Post by Narcissa Malfoy on Aug 23, 2012 6:27:09 GMT -5
OOC: So RJ, I tried. I really did try for something badass and glacial and delightfully nastily awesome, like one would expect from Narcissa Malfoy first go. But no, no, she had to do this, and I could not convince her muse otherwise. I think I sold my soul for real when I made the joke about 'what Cissy wants, Cissy damn well gets'.
There were many things in life a woman of her station could be dissatisfied with. Not enough of this, too much of that. Why do I not have this and why is this not up to standard? More, more and more, thanks. And when it came to Narcissa Malfoy, one would presume her to be somewhat up the ladder when it came to these matters. Easily unamused, and definitely not impressed with a great deal of what she saw around her.
Which, in a way, was true at times.
And yet there was that word 'presume'. Yes, there were things Narcissa was, on the whole, extremely displeased about in regards to the world. And yet for every thing that displeased her, there was one small thing that balanced it out. And made it so very worthwhile. Little things, but they were precious nonetheless. And perhaps that was why she had never cared a whit when it came to her own opinions regarding the raising of and the closeness to her only child versus the opinions of others. Not that she gave a whit either way, really, when it came to the opinions of others. Certainly not at all when it came to being a mother. There was perhaps one in the world she might yield willingly to, and even then, Lucius Malfoy would often have a fight on his hands.
The autumn breeze - though not quite a gale yet - nipped idly at the folds of a cloak furred, the colour of green so prized by the House from whence she'd came, biting none too gently with it's icy edge at her ankles. Overhead, clouds were slowly building, an ominous omen of an autumn storm in Britain wending it's way with slow menace across the sky. Despite her usual shrewdness of nature, though, Narcissa was thoroughly engrossed for the moment in her son's latest letter. Fair brows knit in a slight frown even as a rare smile played across pale lips, eyes usually a dark blue almost as pale pearly bluish-grey as the clouds gathering threateningly scanning intently the contents of the letter.
Truth be told, there wasn't a great deal to worry about. Not on the surface. On the surface, it seemed like a perfectly normal letter from a school-age boy writing to his parents. And yet...well, Narcissa certainly didn't believe in frivolous things, and the thought made her crinkle her nose, a hand finding absently the ears of the great fluffy cat curled up on the outdoor bench at her side. Still, in this case, one could only call it a mother's intuition. There was simply something, deep in her chest, if you will, that niggled uncomfortably. Others might brush it off, including possibly her husband, but...her son was his mother's boy. And Narcissa knew things like any half decent mother.
Draco was unhappy. About what, though, she didn't know.
Though she hardly had another chance to think on it, not for the moment. It was then that other things decided to prove more troublesome, in particular, the storm that had so kept itself oblivious from Narcissa's attention. One fat droplet landed on the parchment in her hands, then another, and the pale-haired woman looked up, grimacing slightly. Tugging her cloak closer, she rose from the bench, doing her best to begin meandering her way across the immense lawns of the Manor (and not break into a childish gallop at the first sign of thunder).
"Come, Aquila, quickly now," she called. The fluffy cat was already ten steps ahead of his mistress, though, traitorous creature, and Narcissa rolled her eyes, muttering a soft invective that would likely get her into trouble if heard as a gust of wind billowed at her cloak, barely letting her keep her footing. Just barely, but she was almost there, the Manor barely one hundred paces away--
And then a frightening clap of thunder sounded, and the sky-line broke. And suddenly, all thoughts of elegance and propriety and the ills of foul language fled Narcissa's normally composed mind, causing her to utter a loud cry that sounded suspiciously like a 'damn it to hell!' amidst the thundering rain before she took off at a sprinting gallop across the grass, slipping and sliding over autumn leaves turned lethal in the wet of the rain and just about losing her footing in a most unladylike manner as she mounted the manor's stone steps, cloak billowing at the sudden change in atmosphere under the porch and it's immense pillars before falling with a heavy thwap against her ankles.
By Merlin, you can tell I've not sprinted like *that* for some years. Likely not since Draco had been a child. And you could tell, Narcissa thought sourly, ignorant of any risk of being caught out for the moment as she leant against a pillar, shivering and panting and eyeing the rain with a baleful look before directing it to her equally baleful cat, currently doing his best to clean himself dry where he lay, rubbing against the pillows of an ancient stone chair.
"You know, you're really quite useless when I prefer you not to be. Did you intend on making me aware of that approaching at all, you infernal feline?"
