| Clipping |
[Nov. 19th, 2006|11:05 pm] |
Body Found Torn Apart, Magically Mutated Vultures Suspected
Angel Renee Mercury, Jr. Editor
At 4:30 in the afternoon the peace at Camberion's Bookstore at the very mouth of Knockturn Alley was broken as Marie Drake called in a body. Gabriel Cressman was at the scene and he claimed that he'd seen the Alex Camberion alive and well not 15 minutes before, when he'd headed into the stacks. The other witness was Valkyrie Rose Weiland of RCMC. It is unknown whether any of these people has been charged with the crime or taken into custody, though Marie Drake was let go, perhaps because of her familial connections with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
The body was torn apart limb from limb and lying in a pool of blood. None of the three were bloodstained, though Miss Drake did have a little on her shoe, which she claims to have stepped into when she found the body. Mysterious animal droppings were located all over the scene of the crime. Enforcer Vincent Nosfertum was heard by several reliable sources to be snarling something about "vultures."
"Its times like these I wish I were a dementor," said Soldat Kauton DeKere, letting forth her utter frustration about the way the perpetrator seems to have vanished into thin air.
An entire team was crawling about the shop, but so far no further answers are forthcoming.
Comments:
Nosfertum is such a fuckchop. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 7th, 2006|12:19 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  blah | ] |
This morning I got drunk and then I got myself out of safehousing. Back to work. I don't fucking have anything better to do. Well that's not true, I wanted to swing by and see Ash Mayfair, but when I got there today he wasn't home, so I stuck a note in his door, then pulled it down, because anyone could read it, and I'd just as soon prevent anyone from knowing we're friends so that he doesn't have to take my fucking shit. I went in a big black wig and sunglasses, which will have to do.
Come to find out the newsday's rather slow anyway. Continuing coverage on the Ministry, the disappearance of Clark Emmerson into oversees in some speculation column, babble about the upcoming Arrows v. Gryffins match and who they think is likely to win the damn thing. About as dull as dishwater, but I'm the one reporter who believes no news is good news. Frankly, I get paid just as much to put in filler human interest pieces and gossip as I do fucking tragedies, and I sleep better at night too. Let people like Pandora worry over the awards and shit.
I'm glad we got an apartment that both of us could afford, cause her being overseas this long has left me without her share of the rent. One thing about safehousing is, you get home and you find out everything that's been in your fridge has rotted.
Festered! Ha ha ha ha. Vincent Nosfertum all making his commentary on my drinking and -- actually I don't remember much of his commentary. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 23rd, 2006|11:54 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  aggravated | ] |
Wed July 18 1978
Have I ever mentioned just how good I am at making enemies?
I'm sitting in a safehouse, thanks to the appearance of the Black Heron in London. We have history, and he remembers, and that history makes him mad.
Once again, they want to tell me what to write.
And once again I'm tempted to plaster his name across every paper from here to Peoria, but I think this time I'll wait for the Aurors to give a go-ahead.
Cor, my throat hurts. And this house is so unfamiliar. Lonely, and I don't get lonely. I don't have very many friends and I'm usually too busy to care...
But I keep thinking I hear someone giggling. I think I'll put on the wireless. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 26th, 2006|10:12 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  sad | ] |
Got Mayfair to cover MediWatch after that reporter ditched on me.
Can't concentrate though. Pandora's part of the apartment is sounding awful empty. God damned Death Eater has her. By now I don't think I'll ever see her again, but I'm just going to take over her half of the rent this month. I'll wait a bit before replacing her too, I can take the work load. As long as my boss lets me. But really, she's already been taken by him once, and she refused the interview that time. If she can't be found, she's probably dead.
I fucking hate Death Eaters. I should write an article about her kidnapping, but my pen keeps going still on the page.
You cannot shut us up, I said, but Pandora's half of the apartment is silent. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 23rd, 2005|02:41 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  smug | ] |
4/4/77
Well, my editor likes me. He decided that I can keep writing under a pen name, and gave me the title "Jr. Editor." Which means, in practice, I have no power to block an article at all, no more reason to target me, they dump some shit on my desk that's new...
And I keep writing.
I've chosen a pen name. I will be writing under Dee Kismas.
If you guessed that stands for, "Death Eaters, Kiss My Ass," you're right. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 20th, 2005|11:19 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  terrified | ] |
3/30/77
I should have known it was only a matter of time before he came back, my mysterious Death Eater tormenter. I can't stop shaking, I can't stop shaking, I cannot. Stop. Shaking.
I was at a business conference, covering it; because God knows my editor has been trying to protect me and give me boring shit ever since. I got saved by Christian St. Croix. I was imperio'd, helpless, and the Stranger, that's what I'm calling him, the Stranger, the Stranger was going to rip out my tongue . He promised me he'd kill me if we had to talk about this again.
I wonder how long I'm going to last.
Ashton: You write something like that because you care about that more than you care about living.
Stranger: Don't make me get my point across again, Angel. You won't survive the encounter.
His hands on my face.
I hate him. I hate him hate him hate him hate him. Life was going fine till he came along.
I hate you, Hale, you did this to me. I was being smart and now I'm being stupid.
I'm drunk drunk drunk drunk
coward coward coward
does it matter since I'm covering the boring shit anyway? Oh but Pandora went on leave and sooner or later
sooner or later
sooner or later i'm going to have to choose
I don't want to run
I wonder if Ashton will get upset if I come cry on his shoulder a little while. I'm such a wimp. I just got beat up a little bit and shown some torture devices and only almost had one put on my tongue. I should be fine fine fine fine fine only an idiot would be scared after that.
a
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a
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 9th, 2005|11:45 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | okay | ] |
1/6/77
Hale is haunting me, damn it. He just can't do it like a respectable ghost. No, he sends his midget kid protoge, Clara Dixon, to come make some crack about my neutral and ... what was it? Neutral and conservative stance? She was at the ice rink disaster, which reminds me, I'm getting behind on cutting and storing my clippings. Eh. I'll do it tommorow, I've got enough on my plate.
Pandora Kraikos got herself in some trouble. Seems Adolph Shredl kidnapped her and demanded an interview. She's feeling damned if she does, damned if she doesn't, but I told her to get her arse to the Ministry to report the crime, to cover her arse if nothing else. She's staying at my place. She didn't seem to mind that it's small and not very clean and that she's got a couch. And hey, who the hell would want to be alone after something like that? It felt good to offer the space. I mean last year I was on a park bench until Ashton Mayfair offered me his crash space, so it was nice to be able to kind of return the favor, and maybe a sign that we've got an honest to god friendship in our future. Everyone needs more friends, and I have hardly any. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 6th, 2005|08:34 pm] |
1/2/77
Today is the first day of the rest of your life. That's what they say, isn't it? The great cliche. Only when you've had a god knows how many kilo bus go charging through part of you, lain on an operating table, spent time in a hospital, wrote a news story from it and hobbled out of there with a cane to deliver your very, very late Christmas presents, that's what turns out to be true. Today is the first day of the rest of your life.
You start to think about what you're doing with your life, and who you know, and who you care about, and who you've done anything for. And when I started tallying those columns up, my life didn't amount to very much.
So I'm going to make a change, if I can just figure out how. |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 17th, 2005|12:47 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | pleased | ] |
11/20/76
Holy shit. I've been sitting in front of this floo for hours waiting for him to call. Hitch.
Doyle Anghel Hitchcock.
Sexiest name ever. Sexy man. Sexy motorcycle. We're both angels. Not sure what sort though.
My bud's pad burnt down at our party the other day. Someone rested their beer on the radiator. This guy Joss saved me. He was pretty sweet about it. Didn't say much. Dropped me at Mungos. I wonder if I'll see him again. Wonder if I'll make friends.
Hitch. I can't wait for lessons. This is actually serious, too, I'm feeling something way beyond the good old booty call urge.
Wow.
Now watch him not call.
Gotta take this kid Tim up by Troy and Turnifex later. |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 4th, 2005|10:48 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | annoyed | ] |
Hale Stellars.
WHAT THE HELL. Are you like haunting me? Jesus, that was exactly the sort of headline that got you killed. That I do not use. Shit shit shit shit.
I thought I woke up hearing you. Shit, go back to being dead. I don't need your approval. I don't want to be a hero. I don't even care if I graduated out of Gryffindor. I am not brave.
I'm so proud of Ashton. Look, he's brave, ok?
Go back to your...death hole. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 31st, 2005|06:52 pm] |
Kraikos is going to go digging through some stuff I don't want to.
Good luck to her. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 9th, 2005|12:56 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | cynical | ] |
Tip back a bottle of pocket vodka for one Hale Stellars. I wrote his death article. They offered me his job, and I, bitch that I am, thought back to the couch I've been sleeping on (Mom's) and said yes.
Welcome, Angel Renee, to the ranks of the permenantly employed and responsible. And all you had to do was wait around for some kid to bite the fucking dust.
God I feel like such a sleeze.
It was one of the first things that guy said to me. "You keep this up, you'll get your job here."
Murdered. They wouldn't ask for "information" if they thought it was an accident, or a heart attack, or a medical attention. And why not. Guy is cousin to a hot shot Auror. Antagonized dark wizards daily in his articles. I think I'll take a more neutral stance, thanks...
God. I AM a sleeze. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 2nd, 2005|12:41 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | anxious | ] |
Thursday, 19 August 1976
Not one. Damn. Word. Is coming to mind.
I've got writer's block in a big way. I can't even put together a decent article on that Mr. Krillian's carnival. I find myself just staring at the page.
I feel like no words are ever going to come again.
The Carnie was amusing if strange. I won a little red robed, black haired, leering plush doll. He's kind of fierce looking so I stuck him by my piggy bank, which is down to a whopping 2 galleons, 1 sickle, and 3 knuts. I have to pay the Cauldron tommorow or its back to finding someone's couch to crash on. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 10th, 2005|10:37 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | happy | ] |
July 6, 1976
Holy shit he liked what I brought. I thought -- how corny, he's not going to like this Keats poem, even if I did hand calligraphy. But he did.
And he caught my act at the jazz club, which was my deal for tonight (30 galleons, not bad, not bad). And then we danced the whole damn night away.
That was the most fun I've had in a long time -- Mr. Holy Shit not withstanding. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 10th, 2005|11:35 am] |
Memo to me. Magazine writing pays way better than the prophet. 60 galleons later I can assure my stay at the Cauldron, with meals, for another week. And I've got a follow up article planned.
Still wanna work freelance, but maybe I'll start getting enough work that I can drop this temp shit. I don't want to have to bitch around with vacation time, bosses, be at work bys, dress codes. People don't get that, but fuck it, and fuck them. I like my freedom.
Its the being BROKE part that sucks.
Made Ashton Mayfair a little something. He'll probably think its dumb as shit but maybe it'll make up for me being stupid. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 9th, 2005|11:31 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | satisfied | ] |
July 3, 1976
Got evicted from my apartment. The paycheck just didn't make it fast enough. Oh well. Happens. Mother's taken up with some new guy, some drunken cocksucker, but she gave me a bit of cash. And Ash Mayfair gave me a place to crash a few days. Where I promptly embarrassed myself. I wonder if he was faking the sad to see me go routine or if I come around again in a few days if he'll welcome me back? I'll have to see. I hit on him pretty hard core and I think I scared him, but I'll probably try a new go round.
Writing was sucking tonight.
Speaking of being hit on, nevermind that the line was corny, but this guy I met in the Cauldron tonight? Holy fucking shit.
I doubt he finds me gorgeous or anything, but I want to see him again. It ain't love, but who the hell is looking for that? |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 28th, 2005|08:25 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | mellow | ] |
My luck with men is getting better and better, lemme tell you.
Baaaaaaaaaaah.
Met Kauton DeKere. Liked her. Told her about Sterin in IMC.
I hate walking down the street with no bra. Makes me feel undressed. |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 27th, 2005|10:24 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | content | ] |
June 7, 1976
Gaspity gaspity, St. Pierre's death was not an accident I bet. Like I give a rat's ass. Hale Stellars seemed to have let the story go to protect whomever, though he says it was assigned to someone else. Hey, as juicy as the sordid story of someone given the kiss in prison illegally might be, a, I have no proof, and b, the guy was a sleaze. Like Crouch says, no big loss. I think I made Stellars sweat a little though. Serves him right for trying to bullshit me, coming over to poke and prod at me and try to figure out how much I might have worked out for myself. Like whatever. I made my 2 galleons on the story and that bought me some groceries. Maybe next week I'll make 3 galleons on some other story. Nancy Drew, I ain't. |
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