RP: Breakfast Discussions
Date: 20 September 1998
Characters: Rita Skeeter, Fleur Weasley.
Location: Phoenix Bar, Diagon Alley.
Status: Private
Summary: Rita and Fleur meet to discuss the Agency.
Completion: Incomplete
Rita had to admit, she liked the Pheonix Bar. It was modern and minimalist, inasmuch as anywhere in the wizarding world was - full of neat angles and dramatic lines that complemented the way she dressed herself. When the designs of places she visited were busy, it sometimes made her head hurt, like too many brightly coloured flowers would in her beetle form. She was dramatic enough without a colourful backdrop.
She'd arrived slightly early, which was unusual for her, so she had time to take in the surroundings in a way she hadn't done here for a while. Too often over the past year, she'd been too worried about the faces of people in the crowd to notice her surroundings.
Which was why she was here, in a roundabout sort of way.
Rita couldn't forget her experience of the war - the constant looking over her shoulder and the knowledge that people like her were locked in Azkaban while she remained free. While she wrote for the Prophet and contributed to the propaganda that kept them in there.
She didn't think people would blame her, if they knew - didn't think anyone would wish Azkaban on someone who'd managed to avoid it - but that knowledge didn't take away the bizarre sense of guilt she felt at having escaped so lightly.
(Lightly. People lost family, lost their lives. I haven't seen my sister or my parents in a year, but they're still alive. I just hope they remember that I am a part of their family when I go back.)
She hoped she could do something now that might make up for her lack of suffering during the war.
Rita sipped her coffee. The bar smelled like croissants and freshly baked muffins. She waited.
Characters: Rita Skeeter, Fleur Weasley.
Location: Phoenix Bar, Diagon Alley.
Status: Private
Summary: Rita and Fleur meet to discuss the Agency.
Completion: Incomplete
Rita had to admit, she liked the Pheonix Bar. It was modern and minimalist, inasmuch as anywhere in the wizarding world was - full of neat angles and dramatic lines that complemented the way she dressed herself. When the designs of places she visited were busy, it sometimes made her head hurt, like too many brightly coloured flowers would in her beetle form. She was dramatic enough without a colourful backdrop.
She'd arrived slightly early, which was unusual for her, so she had time to take in the surroundings in a way she hadn't done here for a while. Too often over the past year, she'd been too worried about the faces of people in the crowd to notice her surroundings.
Which was why she was here, in a roundabout sort of way.
Rita couldn't forget her experience of the war - the constant looking over her shoulder and the knowledge that people like her were locked in Azkaban while she remained free. While she wrote for the Prophet and contributed to the propaganda that kept them in there.
She didn't think people would blame her, if they knew - didn't think anyone would wish Azkaban on someone who'd managed to avoid it - but that knowledge didn't take away the bizarre sense of guilt she felt at having escaped so lightly.
(Lightly. People lost family, lost their lives. I haven't seen my sister or my parents in a year, but they're still alive. I just hope they remember that I am a part of their family when I go back.)
She hoped she could do something now that might make up for her lack of suffering during the war.
Rita sipped her coffee. The bar smelled like croissants and freshly baked muffins. She waited.