| potterstinks @ 2003-08-13 17:12:00 |
| Current mood: | enraged |
I don't speak Italian, I don't enjoy watching Italian women trim their moustaches, I don't eat green sauce, I don't sunbathe and I certainly don't enjoy spending my time cooped up in my quarters like a common servant due to the fact that I cannot go out as I would rather prefer to avoid all of these things. Mother's just arrived at our villa today, and of course she's decided to keep herself locked up in some sort of fit of despair. Of course, you can hardly blame her, given the horrific amount of time she's been spending with halfbreeds lately.
Father's been out and about, though I've not seen him an overly large amount of time as he seems to stay within his own quarters, as I'm doing myself. He seems rather cross, which of course would have to be due to the fact that Black is speaking with him incessantly via these journals.
My quarters in this villa are suitable, I suppose, though they do have this ridiculous sort of Italian decorating scheme throughout and while I'm not wholly opposed to the Italian look, it does get rather nauseating when one is staring at it twenty three hours a day. Everyone here speaks Italian. You'd think they could have the common courtesy to learn the English language for those of us who don't live here, but evidently the Italians are as rude as the French. Of course, I've been here before but as I'd not been here for quite some time I assumed they might have learnt some manners since then. Evidently this was too much to ask. Even the servants speak only minimal English. As though I'm supposed to listen to them struggling to get by with that. My blood is likely turning into spaghetti sauce, and if I eat one more dish that contains tomatoes and/or onions, I shall simply have to kill myself as I fear I'll start to smell like an Italian. If one begins to smell like an Italian, one might soon find themselves riding low-flying broomsticks and saying 'Ciao, bella' to the moustache-riddled witches while trying to work a comb through one's chest hair. As I'd sooner become American, I think I'll need to refrain from eating anymore Italian food. Perhaps I can have something sent in specially from the Manor. Everyone here seems to think sunbathing is the greatest hobby ever invented, and as I'm already sunburnt, somehow, this isn't an idea that thrills me.
Speaking of sunburn, I went to Ratshaped Growthe before I left for holiday to retrieve my watch from Potter. Of course, the entire affair was rather inconvenient, as Ratshaped Growthe is absolutely out of my way, but Potter is incredibly demanding and refused to return my private property unless I put myself out of my way to get it. Evidently, Potter is too good for the post. I don't see what he thinks gives him a right to order people around as though he's the hero of the Wizarding World, when everyone knows that that is actually me, but as I was to leave for the Italian Riviera I hardly had time to point this out. Obviously Potter's fascism was successful this time, though I don't intend on letting such a ridiculous event occur in the future.
In any case, Potter apparently lost my watch between the time he said he'd found it and the time I got there asking for it back, so I had to accompany him on a strange and irritating journey throughout Ratshaped Growthe in order to find my watch again. It's a rather expensive watch, of course, so naturally it only makes sense that Potter wouldn't have the class to make certain it was kept safe. Prior to finding it, I: was stuck in the shoulder with a thorn from a Quipful Bush, received a scrape on my elbow and got harsh, unforgiving sunburn on my nose, cheeks, ears and the scalp of my head. Have you any idea how horrid sunburn is when you've got it on your scalp? Fortunately some sort of sun salve was recalled before I got too badly burnt, and at the very least I am content with the knowledge that Potter was also sunburnt.
I was already familiar with the interior of Ratshaped Growthe and all of its dreariness, so there's not much to say in regards to that, other than that Potter nearly scraped off my entire elbow because he decided that the proper thing to do would be to shove me into the corner of the wall. I suppose I must have been getting on his nerves, for which I would feel entirely terrible, as that has certainly never been my intention. You would think that Potter could practise a bit of self control instead of resorting to physical violence over and over.
So now I'm in Italy, sunburnt already and suffering from severe blood loss due to the cut on my elbow. I suppose the rest and relaxation are suitable for one undergoing such terrible health as I am.
Oh, yeah. Potter left my watch at the Leaky Cauldron and had to Floo to get it. It's nice that he's been going around wearing my accessories to make himself look better. He claims he wasn't wearing it, but I can't see why else he'd feel compelled to take it to the Leaky Cauldron, as, after all, my watch does not drink.
Father and Mother are avoiding each other and I can only assume I am supposed to act as though I do not notice this, so I'm staying in my quarters speaking to absolutely no one. Millicent and Pansy have gone slightly unhinged and Crabbe and Goyle are terribly confused about the holidays, so I've no one to speak to and nothing to do whatsoever. I hate the sun and I hate everyone.
In other news, I've decided to move to Denmark.
Comments:
| blondenarcissa @ 2003-08-13 08:53 pm UTC |
Draco,
Your father and I are not avoiding one another. We are merely enjoying time alone to reflect upon ourselves and our fortunes. If you like, you and I could travel to Albenga tomorrow or Friday. I hear that an ancient Quidditch marsh has recently been discovered near the Casa dei Malasemenza. I thought you might enjoy going to visit it with me. Do let me know if this sounds like something you would be glad to do.
Love,
Mother
P.S. I find it trying that you complain about the French yet cannot be bothered to recall that your mother hails from France.