Who: Wadcock Brothers
What: Mah more feels
When: Today!
Where: Henry's house
Status: Finishing in comments

( Not in the mood, Seth )

Who: Ally and Patrick
What: Emotional Meltdown 101
Where: Patrick's front porch
When: Today

( If you were meant to be with someone, they wouldn’t rip you away from your family, would they? )

WHO: Siobhan Kennedy & Nona Pepper
WHAT: GET THIS MOTHERFUCKIN VIRUS OUTTA MY MOTHERFUCKIN' GAME
WHERE: St Mungo's
WHEN: Like three weeks ago. Before Saoirse's kidnap.

( Nobody needed to see her flipping through her chaotic and messy chicken-scratch notes. )

He blinked up at the ceiling of the hospital room, arms lifted over his head as the nurse examined his slowly healing wound. She was making some idle chatter about how good it was looking, and how he'd regained so much color back in his cheeks, and just how strong he was! Thomas rolled his eyes in plain sight of the woman, and he was glad that she'd taken slight offense to it and opted to finish tidying up his bandages and pulling his shirt back down. Thomas' crossed his arms over his chest as soon as the examination was done and rolled to his side, away from the open doorway.

As much as he was physically feeling better, he was still mentally exhausted. His parents had been hovering nonstop, his sister had managed to release a statement about how she was doing, and the long nights alone had let his thoughts wander, and wander, and wander.

A knock on the door startled him before his thoughts could trail off like they had been, and he peered over his shoulder to tell the nurse to leave him be, but was surprised to see that it wasn't the handsy nurse, or his parents. He turned over completely and gingerly pushed himself up on his elbows.

"Hey," he said, surprised.


( ...but she felt... fine. )



ooc: so apparently Thomas and Saoirse are popular people and instead of flooding the comm with a million threads, Emma came up with the idea of a 'group' post of sorts where the two can have various threads with whoever wants to visit.

Their plan to escape had been in motion since they'd been shoved into the muggle vehicle that drove them away from the scene. A big white van with no windows had stopped them from figuring out their initial surroundings, but that hadn't been a deterrent for two highly on guard, intelligent victims. Thomas had silently counted the stops they'd made, making a map of the turns in his head while Saoirse had determined the length of the car ride. They took every chance to manage a look at their surroundings and had gathered that they were near a church, from the smell of the place there was a bakery near by, and lots of muggle traffic.

These criminals had really decided on the wrong set of people to take hostage.

It had quickly been determined that they were muggles, squibs. They knew about Thomas and Saoirse's fame but they tied their hands up with muggle binds and locked their door with a key that rested on a ring with at least twenty different keys. They were being fed, but the wound from the knife on Thomas' side had been crudely sewn up with, once again, muggle tools. It had quickly become evident that the gash was infected, and on this third full day of capture, Thomas was feeling like death.

But tonight they were going to escape, so he had to deal with the pain for at least another fifteen minutes.

He shut his eyes, taking in deep breaths as the jingle of the keys came closer down the corridor from outside. He needed to look as if he was on the brink of death for this to work fully to their advantage, and it wasn't a hard thing to accomplish. Thomas laid slumped in the far corner of the room, knowing that Saoirse could handle her own while he drew the attention of their captor. They had devised enough of a plot to escape and it was all determined by if this bloke with the keys was stupid enough to turn his back to Saoirse. The door opened and a stream of light draped over his form.

"Oy, what the hell's wrong with him?"

Honestly Kendall should have just gone back to his place, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He’d practically had been living with Thomas since he moved in his new place. He couldn’t leave with the possibility that Thomas would come back to a empty house, that wasn’t that way when he left. If he abandoned the house, if felt like he would be abandoning his friend.

Except now Rose somehow managed to get back into the country, which he was grateful for, he really was, but it was strange letting her into Thomas’ home without him there to show it off himself. He was so proud of his new house. Would have been happy to have Rose over had she been in the country.

She had been back barely a day before Kendall had snuck out back to go sit on the dock by the lake. He should be helping Thomas build a practice pitch right now, not fighting the urge to snap at Rose for things that weren’t entirely her fault. It was great that she was back, he would be going crazy sitting here alone, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he would be going a little less crazy with her constant questions. Of course she cared now, where was she when Thomas moved, or when Kendall was traded, which he still hadn’t told her about. Clean disappeared for months and now suddenly back, he wasn’t use to her being constantly around anymore.

He looked up hearing footsteps behind him. It didn’t take her very long to track him down. “Hey,” he said quietly turning his gaze back to the water, “Just needed some fresh air.”

Rose woke with a start, jolting up from her slumbering position against Axe's shoulder in a flourish. Blinking slowly, it took her a couple of seconds to collect her barrings, and let sink in where she was and why she was there.

"Did they unfreeze England yet?" she asked groggily, rubbing her eyes with one hand. With the other, she clutched her new journal in her lap tightly, too afraid of missing a potential message from Kendall to let go of it. Or, miss any kind of update for that matter, for once she had gotten her hands on it, it had become quite clear how in the dark she had become over the past two months concerning her homestead and the people she cared about in it. A small, tired frown formed on her face at that thought, and to distract herself, she let her eyes rove over the scene before them.

With all the people that were being denied back into the country, it appeared that the Ministry, or the British Embassy in Egypt, it was unclear, had created something of a free-standing waiting area at the usual portkey drop off/pick up area back to the UK. And, from the looks of it, some witches and wizards had been here for many days, while others only a few hours like her and Axe, and many in between. It was a stroke of luck that no one had seemed to recognize them yet, and if they had, hadn't bothered to do anything about it, which she appreciated.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Rose ran her fingers through her hair and tossed it over her shoulder in an attempt to wake herself up faster. And, look more appealing, because if she had fallen asleep, that must mean it was time for her hourly bribing and berating of the portkey staff. She supposed it seemed silly to wait and demand for something that didn't look like would happen anytime soon, but what else could she do? They strictly weren't letting anyone into the country, which she refused to accept, because she was getting back into England and they were going to find Thomas, so---

"What time is it?" she muttered, turning to face Axe.

Rose Addison Knightley, if you don't respond to this owl, and this is the third owl, so you know, I may never talk to you again. there may be dire consequences. So why don't you drop whoever what ever you are doing and take five minutes to floo me?

Could it really have been five years?

Emmeline had been organizing some paperwork, files, letters, old school essays because somehow their closet had become a disaster zone. Somehow meaning that her one year old son Andrew had managed to get his hands on the various boxes and thought it had been quite fun to spill their contents all over the floor. Emmeline had found him looking very pleased with himself and gnawing on an envelope. Children could be so precious.

"Don't do it," Emmeline muttered as her hand gripped the back of Andrew's shirt as he tried to scale the dresser drawers of the closet. Her eyes were focused on the letter in her other hand, something she hadn't seen in a very, very long time. Five years it must have been. Her acceptance letter into the St. Mungo's healing program, still rather crisp because she had tucked it away immediately to keep in tact. Not that Emmeline did much reminiscing of her last few years in England as most of her memories were fraught with pain and despair, but this had been a happy day for more reasons than one.

Andrew stopped struggling against her hold for a moment and Emmeline looked over at him. His bright blue eyes were focused toward the door of the closet, and a second later he let out a shrill shriek of delight. Emmeline recognized the excitement in his voice and she let him hurry off to greet Caradoc, who must have just arrived home.

"I'm in the closet!" she called after, hearing footsteps and doors shutting. Five years?

WHO: Saoirse Mullet and Thomas McCormack
WHAT: Emma and Cristina are terrible people
WHERE: Some street. Some lonely, empty street.
WHEN: TODAY?

( We have to go with them. )

It had been difficult to smuggle decent food into St. Mungo's during the first days of Penelope's admittance, but it seemed that the welcome witch and the healers had grown progressively uncaring of what Bess hid under her cloak. They especially didn't seem to mind when she brought enough food to share, and she was glad to be of some sort of assistance. Since Penny had fallen ill, she had felt nothing but useless. Even her own children had been sent away to stay with her parents, a somewhat safe zone being in a muggle area. As she waited for the lift to stop, Bess tried to figure out when the last time she had been in her own home. Her cooking was done on her mother's stove, she'd been sleeping in the guest room with the children it...it was quite some time.

The doors opened and she stepped out. The visitor's lounge was only a short walk from the lift and Bess let out a silent sigh of relief at the sight of very few people milling around. It was late, nearing midnight, and while in the beginning the lounge would be packed with worried families, the numbers had been slowly dwindling. Some patients were sent home while others...

Bess sat beside her husband, unsure how he was awake. It felt like she never saw him sleeping.

"I brought your favorite," she whispered. They were basically alone save for a sleeping pair in the far corner of the room, but she still felt the need for soft tones. Bess kissed the side of Drystan's head before moving to unwrap her one-person care package.

Thomas twisted the broken piece of wood between his fingers, having been unable to put it away since it had arrived in the post. He spun the familiar handle in his hand, the grooves and curves bringing back memories good and bad: the smell of Ollivander's shop and the surprise at how easily the wand had chosen him and the vague, blurry memory of the wand being snapped, the crack reverberating between his ears. Thomas had thought this wand had been lost forever, but to have it back in his possession once more was not a fortunate thing. Whoever had taken the wand in the first place was sending him a message, and he didn't like it one bit.

"What are you making?" Thomas asked without much of a question in his tone as he entered his kitchen. Kendall was preparing what he assumed was dinner, but Thomas kept his gaze down as he pulled open a clutter drawer (that wasn't particularly cluttered, as he couldn't stand a mess) and placed the wand into it. He'd held onto the wand tightly since it had arrived, but not in the presence of his friend. He still wasn't sure what to do with the entire situation; would telling people about it make it worse or would simply ignoring it cause it to go away?

He slid onto a stool at the end of the kitchen island, lifting his chin to try and get a look at what was being stirred in the saucepan. "That doesn't smell healthy."

Who! Seth and Therese
Where! Seth's House
What! They Chat
When! Today?


( Well, he does a fair amount of things I don’t appreciate, so I’m sure it will even out in the end. )

She had shoved the ragged wand box under and behind the stack of her favorite books on her desk, but the corner of her unwanted weekend delivery was jutting out just enough that it could still be seen if one looked hard enough. Which she did, so Saoirse had, yet again, taken to fixedly staring her package, wrestling with what, if anything, to do concerning its disturbing appearance. Would it be better or worse to give her broken wand the attention it undoubtably deserved? Give into the simmering terror it had immediately created within her, or continue to push any emotion concerning it down because she would not let anyone have that kind of power over her? It was even difficult to decide if she should contact Thomas, for that sprouted a whole new slew of issues her mind felt haggard at the thought of dealing with.

Howell shuffling into her bedroom broke Saoirse from her tangled thoughts, though only temporarily. She turned to look at him blankly, unable to truly take in what he was doing or saying, as her thoughts had become all consuming. Howell would... she would want him to tell her if something like this was happening to him, and she wanted to tell him... but, she didn't want to burden him, or anyone else for that matter, as he had just begun to feel better, and with his birthday on Thursday... that sounded silly. Those excuses were trite and downright thoughtless, and she knew she couldn't hold to them, but everything would be at lot easier if she could. She had to tell him, she must tell him; she could not hide behind trying to make this development insignificant, because it was not.

Taking in a shuddering breath, her gaze raked back across the room. Unaware to Howell other than that he was present in the room, Saoirse quietly slipped over to her desk. She pulled her lips back, then quickly reached to slip the box out of its hiding place.

"Howell," Saoirse started softly, now clutching the parcel in her hand tightly. She turned finally to look at him, seemingly much more aware of him, and their surroundings. "I'm going to tell you something, but I don't want you to get upset over it."