(no subject)
After much consideration, I feel my services are no longer needed in the infirmary, where it seems every Tom, Dick and Dracula believes they are capable of providing medical attention. It's not as though the work warrants twenty people working recovery when there are no floods. A headache doesn't require a horde of vampires leering down at the patient.
...What do you call a group of vampires, anyway? A pride? A brood? Perhaps you prefer the maudlin, gothic approach, and call yourselves a coven? It's not a common sight in my world, to see more than one or two vampires approaching. In the event of a large group, we simply call them "attacking".
In any event, I would like to transfer to either the library or the kitchen. That is, I would like to do so only if I must continue to work.
I prefer the former.
Furthermore, if anyone is in need of potions which are beneficial, within my capabilities, and not supplied to the infirmary, I am willing to negotiate.
[Private to Martha and Libby, not visible to each other]
Are you recovering?
[Private to Merlin]
It would seem you are no longer alone. Is it your Arthur?
[Private]
Experiencing the person I might have been had I never joined with the Dark Lord was disconcerting. There is no other way to express this emotion: it was strange to know that I might have been a spineless fool, had I not been protected by my fellow Death Eaters. Strange how the decisions we make, even those for the negative, change us for the better. I wonder what T'Pol would have to say on that matter.
...Lily still turned to Potter.
The poison is completely gone. There is nothing - not even a residue. He - I emptied the entire cauldron and scrubbed it out by hand. That dolt. I have a burn on my right arm now from the acidity of the poison. It didn't occur to him me to use gloves, at the very least.
He I then took my Veritaserum and gave it to Bernard. Ridiculous. Of all the people to come into possession of that vial...
I have never wanted to kill myself before, but if I met the man I was last week, I'd throttle him. I wonder, would it be homicide or suicide?
It's useless to begin again. Black knows. One bottle of wine in him and I might as well advertise my actions in a public voice communique. Even if I did wish to tempt fate again, I haven't the ingredients, and I'm not likely to be given extra without proper explanation to T'Pol.
A new plan, then? There is, of course, that small conscientious part of me which insists I should simply allow myself to graduate and thus wash my hands of this place, but where then is the justice? Where's the fun?
Then, too, there is the letter she left.
Perhaps there is some answer inside that envelope.
[OOC: I can't write journal entries for Snape without thinking, "Today, I lost a button". Ros, I blame you. Oh, I BLAME YOOOOU.]
...What do you call a group of vampires, anyway? A pride? A brood? Perhaps you prefer the maudlin, gothic approach, and call yourselves a coven? It's not a common sight in my world, to see more than one or two vampires approaching. In the event of a large group, we simply call them "attacking".
In any event, I would like to transfer to either the library or the kitchen. That is, I would like to do so only if I must continue to work.
I prefer the former.
Furthermore, if anyone is in need of potions which are beneficial, within my capabilities, and not supplied to the infirmary, I am willing to negotiate.
[Private to Martha and Libby, not visible to each other]
Are you recovering?
[Private to Merlin]
It would seem you are no longer alone. Is it your Arthur?
[Private]
Experiencing the person I might have been had I never joined with the Dark Lord was disconcerting. There is no other way to express this emotion: it was strange to know that I might have been a spineless fool, had I not been protected by my fellow Death Eaters. Strange how the decisions we make, even those for the negative, change us for the better. I wonder what T'Pol would have to say on that matter.
...Lily still turned to Potter.
The poison is completely gone. There is nothing - not even a residue. He - I emptied the entire cauldron and scrubbed it out by hand. That dolt. I have a burn on my right arm now from the acidity of the poison. It didn't occur to him me to use gloves, at the very least.
He I then took my Veritaserum and gave it to Bernard. Ridiculous. Of all the people to come into possession of that vial...
I have never wanted to kill myself before, but if I met the man I was last week, I'd throttle him. I wonder, would it be homicide or suicide?
It's useless to begin again. Black knows. One bottle of wine in him and I might as well advertise my actions in a public voice communique. Even if I did wish to tempt fate again, I haven't the ingredients, and I'm not likely to be given extra without proper explanation to T'Pol.
A new plan, then? There is, of course, that small conscientious part of me which insists I should simply allow myself to graduate and thus wash my hands of this place, but where then is the justice? Where's the fun?
Then, too, there is the letter she left.
Perhaps there is some answer inside that envelope.
[OOC: I can't write journal entries for Snape without thinking, "Today, I lost a button". Ros, I blame you. Oh, I BLAME YOOOOU.]