misery loves company -abby

[mishkin georgina rook]

Mishkin didn't go to Hogsmeade very often, seeing as how the Leaky Cauldron was within walking distance of her house, but there were people she wanted to avoid. Everyone had people they didn't like, it just so happened that there were certain patrons of the Leaky Cauldron she wanted to give some space to for a little while. That damned Order, making her evening drinks that much more uncomfortable. Anyway, barkeepers were much nicer to her outside of London.

She apparated into Hogsmeade a few minutes after being released from work, taking several moments to change her clothes at home to something less stupid. She pulled her favourite dark hunter green cloak, the one with gold leaf clasps, over a pair of torn blue jeans and a similarly mutilated long sleeved t-shirt. Though Mishkin dressed up for work and Death Eater business, she couldn't be expected to look high-class and sophisticated all the time.

Finding herself about a half a kilometer shy of her destination, Mishkin trudged through the wind and the swiftly falling snow as the sun thought about setting behind her. It really was nice here, if Mishkin grew old (doubtful) she imagined a cute, crooked house somewhere near the Three Broomsticks, where she was headed. She'd have a couple of cats, children taking her place of honor in the Dark Lord's inner circle, maybe even grandchildren headed to Hogwarts. It was a fanciful thought; Mishkin was going to die fighting for her cause, she knew that much. She couldn't know when, but the only other option in her mind was Azkaban and that wasn't going to happen, she'd sooner kill herself.

Though the Hog's Head easily accepted the more questionable of witches and wizards, a slot Mishkin definitely fit into, she had always been a bit of an instigator. She imagined Hogwarts kiddies finishing up their butterbeers, the looks of unhappy recognition she got whenever she was in a public place occupied by enough of the wizarding community. Mishkin didn't mind, it was like being famous. If she entered loudly enough, people would be mistaken into thinking she was really important, and the more sober of the people there would look round.

That was what Mishkin did, just about bursting in, a flurry of snow pushing in behind her as she shoved the door back into place. As predicted, a few people turned their eyes to her, some of them recognizing her face immediately. Pretending she wasn't flattered, she walked to the bar, laid her hand, palm down, gently on the tabletop. Her smile was almost mocking, though it was genuine. Madam Rosmerta seemed less than thrilled to see her.

"A firewhisky, please and thank you darling."

[Abigail Grace O'Malley]

Abigail really did not want to leave her shop, but her niece begged her to go because she hadn't had a break in so long. She really didn't want to leave the whole shop in Robyn's hands, but the girl certainly was stubborn. Abigail was convinced that she got it from the O'Malley part of the family. Certainly not from that wishy washy moronic Millington side. It was obvious that she wasn't too fond of her brother-in-law and his family. Luckily, Robyn agreed with her and got away from them...for now.

Today's outfit was just as strange and out of place as Abigail's outfits always were. It was a dress that appeared to be from the late 1800s. the base of the dress was silver with reddish maroon accents around the sleeves, chest, and skirt.Then, at the front, the dress was tied together with a gold rope. She was wearing matching maroon shoes and she had her stereotypical haircut: a bun at the back of her head with a small rose garden on the top of her head and curls hanging at the front of her face. Yes, the outfit was certainly out of the ordinary. As it was snowing outside, she was wearing a maroon cape with a hood, to shelter herself from the harsh weather.

Abigail headed into the Three Broomsticks, harshly shoving the door against the wind so it would close. She was well-known in the village, not only because of her eccentric-ness, but because she ran the tea shop, just down the lane and she was kind to practically everybody. This was shown as she was greeted with a wave and a greeting from several people from various tables. She went around the tables, greeting the people that had greeted her moments before: "Oh, hello, Joan! How is your grandmother doing?" and "I still owe you that cup of coffee, Betty, dear. Don't let me forget!" and "Oh, Robert, your dog is such a dear! We must get him and Pierre in a play date together, sometime!" And on and on she went until she greeted everybody.

She finally slowed down and rested herself at the bar. "Hello, Rosmerta, darling!" she said, to the owner of the Three Broomsticks, who she had become quite fond of over the years, as they often spent much time together because of their careers. "Business is going well, I assume?" she asked, motioning to the full tables. She did a double take, though when she realized just who she was sitting down the bar from.

"Well, Mishkin," she said, turning to look at the young girl, crossing her legs. "I certainly wasn't expecting to run into you here!" she said, not sounding confrontational, but her regular, cheery self.

[mishkin georgina rook]

With another burst of icy wind, The Three Broomsticks welcomed another customer. Mishkin didn't care much, didn't turn around to see who it was. She just sat, sipping her first firewhiskey in silence. As it turned out, Mishkin didn't need to look at her to learn the identity of the latest customer. Her voice was like a kick in the chest, a burst of memory and tension. Mishkin had been trying to keep out of trouble with people since the Millennium bridge, saving the mayhem, which was getting ever more chaotic, for when she had a few more people to ensure she wouldn't be destroyed.

That was the whole reason she was here instead of the Leaky Cauldron, where it was sure Mishkin would get in a bit of a scrap. Endangering herself wasn't exactly a good idea with so much action going on that she needed to be a part of. Alive. Mishkin assumed that she would be the one starting the fight, so the logical way to keep herself alive was avoiding people she wanted to fight with. It had worked well.

Abby O'Malley and Mishkin Rook just didn't go together. A sweet gentle little Order member like Abby and a rough Death Eater show pony like Mishkin were practically born to disagree with each other, that was just the way things worked. Mishkin found herself tense- not afraid but definitely prepared. As Abby's image wandered into the corner of her eye, Mishkin's hand instinctively disappeared into her cloak, fingers resting on her wand. She finished off her firewhiskey, knocking the entire glass to the back of her throat and grimacing slightly as it burned down to her stomach. As she raised her arm, the motion caused the sleeve of her cloak to fall.

It was only exposed for half a second but she had just shown unmistakable proof to anyone who knew what they were looking for; deep black on red, inflamed skin. Whatever, Abby most likely already knew. It was evident that the Mark had been causing Mishkin a great deal of pain, her forearm angry and red. Though only a fraction had been exposed, looking at the whole thing was kind of gross.

Mishkin bristled as she heard her name, pushing her glass back for a refill. "Abby, O'Malley, what a wonderful surprise!" Her tone this time wasn't remotely mocking or hateful, in fact rather civil, though she was working to cover the wariness in her voice. "How've you been?" Her pleasantries made even her feel a bit sick, her tone sugary and conversational, totally unlike the real Mishkin.

"I can't even remember the last time I saw you!" Lies. She could. Mishkin had a good memory, but even if she didn't, there was something you just didn't forget about firing curses at members of one anothers' organizations. As she knocked back yet more whiskey she kept one wary eye on the seemingly sweet Abby.

[Abigail Grace O'Malley]

Just by looking at the two of them, anyone would be able to tell that Abigail and Mishkin would not be able to get along. With Mishkin having dark dreadlocks and dark style of fashion and Abigail's reddish blonde curls and outdated dresses...it was easy to tell that they were complete opposites. Their personalities just contrasted them that much more.

Abigail had not expected to walk into the Three Broomsticks to find a well-known Death Eater sitting at the bar next to her. She wasn't in the mood to do anything confrontational or get into a duel, but she would if she had to, of course. Why couldn't everyone just get along? Was that really so hard? As she thought back on her sister and her brother-in-law, she knew that this wasn't true. There were just some people that didn't get along. It never ceased to anger Abby that part of her family were Death Eaters...the fools.

"A Gillywater with an onion and cherry, if you please, Rosmerta, dear!," she said, pointing her index finger up to get the woman's attention. It was a very odd drink, that hardly anyone else she knew ever got. But...it was just one other thing that proved how odd she was. "Thaaaaank youuuu," she said in a rather sing song voice as Rosmerta set the drink in front of her. As she took a sip of her drink, she saw Mishkin's sleeve ride up, revealing the Dark Mark embedded into her forearm. It really saddened her to see someone so young involved in such a terrible group.

"Oh, really, Mishkin, you needn't put on a face," Abigail said with a wave of her hand. She knew that seeing her was not a pleasant surprise at all to Mishkin.

ooc: I had an idea! Maybe Mishkin could mention Abby's sister and brother-in-law? (Victoria and Christopher Millington) That might get something going herexD

[mishkin georgina rook]

It was a great relief to be told that Mishkin didn't need to put on the 'old friend' facade; her sickeningly sweet tone so unlike herself was starting to put even her off. Though she had to admit her mockery was a little fun. Nursing her third and far from final drink of the evening, Mishkin observed the woman she had never actually seen in a conventional social situation. It was common knowledge among Death Eaters, though, who was in the Order and who wasn't, as she assumed it was with the Order. The whole 'know your enemy' thing, Mishkin supposed.

Abby had a rather strange sense of fashion, though Mishkin wasn't one to judge irregularity. She looked like she had raided her great grandmother's closet for ball gowns. Mishkin's look was more modern, like a punk rocker in red lipstick, which wasn't any better under the eye of a more traditional witch or wizard. But if it were up to them, everyone would be wearing sensible robes in subdued colours. Nobody liked the traditional witch or wizard.

Mishkin smiled a little, more to herself than anyone else. Though she was granted permission to stop acting like an idiot, Mishkin, contrary to popular belief, was actually one who could have a conversation. "Have you spoken to your sister lately? She talks about you sometimes- says she's worried that you're..." Mishkin leaned closer, smiled, as if telling a dirty secret, and said in a lower voice, "She's worried that you're getting into the wrong crowd. Making unhealthy friendships. You know, bad influences." She laughed a little bit, straightened up, sipped her drink again. "Isn't it nice to have a sister that really cares?" The impression that Mishkin usually portrayed was of an unstable, violent woman, which led people to believe that she was insane, even stupid. But she knew what she was doing.

Mishkin knew it was a touchy subject for the both of them. She talked to Victoria more than she did the other members of Voldemort's inner circle simply because she was a woman, and women among Death Eaters were few and far between. On that common trait they had forged a polite, somewhat distant relationship. Though what she had told Abby about Victoria wasn't exactly false, it couldn't be called true, either. She'd mentioned Abby being her sister in the Order, mentioned something about the family being divided, and Mishkin had implied the rest, twisted it to suit herself.