The last time she was this angry, Lucinda had left her home and nearly divorced her husband. Elsie's words may have sounded reasonable to her, but to her cousin - two years older but standing on years of living in a society that often did not like her - they generated a sort of blindly enraging white noise.
"Get the fuck out of my library, Elsie," Lucinda said. She had puffed herself up like some sort of angry cat, all fury, no space for peace. Her voice was level and had no tone to it, but the bite was there, the language she'd picked up from years of working and living in the Quidditch industry rearing its ugly head. White noise. "You think I want to be doing this? Merlin's left ballsack."
They had left her with the excellent question of what to do with them, and really Lucinda just wanted to wash her hands of this: she was done with her cousin, so done, and she did not want to ruin Elsie's life. But there had to be consequences, or the next person they got caught by - and they would, sooner or later, get caught - would not be nearly as nice. Luce had images of Elsie ending up in the papers, and fired, and inevitably disgraced.
The world was not kind to girls who kissed Quidditch players in libraries.
She pointed to Kirke. "You will stay a minute and talk to me," she said, "Or I swear to God, I won't just tell her mother, I will blacklist your goddamn sponsor and Arthur fucking Pettigrew until they fire you from your team." There was that glint in her eyes again, the aggressive little spark: "I may seem like just a housewife to my cousin -" and maybe Elsie had hurt her feelings; Lucinda's voice cracked on it "- but I have a great deal of power in this industry, and I am not. Above. Using. It."
"Get the fuck out of my library, Elsie," Lucinda said. She had puffed herself up like some sort of angry cat, all fury, no space for peace. Her voice was level and had no tone to it, but the bite was there, the language she'd picked up from years of working and living in the Quidditch industry rearing its ugly head. White noise. "You think I want to be doing this? Merlin's left ballsack."
They had left her with the excellent question of what to do with them, and really Lucinda just wanted to wash her hands of this: she was done with her cousin, so done, and she did not want to ruin Elsie's life. But there had to be consequences, or the next person they got caught by - and they would, sooner or later, get caught - would not be nearly as nice. Luce had images of Elsie ending up in the papers, and fired, and inevitably disgraced.
The world was not kind to girls who kissed Quidditch players in libraries.
She pointed to Kirke. "You will stay a minute and talk to me," she said, "Or I swear to God, I won't just tell her mother, I will blacklist your goddamn sponsor and Arthur fucking Pettigrew until they fire you from your team." There was that glint in her eyes again, the aggressive little spark: "I may seem like just a housewife to my cousin -" and maybe Elsie had hurt her feelings; Lucinda's voice cracked on it "- but I have a great deal of power in this industry, and I am not. Above. Using. It."