- Messages
- 55
- OOC First Name
- Claire
- Blood Status
- Half Blood
- Relationship Status
- Too Young to Care
- Age
- 13
Open after Pheeb
A thunderstorm wasn't the only thing brewing that afternoon. Molly had a plan. She was sick and tired of Tres asking for her stupid orange sweater back - the one she'd had on loan since the first day of school. Actually, it wasn't a stupid sweater, it was a lovely sweater, snug and comfy and fashionable, which was exactly the problem. If Molly couldn't have it, she didn't see why anybody should have it. Especially not Tres, who already had lots of amazing clothes and looked good in basically anything.
So when it began to rain, Molly grabbed the sweater, marched outside, and found a secluded spot in the gardens to set her plan into motion. First she found the biggest, dirtiest, sludgiest puddle she could, and dumped the sweater into it, pressing it right in with her shoe. Then she pulled it out, sopping wet and covered in mud, hooked it over the broken branch of a tree, and yanked with all her strength. There was a terrific rip as the sleeve became detached from the shoulder. That would probably do it. She was about to head back to the castle when she realised she needed to make her story look legitimate. Grimacing, she knelt down in the cold puddle and rolled over, getting her arms, hands, legs, and even hair coated in mud. Then she pulled on the congealed, torn sweater and went back inside.
People were staring. Molly ignored them, dripping a trail of muddy water as she waddled into the great hall. Her face crumpled. She started to shake. It was quite convincing. Any decent friend would be far more worried about her than the sweater. Now she just had to hope that Tres was a decent friend.
A thunderstorm wasn't the only thing brewing that afternoon. Molly had a plan. She was sick and tired of Tres asking for her stupid orange sweater back - the one she'd had on loan since the first day of school. Actually, it wasn't a stupid sweater, it was a lovely sweater, snug and comfy and fashionable, which was exactly the problem. If Molly couldn't have it, she didn't see why anybody should have it. Especially not Tres, who already had lots of amazing clothes and looked good in basically anything.
So when it began to rain, Molly grabbed the sweater, marched outside, and found a secluded spot in the gardens to set her plan into motion. First she found the biggest, dirtiest, sludgiest puddle she could, and dumped the sweater into it, pressing it right in with her shoe. Then she pulled it out, sopping wet and covered in mud, hooked it over the broken branch of a tree, and yanked with all her strength. There was a terrific rip as the sleeve became detached from the shoulder. That would probably do it. She was about to head back to the castle when she realised she needed to make her story look legitimate. Grimacing, she knelt down in the cold puddle and rolled over, getting her arms, hands, legs, and even hair coated in mud. Then she pulled on the congealed, torn sweater and went back inside.
People were staring. Molly ignored them, dripping a trail of muddy water as she waddled into the great hall. Her face crumpled. She started to shake. It was quite convincing. Any decent friend would be far more worried about her than the sweater. Now she just had to hope that Tres was a decent friend.