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Prisca Loftus : Potion Rep ([info]fierce) wrote in [info]valesco,
@ 2011-05-30 23:01:00


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Entry tags:christopher loftus, donovan rookwood, group, prisca loftus

[open]
Who: Open to everyone snooty enough to be invited.
What: Ariel's wake.
Where: Christopher's family estate.
When: Sometime this week, before Friday? Sure.
Rating: PG-13, I'm guessing.
Status: Incomplete.



Somber tones overtook the large gathering at the Loftus estate. Though the warm May breezes rustled the dark draperies of the open windows, the rooms were polished, regal, and cold. Prisca sat idly in an uncomfortable, stiff-backed chair of a parlor room as she bit her nails into the antique wood of the arms and reigned her nerves. The funeral had been a great test to her ability to remain emotionless and refined. After clasping several hands and trading superfluous cheek kisses with their distinguished guests and families, she'd stood at Christopher's side as the eulogy was given. She'd even held her nose high as a lament was sang in her daughter's memory. Now, though, in this room where she was alone and no one could see, Prisca felt a prickle in her eyes and a twinge of defeat in her spine as it all came rushing back.

Prisca relived the tragedy of Ariel's death in that moment of freedom from prior obligation. She heard the screams of her children, the shouting of her husband, and the dying scream of her step mother. The sense of loss and utter confusion was still there. She recalled clutching her wailing son to her chest and her fingers curling tightly around her wand as Christopher attempted to revive their blue-faced daughter. It had all happened in seconds, but somehow, reliving the memory took several minutes and she lost track of time. It was not until her brother Brutus was standing in the doorway, eying her in dark concern, that she realized there were still people to attend to.

Ducking her eyes, Prisca breathed deeply before smoothing her appearance. Her hair was held tightly in a reserved up-do beneath her black hat and veil while the rest of her was clad in an appropriate black dress and shawl. She pursed her red lips as she stood. Knowing that her mother-in-law was overseeing Micah and would not be willing to relent her care so soon, Prisca approached her brother with other thoughts.

"I have yet to thank you for fetching Gaius and Silvia from Hogwarts," Prisca began calmly. "I trust you will see them back as well?" When Brutus nodded once, she tilted her head and took his arm. "Please, escort me to the garden. I would like to assist in choosing the flowers for my daughter's grave."


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[info]impulse
2011-06-01 02:20 am UTC (link)
Donovan Rookwood was struck by a sudden wave of nausea, the moment he had stepped foot into the Loftus estate – he had gotten sinking feeling in his stomach when he walked into most rooms, nowadays, but this time his reasons for not feeling well had nothing to do with how people were looking at him, or what they were thinking about him. The sinking feeling in his stomach came from knowing just why he was there, and why he and Danielle were dressed in black, just as everyone else was who waited in the sitting area.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually seen Prisca Loftus – or, Prisca Pucey, as he used to know her, back when they were head boy and girl of their class. He had been purposefully been avoiding the papers, hoping to go at least a good week or so without looking into the papers to see Augustus’ name or picture on the front page. It was while Danielle had been thumbing through the pages that she came to him, showing him the article.

Prisca’s daughter was dead…and the idea sounded more horrifying whenever he thought about it. He didn’t have any children of his own, so he couldn’t possibly understand what she could have been going through, but he wanted to be there for support. After all, she had shown him that, despite her own views on his decisions about Danielle, and his friends, that she was still someone he could consider an ally.

He needed to give her that same courtesy. It was the very least he could do.

He had told Danielle that he needed to go outside, just to get some air – the house was certainly big enough, but the thick tension in the air made him feel suffocated. He kissed her on the cheek, and then made his way towards the back of the house, stepping out into the crisp spring air.

He felt like the weather didn’t fit this occasion – it was too bright, too sunny for such a dreary day. The thought had been crossing his mind as he shut his eyes, letting out a long breath through his nostrils as he tried to decompress, and clear his head.

But then he heard footsteps behind him. Automatically he assumed it was Danielle, and turned to assure her that he was fine, and that he’d be inside shortly. Instead, when he turned, he found himself face to face with the mourning mother.

“Prisca…”

He wished he had said something more than her name, but really…what more was there to say, at that moment? ‘I’m Sorry’ seemed too empty – too rehearsed, like it was something he was just supposed to say, regardless of how much he meant it.

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