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The Confundus Conspiracy; or, Youngblood Circle ([info]confundere) wrote,
@ 2006-07-21 19:04:00

Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry
Current mood: sleepy
Current music:Who Will Buy? - from Oliver! The Original Soundtrack

The Divination Mistress: at Youngblood Circle, Magical D.C.
"Well, dayumm...", grumbled Finola Cumbow, removing first her right shoe, then her left, looking up and down at the accumulations of dirt on the soles. It was about what she'd anticipated finding: much of the residue had escaped closer to the heels, with good-sized chunks settling in near the middle, and the bulk of the dirt grading to a high concentration nearer the toes. The right shoe indicated what sort of muck would occupy one's outer life; the left one, one's inner life. And the patterns of dirt grinding into the grooves indicated that a good deal of stress was coming up in the future, in both the inner and outer worlds of Finola's life.

She sighed and gave Madame Sandansky a tired gaze across the lounge of their hotel in Youngblood Circle. "Jovana, honey, you had to talk me into this conference with the Eye-raqi contingent, now didn't you?" she groused. She pointed to the upturned soles of her shoes. "Sez here, no sooner did I git into D.C., along comes a bunch of shit about to happen in the very near future, as in, the next couple weeks or so. Like I didn't git enough shit happenin' at the frickin' Bureau--" Finola Cumbow, Divination Mistress extraordinaire, who could read patterns of the world in practically every divination tactic known to Wizardkind at the tender age of 35, was a diplomatic liaison with the Southeastern Bureau of Magic. The British had their Ministry for Magic, and the Americans had regional Bureaus. And hell if Miss Cumbow didn't have communication issues every time she arrived at the nation's capitol. She'd been born in East Tennessee, but raised in West Tennessee, and folks there spoke a slightly different tongue than folks in Youngblood Circle, by and large.

Jovana Sandansky laughed, and handed the waterpipe back to Finola. "My dear, smoke some more peppermint and chamomile; you don't want your blood pressure rising already, at your age", she advised. "Yes, we will be discussing Death-Eaters, traveling ghosts, blood-settling, and the Middle Eastern wars; but we needn't feel obligated to solve all the world's problems at once. Perhaps, after dinner with Madame Al-Halim and her party, you might do a reading for us on which dragon, figuratively speaking, we should do battle with first?"

Finola leaned her chair back further with a giggle of fatigue, her long chestnut-brown hair beginning to drape over the arms. Her violet eyes tried to do their usual dance among friends, but Finola was beginning to have trouble keeping them open. "Peppermint and chamomile?" she echoed her Macedonian friend. "Goddamn, Jovana, dontcha have an ounce of hash with a pinch o' ginseng for effect? If you're gonna go to the trouble to vape stuff, at least sneak somethin' yummy into the country in yer backpack." She sat upright again, and tried to get a little bit serious. "Where's your girls from Europe, Jovana? And all them others from the Night Ship? Muggle Secret Service shoot 'em down or something?"

Jovana looked around the lounge; so far, no sign of Marja, Lule, or any owls from the Night Ship crew. "Come to think of it, I'm not sure, Finola. They said something about going out for a walk; I'm not sure why they took their instrument cases with them when they left. Now that you mention the Night Ship, though, I think our first item of business--when Madame Ghazala arrives--might be siphoning off energy from our power-glutted Muggle government buildings. Have you been anywhere near the White House since you got here, my dear? You can feel the power activity radiating off of that structure like a nuclear reactor on the verge of a meltdown!"



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[info]confundere
2009-01-18 09:27 pm UTC (link)
Four voices in Balkan harmonies, with Lule's shamanic drum, Marja's kantele, Roisin's bouzouki and Nuala's bodhran, were calling down a harsh rebuke on those who had harmed their friend, the American shamanic researcher, in an online roleplaying controversy a year before:

We who once sang on your behalf
Now turn our singing against you.
For it's a poor spellsinger indeed
Who cannot both hex and heal.

You who have harmed a spellsinger,
Hear the warning that tolls for you:
For any spellsinger worth her salt
Can hex as well as heal.

You have judged sadly in error,
To cross Jovana Sandansky of Skopje.
Do not presume to spit on the scrolls
Of one who has laboured hard for you.

You brought judgment upon yourselves,
To turn out a song-sister of Marja Karppinen:
For she can summon a thousand like her
To sing sorrow down on your heads.

Scores have learned, to their chilling grief,
Not to offend such as Lule Gierran.
An unfriendly joik from her kind
Will pierce your soul like ice.

Now, reap what you have sown,
As Eris Discordia rides down upon you;
For a poor spellsinger she is indeed,
Who cannot hex as well as heal.


"Merlin H. Christ", Finola breathed in Jovana's ear. "I cain't understand anything but your names, but that one sounds a bit sharp for my virgin ears, for sure..."

"Oh, don't worry yourself, my dear", Jovana laughed in reply. "It wasn't about you..."

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