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Messages - Felicity Walker

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1959 / Re: caution | flick
« on: 04/30/2020 at 12:53 »
Flick Walker slapped Victor Carstairs, even if she didn't know his name.

It was picture-perfect, really, the rainbow-shaped arc with which her hand sailed through the air before landing squarely on his cheek. It was poetry in motion, perfect physical trajectory and force, an unstoppable object from end to end. Flick could hear all the voices in her head cheering as her hand went along and found its mark.

The smack-- oof, delicious-- sounded through the air like the ricochet of a bullet. It was fleshy, and it was crisp; the perfect blend of sharp and soft blended together. If Flick could bottle the sound and take it with her, she would've played it back, over and over and over again, to cheer herself up on the days she was feeling particularly violent.

(Barry, this is living.)

The swing-through left her slightly off-balance, and she toppled to her knees in front of him. Flick wanted to take pictures of his face forever. Turns out, he'd been right all along. That red stain on his cheek was a work of art.

She awaited his reaction.

permission to slap victor granted by victor!

1959 / Re: after a while, crocodile | charlick
« on: 04/30/2020 at 12:43 »
Flick opened her eyes, and threw a prayer at the ceiling.

"yesi'msure," she hissed, into Charlotte Pantazis' strawberry-scented hair, nearly gagging at the overpowering smell of it. It sure beat river-water, but not by a very wide margin. Flick would've rather used her fingers as pirahna-bait than breathe in the smell of Charlotte's hair any longer, but she couldn't deny that it was comforting, in a way, even if that admission was like pulling teeth from an angry shark.

The thing was that Flick Walker had no desire to be tender, or soft, or any other variant of vomit-inducing sentiment that all the girls her age seemed desperate to be-- especially not with the Little Pest.

But it was so hard to punch Charlotte when she was lying so close to Flick's body; when Flick could hardly lash out without probably knocking herself a good one in the process. Plus, she was comfy-cosy right here, and the two minutes of precious silence might have clued her into the fact that Charlotte was cosy too. Charlotte didn't wanna sleep in her own bed? Tooooooooo bad. She was stuck now.

But Charlotte could keep quiet just as well as a goat could stop itself from pooping (which was to say, not at all). If Flick punched herself, could she knock herself out? It was beginning to appear more appealing by the second.

Flick wanted to sleep, dammit. For the first time tonight, she was positive she could.

"Just-- go to sleep," she whispered, already drifting off despite her propensity for violence, "Aren't ya tired?"

1959 / Re: blood in the cut — flick
« on: 04/30/2020 at 12:27 »
"What?!?!?" Flick screeched.

She ripped her arm out of Esther's grasp, wincing at the pain that speared up her bones, "You could've led with that, yanno?"

Just her bloody luck, to require medical help (like a sissy) at the exact point in time that a completely unqualified nurse was the one in the best possible position to help her. If Flick didn't know any better, she would've said something completely stupid, like how karma was a bitch, or whatever.

She sulked for a second, frown pulled down low over her eyebrows, before promptly deciding that the faster she let Esther do her prodding, the faster she could get out of this stupid infirmary. She really didn't want to be stuck here for longer than she needed to, lest that Monster-shaped shadow between her and Esther reared it's head.

It was impossible Not to think about, but Flick tried oh-so very hard.

"I-- I didn't lose!" She protested, but it probably didn't sound as convincing as Flick wanted it to, "I just have some mild anger management issues."

1959 / Re: waiting for the other chip to fall // click
« on: 04/30/2020 at 10:35 »

Her chair scraped over the ground as she stood, suddenly looming over the tableau in a way that felt too big and too small all at once. Flick ticked upwards, from caged to unhinged.

She knew that everyone else in the dining room thought she was some kind of crybaby, coming running to Mummy Clint at the moment she started feeling even slightly uncomfortable. And she wanted to slap all of them for even thinking that.

Flick was dangerous, and she didn't want them to forget it.

"Piss off," she snarled, confident that she'd let the conversation carry on long enough that the scene she was making would convince everyone of her sheer level of crazy, "I don't wanna have a yarn! You're making it sound like I'm crazy and I'm-- not-- crazy!"

And for the second time that day, her lamb chops, mash & bean hotpot became weightless as Flick slapped her plate with her right hand-- and sent her food up into the air and all over Clint's creased shirt.

Her hand stung, chest heaved, anger bubbling up and over despite the fact that she was making a scene for the sake of making a scene. If anything, enacting just about every rage-filled fantasy lying dormant in her brain felt good. She felt like she wanted to break more shit.

She tossed her plate another, derisive look, and the other campers, too, heart squeezing briefly between her ribs, before the snarl on her lips bloomed once more and she stormed out of the dining pavilion.

Flick Walker faced Clinton Litchfield one more time, and almost imperceptibly, she nodded.


1959 / Re: waiting for the other chip to fall // click
« on: 04/24/2020 at 00:19 »
This was a waste of time.

Flick's hands tensed on the tabletop, muscles ticking together like a bomb waiting to explode her up and out of her seat, and out of this dumb conversation in this dumb dining hall at this dumb bloody camp. She wanted to feel feral again, like the beginning of the day, not this weird cross-section between being raw and being too raw.

A growl began to build at the back of her throat at his comment.

"You'd be, too, if it bloody petrified ya!"

1959 / Re: blood in the cut — flick
« on: 04/22/2020 at 08:48 »
"Ow, shit!"

Flick jerked her bruised arm away from Esther's proddy fingers. The aching pain across her left bicep just about formed the only real deterrent to lashing out and giving Esther a matching bruise, Slytherin camaraderie or no.

"Aren't doctors supposed to be gentle and all that? Watch out what you're bloody doing!"

Flick huffed some hair out of her eyes and let Esther put the icepack on, hissing at the skittering cold despite the fact that it felt really good. She couldn't help it. She sulked.

"The tree ran into me, alright?" she said, and blew another moody exhale, "Apparently this one didn't like it when I punched it. How was I supposed to know it'd punch back? Bloody camp."

1959 / Re: waiting for the other chip to fall // click
« on: 04/22/2020 at 08:27 »
"Are you thick?"

He didn't get it. She didn't want to be having this conversation with him, didn't want him to ask, didn't want him to infer or imply or say anything that would make the Truth feel more real. The Truth was a Monster that Flick was scared of; allergic to. A Monster that she couldn't stop dreaming about, that she couldn't stop feeling guilty for.

She had to, couldn't admit to it. And yet...

"I see it," she said, desperation creeping in because the Truth was happening right now, "I can't stop seeing it."

1959 / Re: caution | flick
« on: 04/22/2020 at 08:23 »
She was gonna slap him.

She was going to slap him.

This boy didn't seem to have any self-preservating instincts left in him (must be all that shite photography cluttering his brain), and Flick wasn't known for her mercy. He was either super brave, or super stupid for continuing to rattle off, and Flick was beginning to tend towards the super stupid side.

She felt her fingers beginning to itch, could almost imagine the snapdragon freshness of her palm meeting his cheek, the red handprint of her anger welling up under the skin moments later. She fantasised about it.

"Oh, you reckon?" she said, snarled, rather, "Sneak up on sleeping girls to try and take pictures of 'em? Creep."

1959 / Re: after a while, crocodile | charlick
« on: 04/22/2020 at 07:24 »
There was nothing wrong with the beds. Charlotte Pantazis was just a bit of a baby.

Flick kept her mouth shut, eyes swung upwards at Charlotte's face as she rambled. The bridge of Flick's nose seemed in dire need of a pinch, but the little pest was sitting on her arm and she was beginning to lose blood circulation in her fingers.

"You're sittin' on my arm," she complained, and wriggled her arm out from underneath Charlotte's bum, "Can't feel my bloody fingers. And 'm fine, thanks,"

In the end, it was just easier to pull Charlotte to her and into the funny little concave shape her body made against the sheets, and hold tightly onto her so she couldn't wriggle out. The little pest wasn't gonna shut up, and Flick wasn't gonna get enough sleep, and she definitely wouldn't have had enough energy to put up with Charlotte in the morning

(this is what they both wanted, wasn't it?)

"You tell anyone about this, and you get a slap," Flick said, already miles more comfortable in the last three seconds than she'd been in the last three hours, "Gottit?"

1959 / Re: To Smithereens || Flintstone
« on: 04/22/2020 at 07:16 »
In the echoing wake of all of those broken pots and statues and vases, there was a gentler, more fragile dimension to Flick who thought it was rather... poetic that the two of them were mending. She and her badgerboy, because if his facial expression was anything to go by, he'd torn himself up all over.

Flick reached up to touch his face, but he beat her to it. And then she was kissing her badgerboy. On his mouth.

She almost pushed him away, almost, but the hand that curled in the hem of his shirt stayed there, used it as an anchor. She felt her spine fill up with the leaden weight of a thousand butterflies, drowned in the feeling so quickly that it felt as if she could spontaneously grow wings. (was this what all the bloody fuss was about?)

She didn't even realise the memories were back in her head until she saw them on the inside of her eyelids. She pushed his wand away from her temple with her free hand. She broke the kiss, just as clumsy as she'd been during it, with her eyes wide and standing to attention.

She didn't know what to think.

"Does this mean you're my boyfriend now?" she blurted out.

1959 / Re: fool's gold // troop
« on: 04/22/2020 at 06:18 »
Flick Walker did not want to hold Roo Hopland's hand, no matter how badass and awesome and aussie his name sounded. The last thing she wanted was for him to get the impression that she was clingy and sweet and every other gag-worthy synonym in her vocabulary that girls her age seemed to be.

They were here on a mission, dammit.

It was much better with him at her shoulder, for sure, especially as they rounded the next corner of the tomb and the final blot of light blinked out. It was just Roo and Flick and the dark, all stuck together. Flick stopped and took a very cold breath, and tried her very best to ignore the sudden ripple of dread that raced up and down her spine. She shivered.

"Okay," she said, and smacked Roo's shoulder as she tried searching for him beside her with great, sweeping arcs of her arms, "Oops-- sorry. Can't see shit down here."

His remark about the others finding their bodies pulled a chuckle out of her mouth, dark skittering across her lips. She couldn't really help it that her laugh sounded more nervous than self-confident, in the end. She tightened her hand around the handle of her flashlight as if it'd make a difference.

If there was anything lurking down here, it was going to drag her into the deep gloom whether she was holding her flashlight or not. She shuffled a little closer to Roo. Maybe she could use him as a meat-shield.

"I mean, I don't think anyone's gonna come looking for me, but you? You've got a pretty face, and I betcha that Mummy Clint isn-- Ow, shit! Careful where you point that thing."

Flick jerked her eyes out of the Light of Doom and smacked Roo's hand, the one holding the flashlight. She blinked a couple of times, seeing nothing but white, and fought against a rising panic.

"Oh, God, Roo, you've blinded me!" She yelled, "I can't see!"

1959 / Re: lions roar | felicity
« on: 04/22/2020 at 05:43 »
"When. Did I. Ask, dipshit?"

Flick stabbed her fork into the sausage on her plate and wished to high heaven she was stabbing it into him. Her eyes swung upwards to meet his, lips curling over her teeth.

Her ribs vibrated in her chest, heat rising up the back of her neck, around her jaw, prickling like steel wool across her cheeks. God, she wanted to punch him right in the centre of his stupid face.

"Oh, but I thought you wanted me to shut up about it?" she said, her face morphing into something that resembled the face mothers made when they were soothing fussy babies. Like this prick.

1959 / Re: caution | flick
« on: 04/19/2020 at 13:01 »
She probably should've seen it coming. His response, and hers, too.

Flick's clenched jaw worked hard beneath her skin, and she scrabbled upright so that if the kid tried anything, she could at least stand on her own two feet & face him like a man. Her cheeks burned. In her head, the only thing she could hear was freak freak
  freakfreakfreakfreakfreakfreakfreakfre a k

"Oi! Don't say that!" she yelled, even though it was a feeble defense in light of the dried drool she'd just wiped all over his face, "I'm not a freak!"

She looked at him and felt desperate and it made her feel dirty-- "Why do you even wanna take a photo of me? I'm not-- I'm- - -"

"What're you gonna do with that picture, huh?" 

1959 / Re: wrong line, johnny | flick
« on: 04/19/2020 at 11:44 »
"Don't call me that," She snapped, and surged forward so that she crowded into the other girl's space, "It's Flick."

She didn't exactly loom over the other girl, but she was a good couple of centimetres taller and it made her feel powerful. It didn't seem to achieve very much in the way of deterrence or intimidation, though, because Flick still got the girl's ridiculous smile pushed into her face. She wanted to chuck up all over the girl's perky little nose. 

"Dude," she said, and wrinkled her nose at the thought of having to eat a bug herself, almost wishing it'd make this whole 'throw-up-in-someone-else's-face' deal a reality, "That's so grotty. What else have youse done? Licked the inside of a dunny?"

She gagged.

"What're you even doing out here? It's ass-o'clock in the morning."

1959 / Re: caution | flick
« on: 04/19/2020 at 11:14 »
Flick had decided that being old sucked mothballs, because she couldn't go anywhere without being positively jumped by toddlers. Even worse, she couldn't go around thumping any of them-- you better believe that any of them would go running to mummy Clint the moment she lay a knuckle on them.

He prodded at her leg (because it was a he now, even though the voice that told her all that was actually very squeaky) and Flick jerked her leg away like he'd stung her. A growl began to build in the recesses of her throat.

And then she was looking at him.

Her eyes narrowed straight away, and she pawed at her mouth to get the last of the drool off her lips. She reached out and smeared it across his perfectly-chiselled chin.

"There ya go," she said, and smirked, "Now piss off?"

1959 / Re: after a while, crocodile | charlick
« on: 04/19/2020 at 10:50 »
Felicity Walker was not asleep.

It didn’t matter that she’d gone to bed two hours prior, or that Quidditch practise had left her absolutely knackered, or that she’d lain in her bed with wide open eyes— she couldn’t sleep.

And that was because whenever she tried, whenever she shut her eyes, she saw the yellow-red glow of burning eyes, the Monster’s eyes, except her Monster wasn’t a snake but it was a person. And the person looked at her and said her name and raised its wand at her an--

Tears were for chumps so Flick didn’t cry, okay, when she felt a little pest-shaped weight settle in beside her. No, she just shuddered a breath into her pillow, so measured it could’ve been a sleeping exhale. She stirred, just a little.

"'s Flick," She slurred, and took a big breath, "--t's my name."

She rolled over onto her back, and blinked into Charlotte's bright blue eyes. She wasn't even surprised.

"What're ya doin'? 'ere?"

1959 / Re: waiting for the other chip to fall // click
« on: 04/19/2020 at 02:25 »
wooooooooow. Talk about holding up a mirror.

She looked right in the eyes of Clint's weird card-thingo and knew it was laughing at her, not only because she was dumb, but also because she had no idea what it mea-- oh, my god. The card winked at her.

Flick's sneer twisted across her features with a ferocity that left her cheeks burning, evidently unable to reconcile that, if you called someone a fool, they might call you one right back.

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't ya? Being a fool?" She fired right back, feeling the heat at the back of her throat crawl up until it licked at her teeth. Flick clenched her jaw, exhaled a hot breath through her nose. She was here, now.

"I can't sleep."

1959 / Re: waiting for the other chip to fall // click
« on: 04/18/2020 at 03:28 »
She may, or may not have flinched, just a little, when Clinton mentioned the Truth.

The Truth was a big word and Flick Walker was allergic to it. The Truth was that Flick Walker was magic (and she hated it), and that Flick Walker had friends (which she wanted to deny, like, all of the time) and that sending Flick Walker to Hogwarts had not, in fact, been a bad, no good, terrible, horrible idea. And, of course, the Truth was that Flick, like all others, did dream.

She wasn't gonna take any of it.

"Nah, dreaming is for fools," she said, because pushing people away was the only thing that made Flick remotely comfortable, like, ever, and she tapped her index finger against her temple like she knew something that Clinton didn't know, "Plus, you can't dream if you don't sleep, ay?"

1959 / Re: caution | flick
« on: 04/18/2020 at 03:13 »
(you've gotta be bloody joking)

She must've been sleeping deeper than she initially thought, because when Flick opened her eyes and blinked against the light of the sun, there was someone sitting next to her.

It was true that her sleep hadn't been the same since the Monster's attacks at the castle, so she'd been taking liberal naps in the afternoon sun to catch up on her sleep. Didn't even need to worry about dreaming, most of the time.

But being interrupted? Well.

She rolled over onto her side, away from whoever it was that was bothering her, and wiped some drool off her cheek. She shut her her eyes, tight, as if it'd make him go away, and released a half-asleep huff into the grass.

"Mmmmf... A picture? What?"

1959 / Re: after a while, crocodile | charlick
« on: 04/18/2020 at 02:55 »
Flick had never realised how her laugh sounded until it boomed out of her, out through great gouts of breath like the billowing of a flapping sail. Her laugh ricocheted around the glade of trees that surrounded their spot in the river, a badly-aimed bullet. Flick snapped her lips shut with a clap!

The birds, unsettled by all the splashing and the yelling (and probably Flick's laughing) took to the sky with great protest.

She straightened up with victory and river-water in her eyes, and was just about to rub the little pest's nose all over the riverbed with how Flick had won their water fight, when something suddenly seized her by the middle and tugged her down into the water.

Flick's first thought was-- shit, maybe I should've checked for crocs after all-- before a quick glance downward revealed bright blonde hair, and a grin squished into the skin above her bellybutton. But it was too late to fight back, and Flick's scream disappeared in a shower of bubbles as Charlotte dragged them both beneath the water again.

She didn't even realise she was hugging Charlotte back until the two of them surfaced again.

Flick gagged and pawed at her mouth to get the strands of Charlotte's hair out. "Alright, that's enough," she said, forceful but not snappish, and started moving towards the shore.

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