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(no subject) [Sep. 15th, 2005|11:15 pm]
[music |Celestina Warbeck on the WWN]

So what do you get the man who probably has everything and can afford anything else he doesn't actually have? Especially when you can't afford very much. Probably something very... biological.

But until I get a chance to do that:

*She writes a note, attaches it to a small package containing a silver-coloured wand-like object and hands it to Lilith for delivery*

Dear Matthew,

Miss me? I had to lie low for a bit. Certain business relationships were getting rather too close to the heat for comfort.

But anyway. Happy Birthday! I've got you a little something; it's like a Secrecy Sensor only reversed. Instead of telling you when there's deception in the vicinity, this goes off with a silent alarm when you're giving someone slightly less than the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth and you're in danger of getting found out. You have to attune yourself to it; it feels a bit like a tiny vibration to the back of your neck, the hairs stand straight up.

It's best if you keep it close by when you want to use it; maybe charm it to be invisible and stick it in a pot plant or to the underside of a desk, or even sew it into the hem of a curtain or something.

It's not foolproof obviously - no Dark object ever is - but I hope you'll find it useful.

Hope you're well.

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(no subject) [Sep. 14th, 2005|09:59 pm]
[mood |aggravatedaggravated]

*Celestine apparates into her front room and sets down her suitcase, looking around dispiritedly at the thin film of dust on the furniture*

Sometimes work Things just don't work out. And that really pisses me off. Especially given that when said Things don't happen the way you expected them to, you have to disappear for a while if you don't want to end up sailing over to Azkaban.

So... goodbye for the moment to thoughts of a nice holiday house in the south of France and a weekend clearing out Tiffany's of their stock... and back to the hack work for a while I suppose.

Notice I said "for the moment."


*She takes a slow breath, trying to resist the urge to kick the suitcase.*

*Celestine switches on the radio as she hunts for teabags, twirling through wizarding and muggle stations for a while before losing interest and pointing her wand at the kettle as she heads towards the fireplace to pick up the letters that have been dropped down the chimney in her absence.*

Bills, bills, bills, more bills, they can all fuck off. Junk mail... that can fuck off too. Borgin and Burkes. Now that could be interesting.

*She sits down and opens the envelope, scanning the letter with an almost hungry expression in her eyes.*


This has possibilities.
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(no subject) [May. 2nd, 2005|06:23 pm]
[mood |curiouscurious]

*Celestine walks down Knockturn Alley, avoiding the eyes of the shoppers*

Don't know why I bother to look inconspicuous really. Nobody in this part of London ever really minds who you are or what you're doing. And that's the way I like it.

*She stops to talk briefly to a peddlar, and takes from him a small glass container with a live spider inside. She holds it to the light and taps on the glass with a fingernail to make sure the creature is alive and alert, then nods and hands the peddlar a silver sickle. She pockets the container and continues on her way.*

*Pausing in a doorway outside the Bat and Broomstick pub, she takes note of the people who enter and exit the building. Finally, she sees a man with a sharp-featured, weasel-like face beneath a dusty green hood. Catching his eye she gestures him over and speaks quietly*

"How's tricks, Billy? You alright? Listen, I've got to meet someone in here. You know I can handle myself if there's trouble, but just in case..." *She slips a bag of coins into his pocket* "Keep an eye out, yeah?" *She smiles and walks into the pub, ordering a large firewhiskey before she sits down at a table in the corner to wait for Dr Ferguson*
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(no subject) [Apr. 29th, 2005|07:23 pm]
[mood |workingworking]
[music |Weird Sisters on the radio]

That party the other week was... odd. Not entirely sure what was happening there, but oh well. Nothing to do with me. I went for a reason and it turned out to be more enjoyable than I was expecting, even with that absolute COW around.

She'd have fit right in to old Ernest's social circle... fucking hell, it's like those women come pre-assembled in a factory somewhere, all with the same glib little smiles and tinkly laughs and ability to smile out of one side of their mouth and bitch out of the other. Sometimes at the same time. And they're useless, all of them. They're purely ornamental. Like very expensive goldfish.

It's always nice to see Matthew though, no matter what company he's keeping.

*She puts down the letter she's reading and absently sweeps back a strand of hair with the tip of the quill as she thinks of a reply*

Benedict. Hmm.

He's a tough one to figure out. Like Matthew, in a way. I can see how it works between them, actually. I really can.

Fair dealings, like he said. I deal fairly with him, he deals fairly with me, nobody needs to get in each other's way. I've got no problem with staying on my side of the fence, as it were. And in any case, he's generally been polite to me.


He seems quite... almost old-fashioned. Charming; I'm not sure if that's him playing a part. I suspect it is. As for the rest of it, I don't need to know why or when he uses that poison ring, and I don't care. It's none of my business.

*She summons a sheet of parchment and smiles to herself for a second, copying phrases from the letter from Benedict until she is confident of exactly mirroring his handwritng*

Should amuse him a bit, anyway.

My dear Dr Ferguson,

Thank you for the promptness of your letter. Next Monday would be most agreeable for our aforementioned meeting. I feel sure we can come to an amicable arrangement.

Yours sincerely,
Ms Stella Lagrise
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"There may come a time when a lass needs a lawyer" [Apr. 16th, 2005|02:08 pm]
[mood |naughtynaughty]
[music |Marilyn Monroe - "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend"]

*Celestine wings out her eyeliner into a 1950s shape and pats her hair into place*

I have to look good tonight. She might be there, snobby cow. In fact, in all likelihood she will.

Thank goodness for "plus one" on invites, that's all I can say. I told Gareth I'd meet him there, that I'd be busy most of the day. Well, I could hardly have him come here to pick me up, could I? It's not the most salubrious of areas.

*She fastens on a heavy necklace, bracelet and earrings and picks up a white fur stole, draping it around her shoulders*

Haven't worn these things in ages. Nearly... let me think, four years. Time flies, but I haven't exactly been having fun. Well, there's been fun of a limited sort.

Should be an interesting evening, anyway.

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(no subject) [Jan. 20th, 2005|07:28 pm]
[mood |artisticartistic]
[music |Cornershop - Brimful of Asha]

Right then, off to get started on this room for Evander Junior. I know it would be more usual for a real designer to just go in and do the work while he's out during the day, but I have my reasons for wanting to be there when the whole family's around. *She gives a sly smile*

And what a nice secure family it is. With such a charming, amenable, widowed and not-too-badly-off grandfather.


*Celestine hoists a bag of brightly coloured silk sari lengths over her shoulder, gives a bright smile and apparates to Dylan and Finn's front door*

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(no subject) [Jan. 6th, 2005|06:31 pm]
[mood |predatorypredatory]
[music |Fugees - The Mask]

*Celestine hums to herself as she fastens a light pink blouse and slips on a smart suit jacket. She crosses to her jewellry box and scrutinises the contents carefully*

Now what's something a bit classy without looking too posh? I don't want Mr Evander-MacNeil to think I'm unapproachable.

She pushes aside a gold ring and thick rope of pearls, and selects a silver and diamond pendant in the shape of a star.*

There we are. Diamonds, a girl's best friend. They never let you down.

*She fastens the necklace and adds a slick of lipgloss.*

I'm not going soft. I'm not. It's just that I really wasn't up to starting this while Matthew was so ill. I wouldn't have been able to give it my full attention, and that's really what these things demand, so I fobbed Dylan off with excuses about suppliers and artisans not having the right stock, and I said that I was sure he's the type of man to want the exact and perfect decor, or to forget about it altogether and do it himself. Well, I had to. I wouldn't be half as convincing at being bubbly and giggly if I'd been worrying about Matthew all the time.

I'm not going soft.

*Celestine glares at her reflection in the mirror for a moment then gives the same wide bright smile she has used with Dylan each time they've met.*

*She apparates to Dylan's office.*

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The blackest hole [Dec. 13th, 2004|11:28 pm]
[mood |morosemorose]
[music |U2 - Crumbs From Your Table]

Life goes on. It always does.

Well, I can't spend every waking moment at Matthew's, can I? I've got work to do. Unlike that snobby cow who just sits around waiting for everyone to jump to her bidding, I've actually got a living to earn. And yes, I'm glad I'm doing it, and no, I don't care how much like a Hufflepuff I sound. At last we actually work for what we want.  Provided for, my arse. Where's the satisfaction in that?

*She wanders aimlessly through the streets that back onto Knockturn Alley, kicking aside a grate in the cobblestones,  then dropping down through the hole into a long dark passage that eventually winds its way upwards onto the streets of muggle London.*

Besides, half the time he wouldn't know if I'm there or not. He's still sleeping so much... and if I'd stayed there much longer with that bitch around I was going to break her face, pureblood lady or not.

I've always known he has other women. Men too. It's never bothered me before, but... that's it. The problem. That's the very thing that bothers me.

It bothers me that I can't bring myself to believe there's anything more to us than a business relationship with some very pleasurable fringe benefits. But I'll be fair to him, he's never tried to make out we were anything else. And for my part, I suppose he's the only person who I'm totally honest with, really. He's always known exactly who I am, ever since the day I walked into his office in my best robe and asked him to get me an obscenely large divorce settlement.

It might be easier if I could look at it as the indulgence of a rich man with a poor litle slum girl. Then at least I could feel hard done by about it. It would be easier too if I could make myself believe I actually loved him, that we were a fairytale with the handsome (but in this version decidedly dodgy)  prince sweeping Cinderella off in a carriage that doesn't turn back into a pumpkin at midnight.

I could cope with that. I could deal with my illusions being shattered. They've been shattered before and I survived it. What hurts is the fact I can fool anyone I want to - make them believe I'm anything and anyone I want - but I can't fool myself. Sometimes I wish I could. 

I wish I didn't see so clearly.

There's a lot to be said for illusions.

So. Home for a few hours, get some sleep,  then out to finish the job for Borgin and Burkes - got something nasty to acquire for them. Then if I'm still even half awake after I've dropped off the new merchandise I'll pop in and see how Matthew's doing. And if the exalted Mrs Saint is there, fuck it. She'll just have to ignore me.

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(no subject) [Dec. 7th, 2004|10:45 pm]
[mood |scaredscared]

Focus, Cel. Focus. You don’t know who might be watching.


*Celestine forces her expression to remain that of an interested but neutral reporter, asking no questions of the Ministry officials who come to speak to the small corps of press occasionally but filing away each and every detail they give about the ongoing operation to regain control of Azkaban and rescue those trapped inside*


*Throughout the long morning of the air and sea attack she remains nearly silent, but her eyes are wide as her mind turns over each new development at lightning speed.*


*When the Ministry official announces that the skeletal ship carries the two lawyers who had been trapped in the fortress, her involuntary sigh of deep relief is drowned out by the barrage of questions from the reporters around her.*


*thinks* ~He’s alive at least. Exactly how alive though?… ~


*She glances fearfully up at the hulking, brooding ship with its impassive, stern crew and the battery of cannons.*


~And exactly how the fuck am I supposed to get in there to see him?~ *she thinks, watching as  two people, a man and a woman make their way up the gangplank.


*Some time later the Russian officer steps forward to take questions, and announces that Mr Bryson has, on the instructions of his doctor, been apparated home while Mr Kovalcik remains on board.*


*As quietly as she can, Celestine slips away from the  group of reporters and when she is a safe distance away, apparates to the hallway of Matthew’s house. All is quiet as she creeps up the stairs and to his bedroom. She slowly pushes open the door, not knowing what she will find, and stands gazing wordlessly at the figure lying unconscious on the bed.*


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(no subject) [Dec. 5th, 2004|03:18 pm]
[mood |shockedshocked]
[music |Sade - Jezebel]

*Celestine lies on her living room floor, making sketches of furniture and gluing scraps of fabric and photographs to a large piece of parchment, occasionally singing along softly in a surprisingly pleasant soprano to music orb floating beside her.

Jezebel, what a belle
Looks like a princess in her new dress
How did you get that?
"Do you really want to know?", she said

It would seem she's on her way
It's more, more than just a dream
She put on her stockings and shoes
Had nothing to lose - she said it was worth it

Well, I think its time to schedule another appointment with Evander Junior to actually get this monstrosity of a room design set up. Camels and saris and Arabian wall hangings, I ask you. Still, what the customer wants he gets; and these customers are going to get an awful lot more than they asked for... *smiles to herself* 

Try show her a better way
She'll say you don't know what you've been missing
And by the time she blinks you know she won't be listening
"Reach for the top" she said
And the sun is gonna shine
"Every winter was a war" she said,
"I want to get what's mine"

*Eventually she clears away the parchments and fabric swatches and walks through to the kitchenette, pouring herself a large mug of tea. She takes it back to the living room and picks up the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet, hunting through for the Style supplement. As she sits down she gives a cursory glance to the headlines on the front page of the paper, and freezes when she sees the type screaming Azkaban crisis continues - dementors in rebllion.*

*Her eyes quickly scan the article,  her eyes widening at the series of subheadings reading "Lawyers locked in Governor's office" and "Patronuses defeated". She tosses the supplements aside and opens the paper, skimming the articles that dominate the first few pages,  her eyes widening and heart speeding up.*


*Celestine sits huddled on her sofa for a few moments, her eyes blanks and glassy. Finally she raises her head and moves quickly to her bedroom, undressing and dropping her clothes on the floor as she goes. Quickly she changes into a smart suit and robe, pins up her hair and pulls a box full of identity cards from under her bed, spilling its contents over the floor. She impatiently searches through them until she finds one stamped with the logo of the Wizarding Wireless Network. The photograph on the front is of a plump, cheerful-looking girl with a wide, happy smile and friendly eyes. C. Stark - PA and hospitality is printed across the front of the card. She taps it with her wand, concentrating on making the letters change to "crime and legal correspondent". She gives the card a pitiless glance.*

*Thinks* ~God, I was a porker back then.~

*She fastens the altered ID to the front of her coat and picks up a notebook and small quill then apparates to the docks, melting seamlessly into the small crowd of real reporters surrounding the Ministry spokesman*

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