Post by briar on Jul 29, 2008 18:07:43 GMT -8
In a small little corner of a very tiny city there was a pub, a tiny hovel of a place. It’s red brick facade blended in with the various other storefronts and oddities around it. The shanty of a bar was called The Kennel, and it was frequented by a vast array of depressing characters, a sorrowful lot of sad faced living ghosts. It was there that hope was given secretly, notes were passed, and death eaters were few and far between. Addresses were mentioned, and food was supplied. It was a crossroads between hideouts, a small little cage in which to hide hopes and dreams for surviving until a better tomorrow. Of course, it all hung on a string. At any moment it could be raided, and the basement under the bar holding fugitives and outlaws could be discovered, and the less-than-purebloods having a drink above would be killed or enslaved. It was, in short, a dangerous place. One only entered with both caution and optimism. However, it was only this to those who were lost themselves. Normal customers, though mostly of the wizarding community, gave the shabby place their patronage in return for warm meals and cold beverages. Sometimes young students hoping for a change wandered in, and were eyes with a hungry envy by the less fortunate drinkers surrounding whatever was on tap.
So, Briar Clemens walked through the door. Once inside she made her way toward a small table for two in the back. She wasn’t expecting anyone (though there was always the hope that her brother, Nate, would come rushing through the door asking for news of her. Upon which, she would rise, teary-eyed from the back and welcome him to her table with open arms. She had quite a bit of free daydreaming time), but she enjoyed the seclusion from the rest of the sorry visitors. She had entered the pub looking like herself, with her brown hair down, straight, her bangs covering her greenish eyes, her peachy skin with its freckles, and her full lips, red with lipstick. However, as she leaned back into the shadows, she wrinkled her brow and things began to change. Her hair was first, starting at the bottom and working its way up her chestnut locks began to turn a vibrant red, it began to lengthen and thicken, and her bangs shortened to cute little wisps. As Briar pulled her new red hair into a pony-tail, her skin lightened and her freckles darkened. Her lips thinned out and Briar wiped off the dark red she had been wearing. Blinking rapidly, her faded green eyes began to darken until they were a brilliant emerald. Studying her skin tone, letting her eyes run over her arms, feeling her hands brush over her face, she remembered, last minute to change her eyebrow color as well.
Everything was finished by the time someone came to took her order. Yes, Briar had been here before, and she knew the waitress that approached, but there was no way the waitress would recognize her. Being a metamorphmagus had it’s advantages. She was a different person every time she sat at her usual table, every time she ordered the same thing, it was a different person placing the order. There was no actual way to trace Briar Clemens to The Kennel. Tonight, she was Deirdre O’Briley, an irish girl of nineteen, maybe she was a student, she hadn’t decided yet, with a soft voice and a pretty brogue. She ordered a glass of whatever was on tap. Code that she didn’t need information, just drink. If she had needed a place to stay, she would have ordered the salad. It was a weird system that Briar hadn’t exactly figured out, but she enjoyed the place, with its dim lighting.
She watched as the anti social became social, sharing whispered stories at the bar of loved ones sold into slavery. Passing waving photos of family members recently sent to their graves. Clutching folded notes with addresses and snippets of inspirational sayings. She envied them in their camaraderie, but couldn’t join them, couldn’t trust them. It wasn’t as if she didn’t want to, well maybe she didn’t. Even after all this time, Briar considered herself above these people. She had finished school. She had a great mind. She was finding ways to survive on her own, showing how she didn’t need anybody. Even now, though she was living in a safe house, she was out on her own. Living on the short thrill that was away from the safety of the well guarded manor set up by Damien Noland and the elusive rest of the Order of the Phoenix.
As her drink arrived she sipped it gingerly, savoring the taste of the watered down alcohol with as much dignity as she could. She blew a stray piece of hair out of her brilliantly colored eyes and rested her elbows on the table. As independent as she was, she missed company. Well, she missed a certain kind of company. The sharp, intelligent and sarcastic kind, the kind that could keep up with her. Tracing a circle on the table with her finger, Briar took another sip. It was going to be a long evening.
So, Briar Clemens walked through the door. Once inside she made her way toward a small table for two in the back. She wasn’t expecting anyone (though there was always the hope that her brother, Nate, would come rushing through the door asking for news of her. Upon which, she would rise, teary-eyed from the back and welcome him to her table with open arms. She had quite a bit of free daydreaming time), but she enjoyed the seclusion from the rest of the sorry visitors. She had entered the pub looking like herself, with her brown hair down, straight, her bangs covering her greenish eyes, her peachy skin with its freckles, and her full lips, red with lipstick. However, as she leaned back into the shadows, she wrinkled her brow and things began to change. Her hair was first, starting at the bottom and working its way up her chestnut locks began to turn a vibrant red, it began to lengthen and thicken, and her bangs shortened to cute little wisps. As Briar pulled her new red hair into a pony-tail, her skin lightened and her freckles darkened. Her lips thinned out and Briar wiped off the dark red she had been wearing. Blinking rapidly, her faded green eyes began to darken until they were a brilliant emerald. Studying her skin tone, letting her eyes run over her arms, feeling her hands brush over her face, she remembered, last minute to change her eyebrow color as well.
Everything was finished by the time someone came to took her order. Yes, Briar had been here before, and she knew the waitress that approached, but there was no way the waitress would recognize her. Being a metamorphmagus had it’s advantages. She was a different person every time she sat at her usual table, every time she ordered the same thing, it was a different person placing the order. There was no actual way to trace Briar Clemens to The Kennel. Tonight, she was Deirdre O’Briley, an irish girl of nineteen, maybe she was a student, she hadn’t decided yet, with a soft voice and a pretty brogue. She ordered a glass of whatever was on tap. Code that she didn’t need information, just drink. If she had needed a place to stay, she would have ordered the salad. It was a weird system that Briar hadn’t exactly figured out, but she enjoyed the place, with its dim lighting.
She watched as the anti social became social, sharing whispered stories at the bar of loved ones sold into slavery. Passing waving photos of family members recently sent to their graves. Clutching folded notes with addresses and snippets of inspirational sayings. She envied them in their camaraderie, but couldn’t join them, couldn’t trust them. It wasn’t as if she didn’t want to, well maybe she didn’t. Even after all this time, Briar considered herself above these people. She had finished school. She had a great mind. She was finding ways to survive on her own, showing how she didn’t need anybody. Even now, though she was living in a safe house, she was out on her own. Living on the short thrill that was away from the safety of the well guarded manor set up by Damien Noland and the elusive rest of the Order of the Phoenix.
As her drink arrived she sipped it gingerly, savoring the taste of the watered down alcohol with as much dignity as she could. She blew a stray piece of hair out of her brilliantly colored eyes and rested her elbows on the table. As independent as she was, she missed company. Well, she missed a certain kind of company. The sharp, intelligent and sarcastic kind, the kind that could keep up with her. Tracing a circle on the table with her finger, Briar took another sip. It was going to be a long evening.