Susan Bradby
Ugghhh, would it kill to serve some ice cream?
Tue Jan 2, 2018 03:17

If it were possible for rage to rise in fumes, as they do in Muggle cartoons, one might have noticed vapours rising from Susan's nostrils. Or perhaps sweat becoming steam and hissing out of her robes.

Susan was sweating buckets inside her robe, her hair was plastered to the sides of her face while her braid had a hundred flyaways. Her cheeks were red and radiating heat. She tripped and stumbled on the hem of her robe- no, not her robe. It was Ivory's robe. It looked so frilly, inlined with lace and trimmings of fur. It even smelled like her (or, so she imagined)- that revolting perfume-y, rosy, girly smell. It looked new because Trish had mastered the art of household spells, but she knew. She knew. That was all that mattered- that her mother was going to put another hand-me-down on her when she knew they were perfectly capable of buying new ones. She wished her mother could be a normal witch who understood her. Or at least understood that she was much shorter than Ivory (and most of the kids her age) and this robe was practically a sleeping bag for her.

She looked at all the other students while wiping her sweaty face in the flappy sleeve of her robe. Her rage increased manifold when she saw how cool and comfortable they looked in their robes while she looked like a potato wrapped in a furry jacket, twice as big as her. She couldn't wait to go to Daddy and throw a hissy fit till he bought her new robes that actually fit her. She would then throw her sweaty robes in Ivory's face- she could keep her stupid, itchy robe to herself, thank-you-very-much!

She was relieved when they were led back to the Finer Diner. She was exhausted from lugging around her oversized robe and some snacks couldn't do any harm. She sat down (or rather, hopped on to the chair, given her small stature) and scopeD the table for food. She saw the cookies and her heart did a flip- did they serve sweet things at this school? Oh, the possibilities! She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten cookies that weren’t smuggled secretly into her room. Contraband candies, bargained with colorful ink feathers or dollhouse accessories, and hastily gobbled inside the closet or the bathroom- that was more her scene. She decided to eat some fruits but made a mental note of stuffing some of the cookies in her pocket later. There was a big red bowl piled with of grapes. It was just slightly out of her reach but the fruits looked glossy and pearly- unlike the misshapen, dull kind her mother insisted on buying. The small girl heaved over her seat, fingers stretched out, trying to pluck the grapes off the table. Just an inch more, just a bit, just… TING!

With a clink, a goblet of milk tipped on its side, splashing its contents on to the person sitting next to it. Her elbow had nudged the utensil when she was reaching for the fruit bowl.

She squealed in shock. ‘Sorreeeeee…! Oh God, I want to burn this wretched robe, I’m sorry!’

Great job, Susan, Day Zero and you are already the klutz of class!

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