Wands and Fireguns

Wool's orphanage- the blasted end of the skrewt. A world set in 1938, where there's a big chance you'll die of chickenpox, end up without a career or join the military forces! But that doesn't count for our female protagonist, Patsy Walters. Stuck in a house of misfits, life full ahead of her, what could possibly go wrong?

I'll give you a hint:

Tom Marvolo Riddle.


Warning: use of sailor mouths (Pat)

All rights reserved 24.04.2017.

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3. 03. Breakfast Pronunciamento

I patiently waited for anyone to break the silence, and too, to grant Martha a little time to process whatever’s been brimming through her head. Grown ups, as they called themselves, didn’t reason situations as I personally would, nor did the rest of his house. Aside from the caring and nursing nature of these women, I for one did not know the secrets behind their choices of action. But did I want to know?

My face formed a distateful grimace. Oh God no.

‘-Children! What are ye doing up this oor? Ye baith shuid be an yer beds!’ Martha said. Or to be precise, she didn’t say it. She wailed it. Rather a curious way to say hello but, shrugging, I opened my mouth to respond with an innocent tale about how I was sleepwalking again, when I heard another voice, which clearly wasn’t mine.

‘Psht!’

Or rather, not the voice disturbed me – but the fact that it was a man’s voice. Definitely not Tom Riddle! And some other kid? They wouldn’t be nearly as mad to vent the corridors at the brink of sunrise. Who in the God’s name…

‘Psht! I’m here, my love.’

My love? Now things were getting a bit thick! My eyes shot to my right, hearing a noise that sounded like a strangled lit up donkey. Judging by the supressed twitching corners of Tom Riddle’s mouth, I weighed the boy found this endeavor quite entertaining, you’d almost say he was amused by it. But let’s not exaggerate over here, pigs will fly when that day arrives!

In the meantime, the chubby cheeks of our help had turned bright red. And for once I didn’t need to be a ‘grown up’ to understand that sort of thing. It would be horrid to have someone pursue me while caling me ‘love’ and what not. Poor Martha.

‘N-nivermind. Back tae bed! The baith o’ ye.’ she said in the best austere way possible, for the moment at least. Only she didn’t seem to give it a second thought as she fled the lavatories. I probably would too, if I’be in her situation… And in the next moment I stopped in my tracks, because what I heard made me forget all about the man.

‘I’m here! I’m here, ma love,’ came the answer to the lover’s call in the sweet, Scottish, innocent tones of our matron Martha.

My mouth dropped open.

I take back my sentiments, I grimaced.

*~*~**~*~*

‘Bonk.’

‘Bonk. Bonk.’

‘Bonkerdie bonk bonk!’

‘bon- ngghh!’ I clasped my hand over Eric’s mouth, giving the kid a pointed look that told him to shut-his-crackers otherwise the bowl full of greyish porridge that they called ‘Breakfast’ would might find itself somewhere down a particular hunchback. And I didn’t fancy to wait for 6 more hours till lunch. My stomach seemed to growl in an agreeing manner, earning me another one of those I-told-you-so stares from Rick. Rikkard was approximately three months older and that made him think he was superior to me. The braggart. The table arrangements were quite simple. Every kid from your level was seated at the same long mahogany table, and we’re not talking about IQ’s and the difference between humane and inhumane. Simply the level of the building, and which in mine, sadly, lived a row full of children that were scrambled together from a pile of outcasts. Glancing my way over to the “other” table, I simpled couldn’t help but sigh. There they were. The children that actually knew how to climb a rope ladder. The cherries on the pie, the haute de cuisine. Not that people indicatingly wanted to eat them.. I do not suppose cannibalism comes forth in Western Europe, perhaps something far away; like Persia.

These children were the ones that actually got adopted, the elité from the first floor. Our matron Mrs Cole would tour couples around it, as if we were the neighbours from down the block! And if we got really lucky, the customers lacked a set of brains and decided to venture upstairs. Which was rarely, very rarely. We don’t get couples around a lot these days, people seem to have big enough families already. And truth to be told, I don’t suppose Mrs Cole is trying very hard to get rid of us… since the amount of money she gets from the government to provide food and bed for us makes her eyes gleam like she’s won the price for best-actress-of-the-month award. And with her demeanor, she absolutely should have.

‘Plate!’

‘Hm?’ I quickly turned my head to see Martha waiting with a outstretched hand, pushing a trolley full of nutritious breakfast that looked like it had been cooked in an open sewer. ‘Oh!’ Quickly I handed her my plate. With a thud she smacked the porridge onto it, giving it back to me. Please keep it. ‘Thanks…’ 

‘Don’t keek sae sour missy! Ye shuid be thankful God is peepin' ower ye.’  Oh, I wouldn’t be here if he was. Looking down at my plate, I heard a snicker coming from the other side of the breakfast table. And lunch, and dinner. The table I mean… we did get food three times a day of course.

‘Isnt’t breakfast to your likings, Pattie Snotters?’ A very, very foul mouth commented as I just turned my head to see whom it was coming from. Billy arse eating Stubbs. Or as I thought of him, Billy Snobbs. His ego was too large for this room. Even London for all I care! Just because Billy’s parents died when he was four and he inherited all their money, didn’t give you full on permission to act like you went to a private school and rode around in an Austin Twenty-eight. Which of course, would’ve been way too dramatic since his parents were toy factory workers. But compared to the rest of us… he was rich.

‘You can take your porridge and stick it where the sun doesn’t shine!’ I blurted out, looking down at my plate with heavy glower crossing my face.

‘Pat!’ Rikkard hissed from right across me.

‘What!? He called me that name again.’

‘…Just watch out for… you know who.’ He whispered the last part as if it was top secrecy. All of the sudden he looked down at his plate with a intense interest that he brought up from what? Neverland?

I heard a pair of heels clutter over the wooden flooring. (Which was way to expensive for our orphanage but had been seemingly more important than woolen clothing). And as if I could’ve seen it coming, the noise stopped right behind me. Bullocks!

‘And where exactly does the sun not shine, my dear?’

I internally cringed if it had not been for the dramatic announcement of her presence. And I don’t mean help-our-matron-is-an-alien-her, I meant the Her. Mrs. Wool. Or Mr Wool… I did not fancy to know about her nether regions when I still breathed!

Very shortly I saw some of my dignity fly by as I turned around 90 degrees and looked up at the woman with my interpretation of what people called ‘smiling’. ‘How about the sewers? A basement? Dracula’s tomb… Hitler’s super oppressive mansion-‘

‘Enough!’

I closed my mouth, slightly satisfied with my efforts of making her life a tiny bit more miserable than it already was. Which she of course did not appreciate.

Mrs Wool kneeled down before me. Like people do when they tell a kid one of their relatives died, or that they discovered a severe infection that wasn’t curable. Like smallpox. I hoped none of those cases were accurate in this situation.

‘Young lady,’ she started. ‘It is not proper for a young girl such as yourself to shout blatantly at other children- especially not boys.’

What would she rather have me doing? Whisper vulgar words in their ears!?

‘I’m very sorry Mrs Wool, but I believe we’ve been economizing on that department. Mr Meisner doesn’t school us with proper education, yesterday, we had to grab a shovel and dig a hole in the dirt! He’s getting old, i’m telling ya.’

‘I’m very sure Mr Meisner meant this all for the greater good, Patricia.’

Double bullocks.

‘Wait!-…Patricia?’ Someone around the dining hall called out, seemingly finding this very funny.

If only I could get that shovel and poke Mrs Wool with it… This was it. I was officially dead.

 

My dear witches and wizards

What an announcement Mrs Wool made at breakfast… ;)

Again, I do not wish to do this again but my severe apologies for not updating in a long while.

This will all be going away, due to personal reasons I hadn’t finished the chapter at all.

I want you to know that this is kind of a filler, but I hoped I could entertain you enough!

See you next Friday.

Yours truly,

Lady Dominique.

 

 

 

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