| Journal // public |
[08 Jan 2008|01:33pm] |
Thank Merlin that's all over for another year. Not even New Year's festivities can rescue this season from being appallingly full of family. Boxing Day with Quentin was positively rife with "your brother this" and "Stephen that". There's a reason Stephen and I don't correspond at all, mostly that I couldn't care less what he's doing in Australia. And then Sunday with Delilah... I'm exceedingly grateful I did not take her suggestion to come up early and spend the whole weekened with her, because just one day was almost grounds for matricide. The woman just gets worse. Bitter, nagging, shrill.
I tell you, it was a sodding relief to get back to work today. I suppose now we've got Valentine's to look forward to. Ugh.
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| [Pansy/Hermione] Business lunch |
[28 Oct 2007|02:02pm] |
At quarter to twelve, the junior copy-writer (her name was Carlotta; they all called her Junior) raced into Pansy's office and slapped down a sheet of parchment on top of the clutter on her workbench. "The questions for Granger," she huffed.
"About bloody time," Pansy declared, shoving aside the roughs she'd been outlining, and picking up the parchment. She read it while shrugging into her coat and picking up her handbag, and pulled a face at it. "I still hate them all. Why couldn't you have done it?"
Carlotta said, "Because your prior relationship with them both makes it less offic--"
"That was rhetorical," she snarled, shoving on her sunglasses, and Disapparated. Between one moment and the next, her glare was transferred from Junior to the charred ruins of the Three Broomsticks. As if she frequented Hogsmeade! She should've made Granger come down to London. Whatever.
Rolling up the page of questions, Pansy slotted it into her bag as she strode along the main street of the village towards Honeydukes. She hadn't been here in months, if not a year or more, and the absence of the Three Broomsticks was not the only change that had taken place. At least some things remained the same; the bell over the door at Honeydukes still gave the same cheerful tingle as she entered, tilting her sunglasses up on top of her head and glancing around.
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| Owl post to Hermione Granger |
[28 Oct 2007|10:13am] |
To: Professor Hermione Granger, Hogwarts
From: Pansy Parkinson, Circe Magazine
Professor Granger,
I'm sure you're roughly as pleased to receive post from me as I am to write it, so I'll get straight to business.
Circe magazine is currently developing a feature on the media's impact on the status of professional women in our society. Any comments you may care to make on supportive and disruptive media habits in general, and in particular in regard to your recent appearance in the gossip column of Witch Weekly, would be greatly appreciated.
If you would prefer to comment in person rather than over owls, an interview can of course be arranged.
Sincerely,
P. Parkinson
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| [Complete] [Pansy/Adrian] A late-night birthday tipple |
[26 Oct 2007|01:57pm] |
Disorganisation may be anathema to true productivity, but Pansy was not prone to taking instruction, especially from inanimate objects, and thus her personal organiser was ignored as often as it was adhered to. Thanks to its efficient parchment pages, however, she had known all day, and indeed all week, that it was Adrian's birthday today. She hadn't done anything about it. In general, she didn't. Well, two years ago she'd had a singing bunch of daisies delivered to his office, but she'd been a little ticked off at him that week for some reason or another.
But tonight, as she finally switched off the lamp above her crowded workbench (not the last one - there was still a light on down the hall) Pansy felt like having a drink. If she was drinking it might as well not be alone, and if she needed company it might as well be the birthday boy, who could at least be counted on to be decent conversation.
She apparated straight out of her office, and took a moment to light a cigarette for the short and pleasant stroll through quiet, late-night Bath streets to Adrian's doorstep. She stubbed out her butt in the gutter, and rapped on the door. Flitchy, answering it, greeted her with her name, an invitation to step inside, and the intelligence that his master was at the opera. Pansy checked her wristwatch - that late already? She had been rather immersed in the Malkin spread. "He shouldn't be much longer," she noted. "I'll wait." She had the latest issue of her favourite Muggle design magazine in her bag, and Adrian's house was not wanting for comfortable chairs in which to read.
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[26 Oct 2007|11:30am] |
For Circe staff // Who's got the final copy for the Malkin spread? I just nearly charmed in the version I was given, which still has zippety bippety blah blah blah in the second paragraph. Eloquent, guys. Really.
Also, whoever left the annotated copy of this week's Witch on my workbench: yes, I did go to school with both of them. Someone please tell me we are not following up on this. I thought we'd decided not to chase up any more of WW's tawdry gossip. And this is about as tawdry as it gets. //
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![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif) thecoldwar |
[25 Oct 2007|11:56am] |
But my priest says: you ain't taking no souls.
My father says: you ain't making any money.
My doctor says: you just took it to the limit.
And here I stand with this sword in my hand.
You can say it one more time - what you don't like.
Let me hear it one more time then have a seat while I take to the sky.
Take to the Sky -- Tori Amos
( Extended history )
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