pink hair, and her reflection didn't look, necessarily, happy- who would be happy with a bunch of goopy pink lipstick for hair?- but she didn't look so bloody morbid.
She felt extremely accomplished, if she did say so herself.
'Ha Auntie. Ha Remus. Ha Stupid-Depressed-Dora. I WIN.' She stuck her tongue spitefully out again. "You can take away my love, you can take away my cousin, BUT YOU WILL NEVER DEFEAT ME-"
"NYMPHADORA!" Her mother screeched, waltzing into the room and abruptly halting in the doorway, "THAT IS MY MOST EXPENSIVE LIPSTICK- WHAT ARE YOU, FIVE YEARS OLD?"
Like any self-respecting child caught wrong-doing, Tonks did the only thing she could.
She ran.
And tripped.
Of course.