"I don't think that will be a problem," she answers, with a nervous glance back at the building.
It's not like it will require acting of any kind, especially not when Aunt Trunchbull chooses that moment to start roaring again. The sound of her stomping feet is audible all the way out to the parking lot.
The sound abruptly stops.
There is quiet for a brief, brief moment, then an extended loudness.
(She's given up on throwing fireballs and is now just throwing fire. Matilda deflects it as best she can. A thick layer of ice forms on walls, floor, and ceiling. The temperature differential shatters the front panels of both vending machines. Wind shrieks back and forth in the confines of the hallway. Something is burning and Matilda can't see it to make it stop, so she just freezes everything; another gout of fire melts the ice off most of the ceiling, and she ducks under it.
The Trunchbull throws another lightning bolt.
Matilda, too rattled to make the catch, dodges up.
It wouldn't make that much difference, except that the carpet under Miss Trunchbull's boots is soaking in two inches of slush, and the massive electrical discharge has to go somewhere, and Miss Trunchbull is among the places it chooses to go.)
And the sound of something large and heavy hitting the floor (the splash doesn't carry all the way), and then quiet again, this time for good.
no subject
It's not like it will require acting of any kind, especially not when Aunt Trunchbull chooses that moment to start roaring again. The sound of her stomping feet is audible all the way out to the parking lot.
The sound abruptly stops.
There is quiet for a brief, brief moment, then an extended loudness.
(She's given up on throwing fireballs and is now just throwing fire. Matilda deflects it as best she can. A thick layer of ice forms on walls, floor, and ceiling. The temperature differential shatters the front panels of both vending machines. Wind shrieks back and forth in the confines of the hallway. Something is burning and Matilda can't see it to make it stop, so she just freezes everything; another gout of fire melts the ice off most of the ceiling, and she ducks under it.
The Trunchbull throws another lightning bolt.
Matilda, too rattled to make the catch, dodges up.
It wouldn't make that much difference, except that the carpet under Miss Trunchbull's boots is soaking in two inches of slush, and the massive electrical discharge has to go somewhere, and Miss Trunchbull is among the places it chooses to go.)
And the sound of something large and heavy hitting the floor (the splash doesn't carry all the way), and then quiet again, this time for good.