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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Aug 1, 2016 21:07:49 GMT -5
Absolon Abernathy [ 16 years old ]
Everyone is afraid of the dark.
Even if it’s just a little.
A sound. A shadow. All trivial in the light of day, but terrifying in the dark.
Maybe that was why he embraced the night the way he did. There’s nothing left to fear if you can conquer the dark.
The beach is a different animal when draped in midnight’s curtain. Turquoise waters were ink stains beneath the crescent moon. Hot, white sand drained of heat and only just barely clinging to its bleached glow. Emptied of sweaty packs of tourists and locals alike. All except one. His stuff was strewn haphazardly across the sand, out of reach of the tides lapping hungrily up the shore, searching feverishly for something to drag away into the depths. Water bottles in varying stages of full and half-full used as paper weights for crumpled sheet music. A journal. A blanket. A suitcase. A backpack. A ukulele. All tossed carelessly beneath the stars and away from the water. Their owner was several feet away, swimming in black waves capped in frothy white. Absolon dove into one curled wave after another, embracing the feel of cold water washing over his skin and sand digging between his toes. He preferred the beach at night, when the moon was queen and the crowds fled, taking their towels and tans with them. It was just him. Him and endless expanse of ocean silvered beneath the night sky. The crashing and lapping sang in his ears, a private symphony composed for him alone. All others who could hear it were merely eavesdroppers and nothing more. Absolon surfaced for a moment, gasping to fill his lungs with air. Salt stung his eyes and rendered the world into a watery blur. He brushed a hand over the top of his head, feeling the prickly stubble of his recent buzzcut; it had been a thoroughly debated decision but a lack of hair was more suited to the vicious Australian sun. Or, so he had said at least.
A soft, bluish glow replaced silvery moonlight behind him, the recognition of which nearly had him diving back below the rush of the waves. “Absolon? Absolon Nigel Abernathy! Get out of there right now!” The voice held the thunderous roar of a waterfall and all the flowing cascade of one too. And the sharp rocks at the bottom. There was no escaping it. Even if he dove right now he’d have to come back up for air eventually. It was too late, he’d already been spotted. Might as well get it over with.
Abby gritted his teeth behind closed lips and whipped around, holding his own easily against the crashing waves that slammed against his back, threatening to pull him under. “Oh, hey dad, do you need something?” He hadn’t meant for the sarcasm to slip out but it did, sliding past his teeth and gliding on his words with ease. Cyrille Abernathy reminded Abby of the Statue of Liberty, the way he held his wand aloft, illuminated in the soft glow of lumos. Except that Cyrille Abernathy was no beacon of hope and freedom and opportunity. “Absolon Nigel, your mother has been worried to death about you. She thinks you’re dead! She won’t stop rambling about how you were kidnapped and your body was dumped in the middle of the desert. And what the hell are you doing swimming this late at night? Are you a tourist? What am I supposed to tell your mother when you’re mauled by a shark?” Abby rolled his eyes and began his trudge back to shore wordlessly. What was he supposed to say exactly? Sorry? As if that would help to soothe his situation. His father’s face was placid, the kind of calm repose that was genuine, hiding no fury or fight beneath its surface. It crawled over Abby’s skin and laced his blood with chilling fear. “Well?” Cyrille spoke up, but his vivid blue gaze trained on his sopping son currently striding from the ocean’s grasp, looking like a shipwreck survivor in only his boxers. “Well, what? What do you want from me?” He snapped, prickling with fear and cold. “Absolon Nigel, you wound me. Is this any way to treat family?”
“What are you talking about? And stop calling me that! It’s just Abby.” “Alright then, Just Abby. Why didn’t you come home today? Jean, Max, and Vincent all got off the train with you this morning, but you were the only one that didn’t come home. Care to explain why that is?” His voice morphed, retaining its waterfall thunder but taking on a softer note. Concern? Abby didn’t answer, instead opting to grab one of the various water bottles acting as paper weights. He plopped down cross-legged on his blanket and drank, gulping down the sun-warmed water, washing salt and sand from his mouth in the process. Propping himself up on his arm with his legs sprawled out, Abby looked almost casual. Almost. There was an undeniable tenseness in his shoulders, something only a watchful eye would catch. He pulled the bottle away from his lips and answered, “Welp, you’ve got enough sons, what’s one less?”
“Very cute. Okay, what’s going on. Jean said you dumped your girlfriend the week before school ended. What happened there?” Abby quirked an eyebrow, his lip curling up into a sneer, “That depends. Which girlfriend?”
Surprise torched in his father’s eyes, mixing with the disgust that leaked over the calm of his features, “Jesus, boy. What the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh yeah, I had four girlfriends. Let’s see, there was Faustine, Lola, the Belgian girl, and Violet. Which one do you want to hear about?” His sneer turned taunting, speared on by the surprise that lit up like a wildfire in his father’s blue blue blue gaze. Cyrille’s expression soured before melting back into pristine calm. He hovered over Abby, his height a tower blocking out the crooked smile of the moon.
The motion was so fast Abby barely had time to see what was happening, let alone do anything to stop it. Before he knew it, his water bottle was arcing through the air, spilling silver and darkening the sand before landing with a thump. His hand hurt, a pulsing sting in the back of his hand. He only just caught a glimpse of his father’s foot lowering back down. The young man’s eyes narrowed into a viper-venom glare, shooting up at his dad. “What the heck was that for, old man?”
“Sneer at me all you like, Absolon Nigel, but don’t you dare spew that kind of garbage. I oughta be tearing you apart for making your mother cry like she did today. But I’m not because I wanna hear your side of the story. Now, tell me what’s going on or we’re gonna have a problem, hear me?” Abby shrunk away, visibly shaken. In all his sixteen years of life, Cyrille Abernathy had never raised a hand against him or his brothers, let alone a foot. On top of that, was he threatening him?
“Fine!” Abby spat, shooting to his feet, “You wanna know why? This is why!” With that, he whirled around, displaying his back in full view. Inked from his shoulder blade to the small of his back in sweeping curves and elegant lines was an eastern dragon, its claws wrapped protectively around a pearl.
He stood silent, the moments dragging out into agonizing minutes. At last, laughter erupted behind him. Stunned, red bleeding embarrassment over his features, Abby glanced back over his shoulder to find his dad bent over in peals of laughter. The young man jumped back, a new kind of fear seeping into his blood. “What… Why are you laughing?”
“You…” Cyrille paused, trying to catch his breath, “You ran away because you have a drawing on your back? Boy, what is wrong with you? You’re out here swimming with sharks because of a doodle?”
“I-it’s not…” Abby trailed, taken aback. One minute, his dad had been threatening him, the next he was fighting for breath from laughing to hard. Was this some kind of twisted joke? “It’s a tattoo!” He blurted out at last, “They’re a muggle thing and I didn’t think…” He raked his hand over his head, seeking some hair to run his fingers through before realizing he had none. “What? You didn’t think we’d let you back into the family? First off, this thing is too easy to cover up, just keep a shirt on. Secondly, we aren’t gonna disown you. C’mon, get your stuff together, we’re going home.”
“Just like that?” Abby took a step back, confusion gnarling his features. It couldn’t be that easy. It shouldn’t have been that easy. The night he had gotten the tattoo had been an act of inebriated rebellion, breaking away from the pureblood mold that had so carefully shaped his life. And now his father, firstborn son of the Abernathy family, laying rightful claim to their wealth, was simply going to accept him back? As though he weren’t somehow tainted? “Yeah, it’s actually pretty easy to let someone back into a house. You just open the door. No spells or riddles or passwords required!”
“No! That’s not what I mean!”
“Alright, have a seat, Absolon Nigel and I’ll tell you all about it. But first, did you really have four girlfriends at the same time? Because I swear to god I will gut you like a fish and feed you to the sharks for real.” Amusement permeated his voice, along with something else. A cold threat hidden behind his laughter.
“Not at the same time, just throughout the school year.” Abby wasn't scared of the dark. Not while there were actual things to fear.
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Post by Salted Squid on Aug 1, 2016 22:16:27 GMT -5
Aviva Harel
The morning of the ball dawned very early for Aviva. She had returned from the first Rebellion meeting around midnight, aching with exhaustion, but from the moment her head hit the pillow nightmares haunted her dreams.
First she found herself back in the Black Lake, the nixie gripping her leg, dragging her down under the surface. Aviva struggled with everything she had, but she could not break free. Her lungs were screaming for oxygen, her brain wailing at her to take a breath... her vision was fading, dark spots forming in her vision... she was dying all over again...
Then the scene dissolved. She found herself at the front of the Great Hall, standing before the four House tables back in their former glory. Gray Markell stood before her, unable to stop his grins and giggles; to her horror, he wasn't the only one laughing-- people were turning to look, pointing and whispering.
''I'd go to the dance with you, Aviva, but in that outfit...?'' He dissolved then into giggles, and Aviva looked down, confused, to see that she was wearing an extremely hideous dress that looked like it belonged back in the Victorian era. Wizards were old fashioned compared to Muggles, but nobody in their right mind would wear something so awful. She wanted desperately to run, but her feet felt glued to the spot, her body frozen, as people howled with laughter...
She jerked awake, panting and drenched with sweat, though she didn't scream. She wasn't the type to scream after nightmares; she'd been having them since the nixie incident, yet nobody knew a thing. No, Aviva's fear tended to leave her paralyzed, panting, drenched with an icy sweat, just as she was now. It was barely five in the morning, yet she knew that she would not be able to sleep again, so she simply lay awake, watching the moon through the window and listening to the snores of those around her.
She lay there until the students around her began to stir, then crawled out of bed, having long since returned to calm. Obviously, she wasn't going to let a simple nightmare stop her from asking Gray to the dance; she was much too logical for that, and besides, her pride wouldn't let her watch Enid have that pleasure.
So, opening her trunk, she dug through it, finally pulling out her best robes and pulling them on. She ran a comb through her hair, which she decided to leave down for the special occasion, though she did sweep it behind her shoulders elegantly. She usually didn't wear much makeup, but found herself applying a light coat of lipstick before checking herself anxiously in the mirror.
Well. She could've done without her battered glasses-- they badly needed replacement-- but it would do. Her stomach churning anxiously, she grabbed her wand and hurried off to the Great Hall, hoping that perhaps she could catch Gray before there were too many people there to watch her humiliate herself.
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Aug 2, 2016 18:08:37 GMT -5
this is. such. a mess. i have so many problems with this post but if i start editing it i'll never finish. have fun with melodrama and guam, friends. (also formatting this killed me rip)
[ Gray Markell ] They say that it takes five minutes to destroy a man. (“I can’t go after him, Annika. If I bring him back now he returns a disgrace, a stain on the family name. On you, on me, on himself. He made his choice. Now he has to live with it.” “You know I can’t accept this." “Then go.” )
Gray knows that this is a lie.
❁
There is something inherently thrilling about committing a crime under the cover of darkness. Gray has been routinely breaking into the downstairs music room since his second year. Though he doesn’t think of it as “breaking and entering” so much as simply making use of a resource that has been, for years, abandoned. Back when the Hogwarts band was an active entity this room had been their center of operations. Home to warmth and life, inside jokes passed between the sections, playful rivalries over who would be first chair. Now it was just cold: the lockers on the back wall empty, chairs stacked in neat ebony towers, dust coating the tops of old music stands like a fall of snow. The only light in the room was the bluish hue cast by Gray’s iPhone, reclined against the sheet rack. A black-light, scouring the floor of the chamber for any hint of the blood that once gave it life.
Where there had been spirit there was now nothing; where there had been nothing there was now Gray, sitting straight-backed at the piano bench, one hand drifting over the keys, the other scrolling through his phone library for sheet music. Many of the names (Mozart, Liszt, Chopin, Rachmaninoff) are familiar, classics, the venerated masters whose works every aspiring piano student dreams of playing in concert. But they are not what Gray is looking for.
Most people do not know that Fredrich Nietzche was also a composer.
Heldenklage, a piano etude that the philosopher wrote when he was only seventeen, is a piece that Gray is particularly fond of. The name translates roughly into “the hero's lament”. It is a distinctively fitting title, one that resonates profoundly with Gray as he lets his hands dance across the instrument. Blending the somber pace and light harmonies, fingers brushing over the keys, gently, like a morning rain; a funeral march for victory. When Gray plays, the piano becomes a mere extension of his body. The keys pulse to the rhythm of his heartbeat, the strings are his ribs. The world seems to take on another quality; time and space stretch, disappear, collide. He is no longer a person, a cast of flesh and bone and viscera, but simply a collection of atoms. There is no shape here, no form; his existence is undefined. Ephemeral. The glass has been removed from the fish tank, but the water stays in place. Hovering.
It was Diwa the Chamorro fisherwoman who inspired Gray’s love for the song. There was only one piano in the village, a Steinway Grand that had been brought in years ago as a donation to the local Catholic church. (Which was, for that matter, the only church in the village too.) She was in her late forties when Gray arrived, trailing his father across the hot, sun-bleached sand. Diwa was a large woman, muscled from years of hard labor but also naturally tall, with a reputation for dry humor and stoicism, so it had come as a surprise to many when she took the young village newcomer under her wing. She invited him onto her fishing boat, taught him how to free-dive, bullied a priest into giving an eleven year old a key to the church so that he would have access to a piano. Diwa's first mate, a young man in his early twenties, had gone door to door looking for more sheet music than the handful of religious hymns that the church was able to provide. One of the handful of odds and ends that had turned up was a collection of Nietzsche's piano solos, donated by a retired philosophy professor who couldn’t even play Mary had a Little Lamb if his life depended on it. Gray memorized all the songs in it by heart.
He still remembered them, eight years later, fingers gliding from octave to octave. Gray would play for Diwa anytime she wanted; that was the only payment that she had ever asked of him. These small moments between them escalated into a habit for Gray. The piano became an expression of emotion, of affection, of those ineffable sentiments which he could not aptly assign to words. And this is why Gray had woken up at 5am, crept through darkened corridors, defying a curfew that he himself was supposed to be upholding, to the abandoned old music room. He needed the practice, true, but more than that he wanted to find a way to thank the girl who, in the little over a month he had known her, had managed to quite literally change his life. This was not in any immediately perceivable way; Gray was still the pretentious boy who rarely smiled, if he showed emotion at all, and spent more time writing papers than with people. Yet, Enid Glass had smiled at Gray, and in that moment had chipped a hole in that great ice wall he had built around himself. And he had let her. (this is getting so choppy i’m sorry i have no idea what i’m writing anymore.)
Gray spent the morning scrolling through Schubert, through Phillip Wesley, through modern composers whose names most would have never heard of, looking for songs that he perceived to fit Enid Glass. Several had come to mind immediately (Beyond the Sky by Dirk Maassen, a fairly well known modern minimalist, was his go to) and yet he spent several hours like this, tucked away in this forgotten corner of the castle, running his fingers along the ebony and ivory spine, until his alarm began beeping. His signal that it was time to rejoin the rest of the world; that he needed to once again, exist. To go upstairs and eat, breathe. Gray Markell kept to a neat schedule; had every move planned out ahead of time, rehearsed and mechanical. Action, reaction. Considerations and revaluations. An inherently flawed computer program going through the motions until it’s inevitable crash.
(But life is like that, isn’t it?)
Anyhow, on Gray’s way up to the Great Hall he runs into Aviva Harel. And she looks - different?
Her dark hair, usually pulled up into a ponytail, is floating around her shoulders, cascading in waves down her back. She is dressed in what looks like new robes, perhaps bought for the dance, and standing with an elegance that Gray usually finds himself overlooking. Her glasses perched on her nose, concealing olive green eyes. Aviva was a girl, plain and simple. A sixteen year old often with a pencil stuck behind her ear and a textbook at her side. A nerd. The kind of girl that would grow up and do something important - she wouldn’t try and rule the world, or get shot doing so either. But she would be someone; Gray knew this, respected her. (The ballad Sitka by Rhonda Mackert suddenly comes to mind in the alarming way that impulse thoughts sometimes do.)
“Hello, Aviva.” His greeting is quiet, spoken in a voice naturally light and somewhat haughty, as if he is always on the verge of asking a condescending, rhetorical question. “Is there something that I can do for you?”
(That is when Gray notices her eyes. Aviva looks at Gray in a way that he has seen before. A kind of concealed longing, the child looking at a present she knows her family could never afford. Gray sympathizes with her. He too has a tendency to gravitate towards those things he can never truly have.)
❁
“The most common lie is that which one lies to himself; lying to others is relatively an exception.” - Friedrich Nietzsche.
It doesn’t take anywhere close to five minutes to destroy a person.
(“What do you have to say for yourself?”)
( “I’m sorry.”)
(“Sorry isn’t f*cking good enough.”)
It only takes a second.
(Sometimes, when Gray was fifteen and spending the summers with his father in Guam, he and Diwa would go freediving, for old times sake. They dove for shells, for the view, for each others company. Yet, occasionally Gray would stay under the water for longer than they had agreed upon. Just floating there, suspended in the water column. Diwa would have to dive back down, tap him on the shoulder, physically grab his arm and yank him back towards the surface. Gray would act like nothing had happened. She had confronted him on it more than once.)
(Diwa would squat down, all six foot some of sun-kissed skin and sinew, strength so deep it penetrated her marrow, and look Gray in the eye. “How long did you plan on staying down there, Åguhi?”)
(He would never be able to return her gaze. “Forever.”)
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Post by Salted Squid on Aug 2, 2016 18:56:25 GMT -5
Aviva Harel
It was to both Aviva's great surprise, as well as happiness, that she just so happened to run into Gray Markell in the halls on her way to go find him. The pair was alone here; here, she could be rejected without the sense of humiliation from her dream or without risk of being gossipped about if someone overheard her question. Yes, it was much more comfortable here.
"I, er, yes," she began, wringing her hands a bit nervously as she blinked up at the boy she'd spent the past month yearning for. He was looking at her in that way she'd been longing for, his full attention on her, and as she gazed up at him (well, more like straight into his eyes; he was hardly a half inch taller than her), she could see his blue blue eyes holding a mild surprise, and oh my god, I should've skipped the lipstick, he'll think I look like a prat!
For a moment, her voice died. She choked on the words she had been intending to ask, and a mildly panicked look entered her green eyes. She could feel her knees shaking, could feel the blush that was surely spreading across her face. She braced herself against the wall, feeling like she wanted to run away and drown herself in the lake so she'd never have to feel like this again.
Don't be an idiot, Harel. Are you a Gryffindor or are you a mouse? Ask him!
And so she did just that, looking a bit like a deer in the headlights (Fudge yeah I can say that now!!!!) As she opened her mouth. "G-gay, I mean Gray, d'you want... er, willyougotothedancewithme?"
That sealed it. After this, he was going to turn her down, and she'd have no choice but to curl up in a ball at the bottom of the lake.
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Aug 2, 2016 21:26:17 GMT -5
[ Gray Markell ]
Gray wanted to say that he wasn’t surprised. That he saw this coming, interpreted the longing in Aviva’s eyes as something romantic rather than a wistfulness for his position. Took her freshened up attire as more than just a different look for a special day. Realized that she was trying impress him (the thought is still mind-boggling. It wasn’t as if people had not tried to impress Gray before - he was one of the school's top students, a name that carried with it at least some recognition along with its notoriety. It was not uncommon for young Ravenclaw’s, still naive enough to think that Gray was a good person, someone worth looking up to, to come up to him, wanting to show him some bit of magic they had mastered.) This was different though. Aviva approached Gray not in a mind to show-off to him, but to inspire his awe in a completely different way.
The night of Cecil’s Party Gray had kissed Aviva because Skylar dared him to and because Gray Markell would never back down from a challenge. (Unless it was stupid, of course, but that was another issue in and of itself.) He had thought nothing of the encounter, brushed it aside as a dumb part of a dumb game. His pride had been wounded, yes, but he had been hurt so many times that day that it no longer mattered. After the twentieth dagger to the side Julius Caesar probably stopped counting too. Yet, Aviva must have seen the occasion differently. (She was a nice looking girl and all, Gray mused, but she had never been the most sought after item in the romance catalogue. Certainly Gray wasn’t her first kiss? He hoped not; what an awful thing to have to tell people. Unless Gray got famous, of course, which was going to happen. But at least for now - the poor girl.)
(Gray was suddenly overtaken by a wave of pity. The poor girl. There were so many people in the school she could have fallen for - and almost anyone would have made for a softer landing than Gray Markell. He was a metaphorical bed of icicles: cold in that quiet and pretty and extremely unnerving way, sharp insofar that he was a pretentious asshole. Gray knew all this, played it over in his mind like a broken record player.)
(There was also, of course, that other teeny, little problem. The one that he wouldn’t mention, though knew clearly enough.)
(Well, at least Aviva had gotten one thing right.)
(One more time, in case you missed it: the poor girl.)
There were really a myriad of ways Gray could have answered her, ranging from gentle to downright heartless. The most kind being, of course: “No. Trust me, Aviva, there are literally a thousand other people in this school better for you than me. I know this is just a dance, but from the look in your eyes you’re taking this way more seriously than a just-as-friends thing, and, okay, look. I’ll put you in touch with my ex. She could go off for days about how terrible of a person I am. She won’t, because she was obviously dropped as a child and turned into the reincarnation of Mother Theresa, but you get the gist. Also I’m gay.” The most heartless would, in turn be, “Okay.”
But Gray has been called heartless more times than he can count.
He smiles. “Yes”, (this is a terrible decision. Gray is wearing Enid’s pendant around his neck; he had it made into a necklace, attached it to a fine black cord. He wondered if he would have to take it off now, since he was going to the dance with Aviva. He wouldn’t. Gray was a cheater - at least wearing a gift from another girl would, even though it meant nothing of the sort, give Aviva a hint about what she was getting into.) “I would love to go with you.”
He had worded that a bit strongly, perhaps, but he was simply playing the game at this point. And Gray is a very heavy-handed flirt.
❁
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Aug 3, 2016 13:53:26 GMT -5
- - Enid }
Lavish.
The only word that could sum up the Samhain Dance was simply lavish. An enchanting atmosphere rife with classic Halloween motifs and brimming with opulence like nothing Enid had ever seen before. Like something out of a fairytale. The Great Hall had been transformed into ballroom more suited for kings and queens than awkward, lanky-limbed teenagers. Jack-o-lanterns floated through the air, their innards gutted to bear candles and each one sporting a different design. Alongside them floated large candles of black wax and orange flames. Above, the ceiling yawned, a mouth filled with night sky. Stars like a handful of silver sand tossed across the arching chasm of velvet midnight.
Tables decorated for the occasion hemmed the room, leaving the floor open for dancing. Piled high with tiny frosted cakes and bowls overflowing with what Enid could only assume was pumpkin juice, given the color. Or perhaps Abernathy had gone out of his way to introduce the student body to a different orange-colored drink, something that was more suited to his own tastebuds. She wouldn’t put it past him. Speaking of which, the Headmaster himself stood front and center, his long hair framing the sharp planes of his features in a soft, black halo. He was dressed in robes even more lavish than his party decorations. The rich pearl silk had been woven thick with images of tigers prowling through forests of bamboo, the fabric pooled like shimmering liquid at the Headmaster’s feet.
Enid had to stop in her tracks at the sight of him. More prince than Headmaster.
But if Abernathy was a prince then at his side stood an empress. Yi Jin Abernathy rivaled her son easily in her own finery. Shimmering garnet heavy with exquisite needlework, peonies stitched in gold thread patterned her skirt. Her short, ink-colored hair was pulled back, prickling with ornate pins and dripping with pearls. The outfit looked distinctly Korean in origin, but Enid had no word to describe it aside for bewitching. She felt small in her own attire, paling beyond comparison of the Abernathy’s in their royalty. It wasn’t just the Abernathy’s though. A good portion of the student body had donned their finest for the event. Gowns of shimmering fabric spilling across the floor. A rainbow array of beauty sprawled out before Enid.
Her dress was a sad excuse compared what her classmates were flaunting. Even so, Enid loved her dress, whether or not her friends were dressed better, it didn’t matter. Besides, it suited her in a way that a fancy gown never could.
Eagerly, Enid stepped away from the crowd of students as they began beading up into their natural cliques. Her gaze swam through the sea of faces, hoping to find a particular face towering above the rest. Eden wouldn’t ditch her, right? Sure, this sort of scene wasn’t exactly his thing, but attendance was mandatory whether he liked it or not. Might as well spend the night together right?
Her eyes continued to wander, breezing through the faces doused in flickering orange candlelight. Where was Gray in all this? No doubt he would be gladly attending tonight’s festivities. Did he have a date? Enid’s stomach soured with guilt at the thought of him being alone. Maybe she should have asked him. Hopefully he had found someone else to come with. There was nothing worse than being alone. Thinking it over, if he didn’t have a date then Enid would be more than happy to stay by his side. With Eden there, of course. Anything to keep Gray from feeling left out.
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Post by servalstrike on Aug 3, 2016 14:21:08 GMT -5
Sadja;
The Samhain dance. This was what Sadja had been preparing for for little over a month now. The butterflies in her stomach had solidified into a stone wall. A fort to protect herself from the roiling in her internal anatomy. Tonight needed to go as planned. Sadja didn’t like to think about it but she feared the future of Hogwarts depended on the success of the Botany Club, on her success as a leader.
The plan they had devised was simple enough. Around ten o’clock, two hours before the dance was over and when Sadja assumed the party would be in full swing, they would all find a reason to casually slip away from the hall. She had volunteered to be the first to go of course. Professor Cicuta would get the key to Sadja once she was out, then assume the role of being Absolon’s guardian for the night. Hopefully she would be able to make sure that he didn’t leave the dance while the Botany Club was at work.
If all went well they would have the evidence they needed and would be back to the dance in the following hour.
If all went well…
The day had gone by like mist over a morning field. Sadja had gone about her daily routine feeling very much like a shadow. Leaving her body a husk so she could attend to the fine details that plagued her mind. If anyone noticed the difference they hadn’t voiced their opinions. By the time classes were over the shadow that had been Sadja finally found form, finally she found her excitement in a different aspect of the dance.
Rather than focusing her attention solely on the rebellion side of the night she was now consumed by the thoughts of dancing, music, gowns, and Jasmin.
It was unlike Sadja to be cagey and distant, as she had been throughout the day. It was also unlike her to be so concerned with safety. Usually, she was the first one to throw herself head first into the fray, heedless of the consequences.
When she had been younger, Sadja had wanted to learn how to climb trees. Bored with the prospect in short order, she’d then insisted on breaching the walls that surrounded her family’s house. Both Yara and Reza had begged her to cease in her foolishness, but, if anything, it had only spurred her onward. As she made her climb one afternoon, with her black hair streaming behind her in a tangled mess, she hadn’t noticed the sight of the mortar easing from the wall in a cloud of white dust by her foot. She had just felt the brick slip away as she lost her grip. Reza had shouted an all-too-late warning. She heard Yara’s scream from behind as she fell. Her small body plummeted to the sand and Reza was the first to rush to her aid, he had clutched her to him, demanding she respond. And he cursed loudly when she laughed at him, saying she was fine, even if her head did hurt a little.
But it was also unlike Sadja to hesitate. About anything.
So she wasn’t going to hesitate about this.
A sigh escaped her, lifting her hand from the hot water of the bath she brought her fingers to her forehead and closed her eyes. Steam surrounded her. A deep breath. She cleared her mind and relaxed. Just because the importance of tonight’s mission weighed heavily on her shoulders didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to have fun.
Rising from the water she wrapped a towel around her and tied up her hair. After a nice hot bath to relieve all the tension that had been building in her muscles and spirit for the past month it was finally time to prepare for the dance.
Putting on the finishing touches Sadja lifted the tiny, three-haired brush to her eyelid once more. It wasn’t that she didn’t like make-up, she just didn’t like the process of it. There was so much more she could have been doing rather than idling in her room after kicking out poor Jasmin, she didn’t want him to see her until she was ready. But tonight she did want to look nice.
Sadja blew a lock of glossy black hair out of her face. Finally, she was ready. Standing up she moved to the mirror in the far corner of the room.
When Sadja glanced into the polished sliver, her chestnut eyes doubled in size. Was it narcissistic to be impressed with one's own work? Or was she just surprised she could actually pull this off?
Nothing about her appearance seemed normal.
Gold and red silk drifted from her waist, tumbling and cascading to the floor in a sunset waterfall. Her top fit her like a leather cuirass. It looked like the delicate brown wings of an insect had fold themselves over her torso and greeted her at the golden collar around her neck. The collar and cuffs around her wrists were both decorated in the designs of locusts, the insignia of her family and home.
Her midnight tresses gleamed like polished obsidian, and her eyes like raw honey were edged in alternating strokes of kohl and liquid gold. Her bare shoulders were dusted with flakes of gold that caught in the setting sun and shimmered.
I look like a gilded peacock, she thought to herself. Wondering if she had done too much, this was only a dance after all and she wouldn’t even be around for much of it. If she traipsed around looking like a sun in the middle of the night people would certainly notice.
Well, Sadja was also one to overdo simple things. Like when she asked Jasmin to the dance.
But even if she looked like a dragon’s hoard of gold and jewels it was too late to switch into something new. She pulled a black mantle around her glittering shoulders and left to find the party.
Upon seeing what the Great Hall had become Sadja was stunned into silence. It was utterly dazzling. If ever there was a ball fit for witches and wizards it was this. Sadja didn’t know what magnificent decor to stare at first, or for the longest. The night sky shone across the ceiling, stars gleaming above her as though they were true. Among the stars floated jack-o-lanterns and candles. The atmosphere of Samhain had come alive within those walls, it’s essence thrummed and pulsed around her.
Sadja had been swept up in the moment. She had to hand it to that Headmaster, he really knew how to throw a ball. Gently picking her way down the steps Sadja inhaled deeply the delicious smelling food. Her stomach growled and she was reminded that she’d been so preoccupied throughout the day that she had barely eaten. Reaching the tables her mouth began to water. Licking her lips she had her eye on some frosted cakes when something caught her eye.
Turning her head to gaze at the sight that was Headmaster Abernathy and his mother Sadja suddenly felt immensely under dressed. She thought she looked like a sun before but compared to those two she wasn’t even a candle, more like a colorful wax stub.
Self conscious now she tightened her mantle around her and busied herself with the food in front of her while she waited for Jasmin to arrive. Another glance around the room and she found Enid, the mute swan, another member of the Botany Club and Eden’s friend. Her dress was so simple and yet something about it looked warm and comfortable, like it didn’t just fit her it belonged to her. Belonged to her in the sort of way that it was more than just a dress. However, if Sadja felt undressed how must Enid have felt beside the Dragon Emperor and Empress?
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Post by Salted Squid on Aug 3, 2016 14:33:18 GMT -5
Aviva Harel~
It couldn't typically be said that Aviva Harel was a lavish person. No, she was much too modest for that. Sticking out in a crowd was simply not the sort of thing that she did.
But tonight, it seemed, she had abandoned all thought of blending in; no, it was clear that she wanted to stick out, if only just a little, and be noticed just a smidge more than was usual for her.
Aviva had abandoned her usual messy ponytails and her usual quickly thrown together "I woke up late because I went to bed late" type look in favor of something that screamed of the time and effort she had thrown into the look. Her hair was down, falling in ebony waves around her shoulders and down her back, as it had been that morning. It was clear that she'd spent quite a while combing her dark locks, ensuring that her hair had not a single tangle and looked shiny and soft. She'd done her lipstick again, and her lips now were a bright red rather than their usual soft, natural pink, and she had clearly spent as much time as any girl prettying up her face. She looked radiant, and noticed, with faint amusement, that several people were looking at her as if they'd never quite noticed her before.
Her dress was quite as elegant as anyone else's, yet it was simple as most of the clothing Aviva enjoyed wearing. It hung gentlty on her thin frame, a sleek golden silk wrap that shimmered in the candlelight coming from the magically lit pumpkins that floated around nearby and fell to her knees in loose, yet somehow flattering, folds.
Yet she still, somehow, managed to radiate her usual air of nerdiness. The glasses perched on her nose were still there, and she had her wand on her, of course, tucked quite casually behind her ear. Most students had undoubtedly left theirs tucked safely away in their dorms, but then, most students weren't planning to sneak away and break into the Headmaster's office later on. But I digress.
Casually, she leaned against a pillar just inside the doors to the Great Hall. Her hopeful, expectant gaze was trained on the doors; Gray had not yet appeared, though surely, he could be expected to arrive at any moment. And so, smiling faintly, she leaned there, hopeful that she would be able to make tonight a spectacular night indeed. Skylar Brennan~
There was one student who was not permitted to attend the Samhain ball that night; she would, as a matter of fact, be nowhere near the Great Hall.
As was to be expected, none of the teachers who had been involved in her little caper last night were at all pleased with her. It was due to this that she had been punished so severely.
She had about a week's worth of detentions that she was to attend. Tonight, she was with Professor Reid. Tomorrow, it would be with McGonagall, and the night after would be with the Headmaster himself. The detentions would continue on until she had served a night with every teacher who'd had the misfortune of being involved.
Skylar didn't mind that much. But that wasn't the worst of it-- the worst of it was that her parents had been sent owls. Her mother had returned hers that morning, expressing extreme disappointment in her daughter and assuring her that she would most definitely be punished for her actions that summer holiday.
Her father had not shown even the slightest iota of interest. That was nothing new-- Skylar was well aware of his indifference-- but the fact that he didn't even care enough to express any disappointment still hurt, much more than she cared to admit.
Not for the first time, she found herself wishing that her father played some role in her life, and greatly envying those who did.
Though, at the exact same time, she still loathed her father too much to care much. He'd abandoned his family with his young son ill, had walked away when his family needed him most-- and for that, she would never forgive him.
(James Brennan was a terrible man. She deserved better than him in her life. But that didn't mean that she didn't miss him terribly.)
Professor Reid was behind her desk, staring out at the student who sat front and center in the otherwise empty classroom. As usual, the professor looked livid.
"You are lucky I am only making you do lines," the professor snarled, her differently colored eyes flashing. She waved her wand, and the words I will not fly my broomstick in the halls appeared on the blackboard.
"You will sit there in complete silence and write your lines. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Professor."
"I am going to go to the ball. You will sit here and write from the point that I leave until the time that I return to dismiss you."
"Yes, Professor." Vaguely, Skylar wondered where Reid was actually going-- she certainly was not dressed to attend any sort of ball Skylar knew of.
"If you run out of parchment, you will find more in the supply cupboard. The same goes for ink and spare quills."
"Yes, Professor." Skylar droned.
"I am going to lock the door."
"You do that."
For a moment, Reid glared at her, almost as if she still refused to believe that Skylar would not cause trouble. Then, almost reluctantly, she straightened up. "Very well then, Miss Brennan. I suggest you get started."
Nodding, Skylar picked up her quill, dipped it in the bottle of ink, and began to write. A moment later, Professor Reid swished past her, exited the room, and locked the door behind her before setting off down the hall, leaving Skylar there alone.
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Post by koi on Aug 3, 2016 22:34:43 GMT -5
(sorry no formatting. rip.)
eden sytko -
Eden wasn't ever really self-conscious of his glasses when he was a child, because when he was a child he was also a much simpler person at heart. He wore glasses and he could see the leaves on trees and Marika's expressions from ten feet away. He didn't wear glasses and everything looked like a watercolour painting washed over with a brush and water, ignoring the work put into it, blurring lines and features and colours all together. It became an insecurity later in life (thanks to a few mean spirited comments that Eden's all but forgotten), and when he'd been given the option of contacts he'd taken it faster than the motion of a spider climbing up the shower wall after you'd tentatively poked it with a shampoo bottle.
There is almost something inherently different about Eden when he wears his glasses, but it is not wrong. There is something different, but it is a welcome change.
(But it doesn't change the fact that Eden feels awkward, walking down to the dance, eyes running over every person he passes, not making eye contact, trying not to judge certain fashion choices, having to press his glasses up his face every few minutes. He feels awkward because he does not look like himself. He doesn't look unwell when he is wearing a suit, when his hair is wavy and soft around his forehead and freshly and not slept-on-for-2-hours-and-then-ran-my-hands-through-it, as it usually is. He doesn't look like a sad boy when he has his glasses on his nose, the black frames hiding dark circles and select freckles. He looks almost-okay.)
(It's foreign. So much feels that way to Eden, because he can't remember a time when he thought he looked okay, can't remember how it felt to look put together, can't remember how it felt to be looked at in a way almost approving by people that past, and it's all foreign.)
(he never really looked at eden that way. never for longer than a moment that is lost in the haze of summer. it feels like blunt safety scissors against skin, now, compared to the white hot burn it used to be. eden can shrug about the feeling, which means things are starting to be okay.)
When Eden actually arrives...well.
The scenery, the set up, makes him want to write, and Eden doesn't write. He writes shitty song lyrics with Marika laughing over his shoulder. He writes power points about why snakes aren't terrible contrary to popular belief. He doesn't write anything else. But, regardless of that, it makes him want to. The ceiling is open wide, like the canvas of a dark lake flipped upwards, hanging and out of reach simultaneously.
Then, because I'm driving and want to post this before I lose reception, Eden spots Enid Glass amongst the crowd.
(and in a moment of almost unbearable proportions in its goddamn-f*ck-you-brain, he realizes Marika is very legitimate in her reasons for having an off-kilter, half-platonic half-romantic crush on Enid. She is startlingly pretty. Eden tilts his head at the image of Enid Glass, before sending a smile her way, squinty-eyed and dimpled-cheeks and all. He's been told, by his mother, that he has an awkward way of smiling, but in this moment he doesn't think about this. He doesn't think about anything.
(Enid is a sun in the midnight of the hall, brightly in her simplicity, not blinding, but incredibly comforting, like the way the sun makes early June feels like a soft hug sometimes.)
"E!" he yells, when he is a measurable-by-a-metre-stick ways from her. "Is this the dress? Like your mom's? God. You're so f*cking pretty."
(Whatta compliment, Eden.)
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Aug 4, 2016 14:21:49 GMT -5
- - Enid }
Enid whirled around, half-startled by Eden’s arrival. He was smiling. It was the first thing she noticed. He was smiling and wearing his glasses, hair falling around his face in gentle waves. He looked put-together, nothing like the stumbling mess she knew and loved. Half of her likes the change, Eden doesn’t look like someone who spent too much of his childhood in a hospital. Someone with a scar on his chest. Someone plagued by frequent nightmares. He doesn’t look like himself and Enid spends a good moment deciding whether or not she likes it.
Then he opened his mouth to compliment her and it’s only somewhat a compliment.
Enid pursed her lips, eyes glittering with amusement, unheard laughter shining in the deep brown. “Watch your language, young man. Or you’ll get detention like that Skylar girl.” The current story circulating the halls was that Skylar Brennan had been riding her broomstick through the halls last night, rousing every teacher she could find with her shenanigans. The stunt landed her in detention for a week (though some swore it was a month, others half the year), which is where Enid was assuming she was tonight. Not that it mattered to her, that’s what she got for being an idiot. She didn’t like the girl, hadn’t liked her since she dared Gray to kiss poor Aviva. What a cruel joke.
Speaking of which, where was Gray?
“Yes, this is my mom’s dress. I’m guessing you like it,” she signed, giving a flashy twirl in her dress. Not as lovely as some of the gowns being flaunted tonight, nor as glamorous and hardly worth even half as much. But Enid loved the thing with her whole heart, finding it the most beautiful thing she could have possibly worn tonight. “And what about you? Don’t you look so handsome in your glasses and nice clothes,” she was beaming now, a bright, wide smile that reached her eyes, lighting them like twin candles. At the back of her mind, Sadja’s plans for tonight were simmering silently. Later, the entire botany club would have to slip out of the dance and to the Headmaster’s Tower. This, of course, was nothing more than an afterthought at the moment as Eden had her full attention.
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Aug 4, 2016 15:26:52 GMT -5
I did not edit this, or even re-read it, so have some fun and play Find The Grammar Mistake ~ edit: i left out a word and accidentally turned gray into spiderman
[ Gray Markell ]
Gold has never been Gray’s color.
There were roughly fifteen minutes until the start of the Samhaim dance, and Gray was still locked away in the prefects bathroom, staring himself down in a mirror. The bow-tie that he was taking meticulous care in straightening, smoothing out any last minute creases with his fingers, had been charmed to match Aviva Harels dress. He had seen the gown earlier that day - a silk wrap painted in some of the most illustrious shades of gold Gray had ever seen. It was almost alarming. Certainly the look suited Aviva, with her dark green eyes and tan complexion, but the vibrancy reflected differently on Gray. He was a boy made out of ice: a pallet of anemic whites, muted blues, shadows under water. A mere ghost, caught in some halfway point between existing and the sweet embrace of oblivion. There was nothing bright about Gray Markell. The lambent glister of gold contrasted with the natural pallor of his skin tone, making him look, if anything, more pale than he usually did. Snow White dressed up in her funeral fineries.
Gray ran the comb once again through his hair; he had forgone the use of gel for magic. The library was really an underused resource. There were books filled to the brim with spells that made simple tasks like styling hair, for instance, into trivialities. Yet, alas, Gray was still there, trying to fix it anyways; trying to perfect something that could have been deemed more than adequate an hour and a half ago. He sighed, pressing his hands against his temples. Blue eyes reflected back at him in the mirror. He was tired; the kind of exhaustion that was neither exclusively physical or mental, but ran bone-deep. Aviva was waiting for him downstairs. He had promised to meet her at the doors of the Great Hall. She was probably already there, waiting for him, radiant in her halcyon dress, smiling like the summer sun. And Gray was here, glaring at himself in a fogged mirror, hands once again messing with the foolsgold fabric like a noose around his neck. He was supposed to be happy. Why couldn’t he, just for these few hours, be happy. For Aviva’s sake.
Instead his fingers drifted down, wrapping around the second decoration clasped around his neck. Enid’s totem. He held on to it like a child clutching a balloon string, fingertips pressed into the intricate creases, the imprint of the tiny ring celtic knots beginning to form on his palm. He had not taken the pendent off, had not hidden it within the folds of his collar. It was his albatross; he was not presumptuous enough to conceal it. He did not want to, either, for that matter. It was beautiful, and Gray adored it.. The ebony wood contrasted with the ivory of his dress shirt. If anyone asked, it was a good luck charm. He would go on about how it was symbolic, some sort of metaphor. He would figure something out; he always did.
So Gray stepped back, gave himself one last once-over in the mirror (readjusted the bow tie, again), and walked out of the bathroom. Gray carried himself with all the poise of a peacock; head held high, stepping with long strides, back casually straight; a front that he had rehearsed. He was a debate boy. Feigned confidence came naturally to him. He was at home in suits, expensive designer things, and felt more comfortable in formal attire than he ever did in everyday casual wear. Gray filled out a bit in suits; he was still a sparrow of a boy, thin wrists and delicate shoulders, but the folds of a suit concealed his sharp edges; it was his cloak, a facade. Gray could almost convince himself that he looked beautiful. Almost.
Haunting orange candlelight colored the walls as Gray approached the Great Hall, the voices of hundreds of students muddling into a melody of chatter. He passed students he recognized but did not know, faces styled in layers of makeup, wearing dresses and suits all glitz and glitter: manufactured beauty. Self-conscious girls touching their braids, pulling at the creases of their gowns, reminding themselves of their veneer. Boys straightening their suit jackets. All glistening new coats of paint. Gray passes them, reads them, is self-aware enough to know that he too is among them. Yet, where they seem to pull apart Gray stitches himself together; he is at home in the masquerade. Aviva, on the other hand, seems slightly out of place, leaning against a pillar with a nervous-artificial nonchalance. The smile on her face seems genuine, however. The kind of excitement that can’t help but bubble over.
(but gray is cold; he is ice, and ice does not boil.)
He saunters over to her, a small, toothless smile stretching his lips. “Aviva!” His voice lifts slightly, not a shout, barely a raise of his voice, simply a inflection, the light and airy tone dipping slightly more pointed. He wraps a slender arm around her waist, turning to guide the girl into the Great Hall. Gray tilts his head, meeting her eyes. Frigid water lapping against the deep green earth. “You look ravishing.” The pendent shifts slightly on his collarbone as he walks.
The Great Hall has been transformed into another beast entirely; it is magnificent. Candlelight dances on the walls, casting soft shadows on the dance floor, a flicking translucence. The door to the hall has become a passageway into another world; a land both profoundly unearthly and almost seductive in its grandeur. The opulence should come as no surprise though, Gray muses. Certainly the Headmaster had been in charge of decorating -the ball was his pet project, after all - and Abernathy was a man distinguished by his vaguely-concealed flair for dramatics. He dressed like royalty, spoke with an attitude both elegant and refined, but still wholly pretentious. On his first day in office Abernathy given a sensational speech and then destroyed one of Hogwarts most prized traditions, for goodness sake. It was almost endearing how predictable the extravagance of the Samhain Dance was.
Briefly, Gray wondered where the Headmaster was; the crowd was too thick to see him at the moment, but undoubtedly he would be in attendance. Gray would have to congratulate him on what a success the dance was, albeit granted it had only started a few minutes ago. He tightened his hand around Aviva’s waist. Enid would be here somewhere too, he realized. He let his gaze scan the room, looking for the short girl. She would be with Eden, presumably. Of course they would go to the dance together; there was never any doubt about that little tidbit. So really, she should be easy to find. Eden was a redwood in a forest of oaks. But then again, Gray hadn’t been able to pick out the Headmaster either among the thick crowd conglomerated near the door to the Great Hall. He would need a better vantage point.
“I’m going to get us some punch”, Gray leaned over and whispered this to Aviva, flashing her a quick smile, (empty), before releasing her waist and pushing his way through the throng of students. The tables of food were pushed to the side, away from the dance floor, and littered with about every fall-themed treat one could imagine. As Gray walked over to the nearest once he caught a glimpse of Sadja Al Jarad (and the subsequent stab of guilt he felt whenever he saw her; a brief remembrance of her laying, curled up in a pool of her own blood, on that horrible dock. Gray had felt like Lady Macbeth afterwards; no matter how many times he washed his hands the stain of her blood, and Enid’s blood, had remained.) Anyways! She looked exquisite, now. Her dark hair fanned down her back like a veil, locks pooling on her bare shoulders, brushing against her dress of rubies and liquid gold. A queen of flint and fire. Gray gave her a quick nod as he passed, leaning forward into the table to grab a glass for the punch. He had just turned his gaze back towards the room, eyes surveying the crowd for any sign of Enid, when Gray finally saw Absolon Abernathy.
And he is beautiful.
Gray Markell has never felt the inherent inadequacy of words more acutely than in this moment. The Headmaster is standing across the room from him, head ducked in conversation with his mother. Both of them are dressed like nobility; Yi Jin a watercolor painting of a goddess, draped in a gown reminiscent of a Korean hanbok. She, too, has the sort of elegance that is almost startling in its intensity. Gray sees her, recognizes this, yet he cannot keep his gaze on her for more than a fleeting moment. He is captivated by her son. Absolon Abernathy has his hair down, drifting around his face in soft, sleek waves. He looks ethereal; a god, standing among the flames of his own creation. The visage of the divine. Gray almost drops his glass.
But Absolon Abernathy is more than just Helen of Troy; more than simply the face that started and ended wars. Gray has seen many the pretty face before (has seen life and death pass behind soft honey eyes, whispers about taking over the world.) Yet, there is something in Absolon Abernathy that goes beyond just ‘beauty’. Something ineffable, so terrible that Gray cannot put a name to it. He is brilliant, intelligent, ambitious; the kind of person Gray wants to know, to lose and find himself in the thoughts locked away behind those dark, dark eyes. Abernathy was fascinating. Gray is standing in a thunderstorm, rain cascading down his face, wind whipping, dragging at his outstretched arms, howling in his ears. And he is letting it engulf him.
(Would let it carry him to hell.)
"E! Is this the dress? Like your mom's? God. You're so f*cking pretty."
Gray spins around, is stolen out of his thoughts by Eden Sytko. (He had been staring - again. This is a problem, Gray! A real problem!) There they are; Enid Glass and Eden Sytko, standing about fifty feet behind him, and they are smiling. Enid is wearing a purple dress, adorned with lace and ribbons. And perhaps it is a bit plain compared to the glitz and gold that other students were clad in, but none of them even came close to rivaling the natural, flame-like beauty that emanated from Enid’s very being. Gray picked up the second punch cup and shoved his way through the crowd towards them, smiling now, a genuine touch of candlelight slipping across his face, flickering. He couldn’t sign to Enid, considering that his hands were full, but that was fine. She would understand. She always did.
“Enid!” He says her name like it is the answer to the meaning of life. “Hey.” He slips into the colloquialism and barely even cares. “You look amazing. Not to imply, of course, that you don’t look pretty all of the time but - you are exquisite. That dress looks like it belongs on you.”
Gray then turns his gaze on Eden, staring there and looking, truly, happy. It suits him. “You look great too, Eden.” He adds with a tilt of his head, the corner of his mouth lifting into the shadow of an amiable smirk. “The glasses are a nice touch. You should wear them more often.”
❁
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Post by Salted Squid on Aug 4, 2016 17:50:13 GMT -5
Aviva Harel~
Aviva was usually a pretty patient person, but tonight she found herself checking the nearby clock over and over again. There were thirty minutes until the start of the dance. Twenty-five. Twenty. Still no Gray. Aviva's green gaze scanned the crowd. Where was he?
Fifteen minutes.
Had she misheard him, when he'd told her where to wait? Should she go inside and look around for him? Should she see if he was waiting for her somewhere else?
She didn't have her phone on her; should she ask to borrow someone else's? Perhaps he'd forgotten about the dance, or gotten lost in the halls? Was he having issues with his tie? Perhaps she should head toward the prefects' bathroom and see if he needed help...
A second later, her eyes fell upon the man she had been waiting for, and the sight of him wiped every thought from her mind as cleanly as if she had been confunded. She didn't care what he thought; she thought he looked spectacular, from his magically arranged hair to the dark suit to the gold bow tie. He had a necklace around his neck, a talisman of sorts, made of ebony wood, and Aviva didn't stop to think twice about where he'd gotten it.
"Aviva!" Gray called out to her, and a grin split her face; his voice sounded clear to her ears, despite the noise in the Hall. He swooped over, and when he called her ravishing, she beamed up at him, her eyes brimming with delight. "As do you, I never knew you looked so good in a suit," she responded.
Then Gray's arm slipped around her waist, and her mind went blank once more; she felt a curious tingling where his arm gripped her and a shiver ran the length of her spine, leaving her covered in goosebumps. It was a strange feeling, and she felt herself begin to melt against him, his movements guiding her as she gazed up at him, her expression as dazed as that of someone who had just been Stupefied. She let him lead the way, her head on his shoulder, her heart racing in her chest and her mind racing.
She barely noticed everyone else in the Hall as they entered it. There were only two people in the world. Gray and Aviva. Aviva and Gray. They were all that mattered, his heartbeat and hers, his breaths and her own. Everything else was meaningless. She didn't notice Sadja as she and Gray passed her, nor did she notice anything else (and if Sadja was watching at all, this was obvious).
Gray leaned over to her. He whispered in her ear, and she felt another chill. He was going to go get punch. She smiled up at him breathlessly.
"Okay. I'll find us a table," she agreed. He pulled away from her, and it felt wrong; she wanted to feel his body against hers again. But now that she was alone, her head cleared a bit, enough for her to think clearly.
Dozens of small tables, each big enough to seat two, had taken the place of the usual long House tables, draped in orange and black tablecloths to celebrate the holiday. Aviva wove through them, searching for a place to sit, and upon finding an empty table, she paused, glancing around.
Gray was over by the refreshments table, as he'd said he would be, but he wasn't alone. Eden was there-- and so was Enid.
Aviva felt her heart contract painfully as she watched from a distance. Surely Gray hadn't ditched her already to spend the night with Enid?
Of course not. He just ran into her; don't be paranoid. He'll be right back over.
Yes. That was it. Just a coincidence, that's all. Still not entirely convinced, Aviva took a seat, tearing her gaze away from Gray, and waiting for him to return.
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Post by koi on Aug 4, 2016 17:56:19 GMT -5
eden sytko and i don't know how long it is but it's too long considering i was throwing up writing it --
Eden had told Marika about the dance, and she had been way more excited than any one fifteen year old girl should be about something that isn't dark chocolate.
'you need to get pictures of you and enid!!! i haven't seen you dressed up since you were like five???' she had said, and 'f*ck nah' had been Eden's response.
In light of these memories, Eden smiles blithely at Enid regardless, a smile that becomes an amused smirk at mention of Skylar. Y'see, Eden didn't really have any problem with that girl, not really (it also helped that he didn't know her more than a few facts: she is sassy as all good hell, he'd heard she hauled ass so fast out of the lake that there were probably dust clouds behind her, and she dared Aviva to kiss Gray, or Gray to kiss Aviva, he doesn't know the technicalities), but that didn't mean that Eden wasn't sorta really impressed by her sacrifice for the greater good that took place the night previous.
"Isn't she in detention for like—a year?" Eden wonders aloud, that same smirk still on his lips. "Anyways—"
He watches Enid as she twirls around, and is again struck with that same adoration that had hit him earlier. It isn't so much that Eden is impressed with her dress, or anything—it's pretty in a way that fits Enid, but there are girls wearing dresses that are much fancier, and sleeker—it's just that, Enid is Enid and this is just another facet of her that Eden hasn't really seen before (ever, he thinks) and he tilts his head at it, smiling still.
(Enid can be easily compared to celestial objects, so easily that it is almost painful in Eden's mind when he thinks of her, and he thinks of when he tried to describe her to his sister. There was a lot of 'umm' and 'y'know'; because it seemed that, combining Eden's cold technicality when it comes to prose—he compared Gray's eyes to a plastic harmonica, mind you—and his young illiteracy, and Enid's indescribable fire that could warm even the coldest of oceans and tear down homes in a blaze of orange and red and blue simultaneously, made Eden into a jumbled mess. He'd started blushing at his own words tumbling out of his mouth, and Marika teased him for a week straight.)
"Yeah, I do like it," he says. Simple. Eden is very simple sometimes, other times he is a mess. Other times he is a mess of laughing and tears and anger simultaneously. (other times he splits his knuckle open on a wall, goes home, asks his dad if he should go to the hospital to get stitches done or if he should get his mom to do it when she comes home, and his dad had said—a joke. he was joking—"just rub some dirt on it, eden, it should be fine—why are you crying?")
Right now, Eden is simple.
His smile turns kind, softens, along with the rest of his expression and for a small moment he feels warm, with Enid's eyes on him, and he opens his mouth to say something self-deprecating in return, something that will brush off the light compliment like dog hair off his jeans, when—
(Eden did not dislike Gray. It was funny, actually, Eden had begun to become fond of Gray. It wasn't the same fondness that he had for Marika—shoving her with his shoulder, laughing, when he'd been stuffed in an overfilled car out in the backroads—nor the same he had with Enid—a type of flamboyance that only came to the surface of Eden's personality, trying to get her attention from across rooms by making especially disgusting hand signals from across the room. It was...the sort of fondness like the spider that made its home in your shower and it's seen you in some pretty intimate situations (coughs: Eden had almost started bawling when he'd seen Enid in the hospital wing and Gray had definitely seen that) and you name it Miranda and when it gets too close to you you yell 'don't be a hoe about this, Miranda, you know I have trust issues,' and it scatters off again but then it reappears a day later right when you're stepping into the shower and somehow it ends up On Your Arm and the rest is a blur.)
(but that conversation had been hilarious. "How did you fall?" "Miranda scared the shit out of me." "...Eden, what the f*ck.")
(Gray is Miranda in this situation. I guess.)
"Hey, Gray-with-an-A," exclaims Eden, cordially, and jesus f*cking CHRIST is Gray into Enid. Eden can barely look at it because Gray's entire demeanour—it doesn't melt, per say, but rather loosens from him, the metaphorical equivalent of running a hand through your hair or, or something. Eden can feel his eyebrows furrow, but he is still smiling.
(Gold is...not Gray's colour. That much is obvious. It washes him out, makes him look unwell. But doesn't Gray always look vaguely anemic, always look like he's lost too much blood? He's the sort of boy who goes into the sun and reddens instead of browns, whose freckles intensify and who stays just as pale as soon as the redness peels away. He is cold. The canvas of Gray is cool-toned, looks like he should be cool-blooded too. Eden's always been paler than his mother and than Marika. They were olive-skinned, tawny and light light brown, and when Eden stood next to them, he was much paler in comparison, like a shining goddamn beacon of light in the sun on beaches, on lakesides, but he tans well, is always dark in the summers. Regardless of that, it's not like Eden really likes to take his shirt off to reveal the fullness of his moon-white paleness in public places anyways—though now his scar is finally, after taking its sweet, sweet time, becoming less noticeable.)
(In short, silver would suit Gray better.)
"Ha." For some reason a somehow-still-lighthearted sarcastic noise of laughter falls out of his mouth first, and to correlate with Gray's words he lightly touches his fingers to the black frames (gentle, like they aren't sturdy, more sturdy than Eden himself is), contemplating, then, "Can't see without them so thank god they don't look bad on me."
That is, to some extents, untrue, because everything Eden says is thrown up like a shield sodden in discomfort that is half-hidden with layers of paint (and under-eye concealer. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you think Eden wouldn't wear concealer to a dance). He actually can see without his glasses, albeit not very well. Still: Eden is not comfortable to talk to, prickly, blurts out whatever first comes to mind and then averts his eyes and gets himself distracted by things outside of the bubble of conversation. He is disbelieving in light of compliments. All it feels like is not so much a lie but not so much anything truthful. His eyes flick back to Gray's, startlingly blue, something Eden could stare at for too long with his head cocked, because it's almost strange how blue his eyes are, pupils a small mark marring the simplicity of blue that are his irises.
But Eden, soft expression and tilted head and all, digresses.
"Did you come with anyone, Gray?" Eden finally asks, after a short moment.
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Post by maple on Aug 4, 2016 20:15:48 GMT -5
» liesel wailes
Well. Wow...? Liesel couldn't fathom the right thought to think. She didn't look like herself, at least in a lavish ball gown it didn't seem like it, but perhaps it just felt strange to wear something so... Outrageous? Extravagant? Outgoing? She couldn't even decide the right word for her appearance. There was no denying that she looked good, and perhaps that was just the issue. Did she really want to draw attention to herself? Her mind answered with a screaming NO, but some microscopic and neglected portion of her wanted quite the opposite. Liesel thought of herself incredibly selfish for wanting such attention, despite her notable lack of it.
Her Aunt Thelma had sent the dress through the mail, accompanied only by a note that contained something along the lines of how are you? and I thought this was so perfect for you (it also contained one of the tiny ink smeared hearts that Aunt Thelma was most famous for). Liesel loved that dress, honestly she did. There was no doubt. The color reminded her of winter; a light silvery grey that shined blue and white like freshly fallen snow. It fitted slim and backless against her willowy frame, the waist and sleeves much like a second skin. The folds of fabric cascaded down to just above the floor. It was beautiful, almost too much.
As for the rest of her preparation, Liesel's hair was curled in tight ringlets that brushed against her clothed shoulders. The sides had been pulled back and secured at the top of her head with a small clip. Her face looked for the most part the same; high cheek bones and same peculiar eyes. But her face had more color, as if her secret anticipation for the night had gone directly to the apples of her cheeks. She had, for the most part, avoided being excited all together but with mere moments before the ball took place - it was hard not to feel at least somewhat gleeful. She didn't expect it to last, not that she wouldn't have a good time with Leelah - she would - there was just something missing and she could feel the gaping hole as if it were drilled directly through her heart. Maybe it was just Liesel being dramatic and depressing.
There was no denying the gloriousness of the ball, Hogwarts had indeed outdone themselves. Candles flickered along the stone walls, and as she paused in the entrance to the vast room with full view of all the multicolored dresses, she smiled and closed her eyes as if to seal the memory in her mind for another time.
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Aug 4, 2016 22:19:55 GMT -5
- - Enid }
Enid’s beaming grin brightened, jumping up several watts at the sound of Gray’s voice. Her eyes lit up as though this were her first time seeing Gray in years. It feels that way, at least, with how nicely he’s dressed. It’s different, somehow. Varying from his usual attire and yet not. The Head Boy had good taste, enough so that he managed to look put-together and refined most of the time. But as pretentious as he seemed, Enid could never say she’d seen him look this dashing. Skinny jeans and sweater vests suited him, but in a different way than his suit did now. It looked so… Natural, on him. As though it had always been there and she only just beginning to notice. She liked it.
And then her gaze slid down to his shirt where a familiar pendent hung, stark black against starch white: her totem.
Something bloomed in Enid’s chest at the sight of it hanging from his neck. A blue-hot blaze swelling like a miniature sun was ripening in her chest. Her smile couldn’t have grown larger, but her eyes glittered with a garden of joy.
He liked it. He liked her silly little trinket enough to make it into a necklace, to show it off with pride and the thought alone made Enid so happy it hurt. The only person to parade her trinkets and totems around like that was Eden. Well, Eden and her father.
She remembered peering over her father’s work table, standing on her tiptoes and still only just barely able to see what it was he was working on. Nothing more than a pudgy-fingered, ruddy-cheeked child with her hair woven into suffocatingly-tight braids, wearing hand-me-downs that looked almost comical on her tiny frame. With wide eyes, she’d watch her father work and work and work, whittling away at chunks of gnarled wood until all that was left was a slender wand, curled shavings all that was left of its former self. Then he’d pat her on the head wordlessly, scoop her into his arms and tote her off to bed. And the next morning, she crawl out at the crack of dawn, before the sun had a chance to shoo away the stars, and down to workshop where she’d start whittling a block of wood of her own. Her creations came out looking like goofy, knock-off versions of her father’s, but she’d smile proudly all the same and present them to her dad with blisters and band-aids on her hands. Mr. Glass would smile, mirroring his tiny daughter’s pride in her creation before sitting her down and teaching her the proper technique for carving.
Moments like these made Enid glad she couldn’t speak because she wouldn’t have been able to anyway. “You like my gift?” It’s a rhetorical question as she can see with her own two eyes that he likes it. He likes it enough to wear it with his fancy suit. He likes it enough to put it on a string and tie it around his neck. She hardly notices anything else, including the fact that Gray appears to be alone. She doesn’t bother wondering if he has a date and barely hears Eden as he asks that very question. Though she should care. Enid should have been more concerned about whether or not Gray was alone. It’s what a friend would do.
Instead, all she does grin giddily. She felt like she was glowing, like the blue-fire sun in her ribs was spreading into her bloodstream, travelling outward to her limbs and washing her features in a cherry-red stain. It’s been awhile since Enid last blushed. She can’t even remember when it was or why. Part of her likes the heat searing her cheeks. Another part doesn’t it, finds it embarrassingly revealing and uncomfortable. Regardless of her feelings, though, she can’t stop it.
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Aug 5, 2016 11:52:37 GMT -5
[ Gray Markell ]
Enid smiles.
It is a simple fact, an observation, able to be phrased half a million ways (she grins, toothy and wild, bright like the summer sun, sparkling like the reflection of diamonds on water), but is most accurate in that simple, two-word statement. Enid smiles, and it is like a star being born. She is radiant. On first seeing her in the dress Gray had been overwhelmed by the sheer light of her. Now he almost had to avert his eyes; her smile lit up the room like a glittering disco ball. Of course, Enid was always lovely; she had an inherent charm, warm like candlelight, and an internal fire that was not smothering but healing. She was the controlled burn that helped a forest to grow. (Perhaps that was why she and Eden complimented each other so wonderfully; Eden was a stoic woodland nymph, Enid was the daughter of fire.)
As she mentions the charm Gray instinctively moves to grab it, forgetting for a moment that he is holding two glasses filled with a disconcertingly vibrant orange punch. Instead he settles for looking down at it, his smile fluttering brighter for a second, before looking back up at Enid. “Not at all”, and he is still smiling, even as he speaks. “Honestly, Enid, I’m not sure where you even got that idea.”
His speech becomes less formal around her; he still drops obscure words in the middle of conversations (honestly, Gray, who even says “punctilious” in small-talk. How do you even pronounce that?) but there is more of a natural comfort. When Gray is nervous, uncomfortable in any way with a scenario, he defaults into using the most complicated words he knows as a kind of shield. Manufactured superiority, so to speak. With Enid he can drop his guard, if only a little.
Eden, on the other hand, still unnerves him somewhat. The taller boy is a puzzle; a mess of deadpan sarcasm and detachment and oddly intimate stares that are frankly kind of unsettling, especially when you accidentally make eye-contact and honestly, is he flirting or just trying to make people uncomfortable? Either, neither, both? Not that Gray’s complaining, I mean, Eden hits like more than half of the boxes on his oddly specific checklist, it’s still kind of disconcerting, but! Anyways!
“Yes, actually.” Gray responds to Eden’s question with a bit of a tone - as if he were skeptical of the answer himself. You would think with his frankly impressive 'romantic' record Gray would be at least somewhat used to being an object of affection, but alas, he’s the king of self-loathing. Brielle has yelled at him about this. Twice. “Aviva asked me.”
Gray gestures with the glasses, a kind of, ‘obviously I was just getting myself two cups because someone spiked the punch already and I plan on getting hammered tonight’, look. “I was just grabbing her some punch when I saw you two and decided to stop and say ‘hello’.”
He casts a quick glance over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Aviva sitting over at a table, looking slightly put-out. She looks very pretty in her gold dress, Gray muses for a moment. Only for a moment though.
❁
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Post by koi on Aug 5, 2016 12:58:22 GMT -5
i have a feeling this reply is going to be like 500 words of eden contemplating and staring at people and 2 words of interaction. i have so much eden muse. anyways. also: this font ended up small af but my phone is being a hoe so i can't change it. i am. so sorry
eden sytko --
Enid blushes.
Eden is an intuitive person and he has always been like that, even when he was a child. Even then, when he'd offered his smile freely and tilted his head like a confused puppy at things he did not understand, even when it took something monumental to stop his laugh, he'd pick up things from people. A misplaced glance. Contempt and insecurity radiating off his mother upon the first time they met Venke and Rúni. The way it washed away after a few hours and replaced itself with comfort. Eden is, in inklings, in tiny moments that blossom fully when Eden looks back on things, a watercolour that is a kaleidoscope in Eden's mind, picking up on things.
Even in the lighting, Eden can see that Enid blushes.
(Eden has always stuck his nose into things he should not get involved in, even unwillingly does he do it. He hasn't meant to do 99% of the things he does, but right now, as he smiles, eyes passing over Gray and Enid in a way analytic, he is thinking, and thinking, and it is deliberate. He is so much taller than both of them that it seems like he is watching things unfold from another point in time, another frame of existence that he is not currently in. Enid looks at Gray, and she is happy, and when Gray interacts with Enid, he is happy, or at least, happier than Eden has really ever seen him—though he hadn't paid much attention to him over the years, sorry, Gray.)
And then there was the fact of the wooden charm that Enid had made for Gray after everything had happened, and he'd made it into a charm. Eden may or may not send a sly glance over to Enid that probably reads, shamelessly, as his 'yessss my friend is gonna get d*ck and I won't feel like the only sinner in this friendship anymore' look. It drops, fast, confused, because Eden's phone buzzes in his pocket. He prays to every god there is that it is not anyone but Marika but regardless of if it is or not, he ignores it, for the time being; his attention is once again brought elsewhere, when Gray mentions something about Aviva and his eyes flick over, head turning, and land on Aviva, and Eden would love to call her beautiful, but he is mostly distracted by the fact that there is a complication.
(Goddamn. The so-far one complication in the plan 'Get Enid the D *insert eggplant emoji*' is the fact that Aviva very obviously has something for Gray. Very, very obviously. Eden never really noticed it before the truth or dare session, but ever since, it has been obvious, at least to Eden. He'd seen the way she looks at him, the way her demeanour becomes melted and frazzled simultaneously, like spilling water on a laptop and watching as it short circuits before it succumbs to the inevitability of drowning. Eden never really had that panicked sort of infatuation about anyone, nothing long term. If anything, things with Eden were a slow fall—a dried maple leaf falling off a limb of a tree only to spiral, catching the wind on the way down—into a demise that was always accepted.)
(God, Eden is an idiot sometimes—most times—but if he knows anything, he knows that there is no way that he wants Aviva to be cheated on. Not anyone. Even if they send mean glances to Enid, it's still not something he would want for her.)
"Oh," says Eden, the boy who has the capability to make oh's and uhh's a complete sentence, eyes trailing off of Gray's form, to Enid, who is still alit with a flush that makes her brown eyes glisten, oddly enough. His phone buzzes again, then again, then—"One sec. My sister is trying to murder me via text I think?"
'guess who i saw today' 'no you have to guess' 'where are you??? eden i have Gossip' 'OHHHH YOU'RE AT THE DANCE NVM' 'PRETEND I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING'
Eden quickly types back: 'plan 'get enid the D' is in action right now currently so either shut up or help me'
"I left the oven on," is all Eden says, slips his phone back into his coat's pocket, sends a smile both to Gray and Enid, before his eyes land on Gray again—"Hey, you and Aviva aren't a thing, are you?" he asks (because he is a blunt little f*cker), eyes flicking between Aviva—looking tense and uncomfortable and for a moment his heart almost aches for her—and Gray, aiming for casual, only half hitting the mark, mostly sounding deadpan and a little uninterested, that's not his goal, exactly, but it happens way too often so Eden is too relaxed about it when it does.
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Post by littlesoprano1 on Aug 5, 2016 14:13:31 GMT -5
cordelia my bean;;
Leave it to Cordelia to be fashionably late to her own dance. She had fussed for hours over her appearance, struggling vainly for the perfect highlight, the correct arch of the brow. She had even gone so far as to enlist the help of her former housemates, who had perhaps taken pity on her prior misfortunes. And her dress! It truly was a sight to behold. Her mother had offered up any number of her lavish designer gowns, and without a second thought Cordelia denied every single one, taking her fate into her own hands with a demand for a dress of her own. The spark lit beneath her by Absolon and his dictator-like reign over the school had only grown, expanding into a red hot inferno that drove the once meek and shy girl to stand up for herself and what she wanted.
Once she and the other girls deemed her ready, they ushered her out of the dorms at last and towards the hall, extensive train trailing behind her. With a flourish, the double doors of the Great Hall were thrown open and the once-Slytherin entered. As a small show of defiance, she had chosen an all-emerald gown, with silvery mosaic embroidery covering the glittering fabric like an extensive gossamer spiderweb. The neck came up to her collarbones, stretching into long sleeves where the ornate pattern continued. In one word, the girl looked 'regal'. Her jet black locks had been styled up into an elaborate braided updo, coming down at her cheekbones in spinning tendrils. Her makeup, too, conveyed royalty, with a formidable oxblood red dripping from her lips. To finish her look, tear-dropped emeralds dangled from her ears.
Cordelia descended the steps, icy gaze coolly searching for her date: Cedric. Yes, the Cedric that caused her so much grief yet still enticed her sense of curiosity. She did not think him one for dances such as this, but perhaps it was nothing more than some extensive social experiment of which she was to be an accessory to. If she didn't dwell on the reason why he had asked her to the dance, she might be able to enjoy her time, at least somewhat. She had really only accepted to have a date to go with, moving her status just a hair above her peers without dates. Though Cedric was not the school's heartthrob. In fact, most found him quite odd. He has handsome enough to look at, she supposed, with his mysterious black mess of hair and his eyes that read danger and intrigue. He had an unusual sort of beauty, in her eyes.
"Harlot," She greeted smoothly as she neared him, the slight clicking of her heels against the stone floor indicating her arrival. With delicate curiosity she examined his own appearance, fighting the urge to offer a compliment to him. Her own pride prohibited it. Suddenly a small sense of dread grew in the pit of her stomach at the thought of having to actually dance with Cedric. She could only assume that he would be a skilled dancer, with all the money his family had. Cordelia herself had taken many a dancing lesson, and exuded the kind of grace one could expect from a dancer. With Cullen as a dance partner, one had to be very light on their feet lest they be extensively ridiculed. With silent anticipation, she waited for the extension of Cedric's hand as an invitation to dance.
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Post by servalstrike on Aug 5, 2016 15:56:37 GMT -5
Cedric; Cedric actually rather liked balls and dances, if he could only stand them for some time. The formal wear and proper etiquette gave him even the slightest illusion that he wasn’t constantly surrounded by people of a lesser status than himself.
Cedric was even better dressed than usual. Getting ready for this dance had hardly been a chore considering that he liked to wear formal clothes on a regular basis. Tonight he wore a white button-up shirt with a red vest over top of it. Along with his black jacket he wore a red cravat. His hair was in it’s usual messy state as he hadn’t bothered to comb it.
He’d been mingling by the tables watching as everyone started to arrive and partner off with their dates. He liked admiring all the beautiful gowns the girls were wearing, he could appreciate beauty when he saw it. Speaking of appreciating beauty, when Cordelia finally arrived he had to admit he was impressed with how nicely she cleaned up. She was elegant and regal looking, like a queen. She carried herself as such as well, like she was above everyone that stood in her path. He would say he was taken off-guard by he beauty but she could have been in rags and he still would have seen how pretty she was underneath, but if she had been in rags he wouldn't be seen with her and would have done terrible things to her.
Cedric had decided to ask Cordelia to the dance so he could wear her like a jewel on his arm. She was merely just another ornament for his look. Plus, what fun would this dance be if he didn’t even have someone to dance with? All the other girls bored him, he couldn’t taunt them as much without them running off crying, but Cordelia put up a fight. As well as that, he also always liked to keep someone under his foot. How else could he feel on top if there was no one for him to step on?
With a slight bow and grin Cedric greeted his date. “Miss Spencer, you don’t look yourself this evening. Which is to say you actually look nice, divine even a true goddess among mortals. I see you’ve traded in those hideous crutches for something more suitable to my tastes.”
Tucking one arm behind his back he bowed and extended a hand to her. “Care to dance?” He looked at her with an arched brow.
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Aug 5, 2016 16:19:09 GMT -5
- - Enid }
The blush recedes, paling from scarlet to pink. The heat in her skin cools, as does the sun in her chest. It was so nice, so unexplainably nice to be talking to someone other than Eden for once. Enid knows that’s her own fault, it isn’t hard to make friends, the only difficult part about it is writing out her thoughts like a diary for others to read. It’s tedious, but it’s her own fault. But with Gray it was just nice, plain and simple. He understood sign language, or enough of it to get the gist of what she was trying to say. And, thinking about it, Gray really isn't that much different from Eden. Both were guarded in their own way, speaking too bluntly or too pretentiously and smothering their emotions beneath layers and layers of an image they had built around themselves.
For a moment, Enid wonders what people think of her.
What does Gray see in her that softens his demeanor so much? What does Eden see?
As far as Enid could tell, all of Hogwarts regarded her as nothing more than the mute Gryffindor (er, ex-Gryffindor now, she supposed). The title had grown weary on her, grating against her skin with uncomfortably cold glances. She was always going to be the mute girl, whether she liked it or not. But not with Eden and Gray. With them, she had as much a voice as anyone else. She was still mute, yes, but at least they could hear her in a way that no one else could. She can feel Eden watching her intensely, can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he works to interpret her blushing. She already knows for a fact that he's misinterpreting it, but has no time to correct with Gray around, not when he could possibly misinterpret things as well. Hopefully he's a bit sharper than that.
And then Gray mentions Aviva and it as though someone has kicked Enid's legs out from underneath and doused her in a bucket of ice water. She keeps her mouth a firm line, trying hard to reveal nothing of her inner turmoil. Of course. Of course, Aviva asked him to the dance. This. This explains everything. Enid peers around Gray, catching a glimpse of her fellow ex-Gryffindor all swathed in gold and shimmering like a lit candle, black hair spilling over her shoulders in soft waves. Oh dear. Her gaze darts between the two, trying to keep her churning thoughts subtle, hidden behind a mask.
This explains everything. The glaring. The way she had snatched Gray's letter away thoughtlessly. How disappointed she had looked. Aviva likes Gray. A chasm of stupidity opens up beneath Enid's feet, waiting to swallow her up for not seeing it before. And she had done nothing, simply brushed it off, disregarded it. How cruel she has been so far to overlook Aviva's feelings. But... But that isn't Enid's fault! It isn't like she's knowingly standing in Aviva's way. Or that she's stealing Gray from her. Enid hadn't even put the pieces together until now. And Aviva had been nothing but hateful toward her.
Her gaze switches to Eden, eyes almost pleading for a second and she isn't sure why. And then those dark eyes are back on Gray, a question bubbling toward the surface, all previous threads of conversation forgotten.
"Why did you say yes?" She signs, "When Aviva asked you to come as her date. Why did you say yes?" From what Enid knew, Gray and Aviva weren't particularly close. At least, Gray had never mentioned Aviva before, or anything between them. Her initial thought was that something changed after he was dared to kiss her. Maybe he realized his feelings for her, and she for him. But it hadn't seen that way. Either way, Enid needed confirmation that Gray and Aviva were dating, maybe then Gray could talk to her and ask Aviva to leave her alone.
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Post by littlesoprano1 on Aug 5, 2016 16:37:25 GMT -5
cordelia;;
Cordelia would be a foolish liar if she did not admit to herself that Cedric looked rather dashing in his ensemble, even if his hair remained unkempt as usual (she felt it added to his mystique, though would never actually confess this). After properly examining her own date, her attention briefly turned to the room itself, bustling with activity and fanfare. The taffeta gowns swished and spun, with the occasional skirt flipping up to catch the light upon the glittering surface of a polished heel. The entire Great Hall had been transformed into a wonderland for the dance, proving that for all Absolon's faults he spared no expense for this event. Nor did anyone, it seemed. Every girl donned her finest gown and every boy had cleaned himself up rather nicely, creating a display of splendor and beauty that would've rivaled even the finest French courts of old.
"I'll take that as a compliment. Considering your nature, that was actually quite a kind thing for you to say. Thank you," She offered a gracious curtsy and the skirt of her gown fanned out before her in a flurry of rich emerald. She appeared as a crown jewel of Slytherin, despite the fact that now she was just "pureblood" in the eyes of the school. And with a gentle reluctance, she broke her promise to herself and returned his compliments, "And you too look lovely, Cedric."
She outstretched her smaller hand to meet his, accepting his offer with a nod.
"It would be a pleasure." With a sly smile she allowed him to lead her off to join the other couples in their spinning mirages of silk and jewels.
"So, Cedric, I must ask...Why did you decide to take me as your date to this dance?" Her own curiosity had been gnawing at her insides from the very first moment he asked her to come with him. It was a natural reaction, considering Cedric's general behavior around others. If Cordelia were to make a judgement, she would have assumed that he would take no date for no girl or boy could possibly live up to the boy's standards and expectations. Perhaps it was just to torment her? Perhaps he even intended to desert her on the dance floor and leave her in a cloud of humiliation. Already they had started to receive looks and whispers from others who saw them pass by, especially the younger students. Afterall, on the very first night back these two had been just about ready to draw wands on each other. And now, he had her by the hand ready to spin her around the polished floors.
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Post by littlesoprano1 on Aug 5, 2016 16:56:06 GMT -5
what is a cullen;;
Meanwhile, on the other side of the Hall, Cullen loitered around the punch table looking like a peacock out of place at a zoo. He had gone and bleached his hair back to its original ivory state, and covered it in enough product to fill a tub to restore it to former glory. For his suit choice, he had opted for all white with black accents and while his decision was incredibly dramatic it fit him well and complemented his hair color. Cullen had no date, nor had he ever brought a date to any of these school dances. If asked why, his answer would always be something along the lines of, "Why limit myself?" And that did ring true, as there was a line of ladies waiting to steal a dance with him. He would oblige them, of course, soaking up the attention to bring back the narcissistic glow to his skin, but at every chance he got his gaze would wander the room in search of a 6'5" tall, dark, and handsome once-Ravenclaw with eyes like coal that could see right through him.
He had just finished a dance with a lithe looking girl a year younger than himself from his own former house. She glided back to her friends and rejoined them in a clump of glitter and hairspray while he remained behind, a cup of punch in hand, scanning the room for Cecil. Surprisingly enough the blonde boy had not yet seen his counterpart and the creeping sense of anxiety he felt couldn't be ignored. It just seemed wrong to be having fun there without his best friend, and so he decided he would wait out the next song in hopes of flagging him down.
The room itself seemed to spin, covered in every color of the rainbow (CULLEN IS GAY). He had a nice vantage point from the beverage table, able to easily identify the faces he knew in the crowd. If only every day could've been like that, dressed to the nines and dancing with little thought given to the troubles of the world. That thought alone weighed heavily on him. He was usually so cool, so collected and carefree. But tonight he just felt off, as if some part of him had broken and needed to be replaced, but he couldn't begin to explain what that might be. And so, his thoughts wandered back to Cecil. What if he'd gone with Cecil tonight? Perhaps that's what was missing for him. Only in his inner most thoughts did he even consider such things, but standing alone there his idle fantasies occupied the space in his head where nothing else dared go. What would it be like to have a dance with Cecil.
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Post by koi on Aug 5, 2016 17:22:42 GMT -5
jasmin valeska --
Jasmin doesn't have a lot to stress about, but, let's be honest here. It's Jasmin.
He knows the plan, though he isn't involved in it, simply because of how much they'd discussed it over the weeks, especially the night previous. He knows exactly what's going down. Perhaps knowing just makes him more nervous. If he hadn't known that any of this was even going on, would he be nervous in the first place?
The answer is: haha, yeah, probably.
(and then he thinks to himself: I've been through worse things. Remember that guy you work with who's more awkward than off-roading in a mini-van? You survived that, you can survive this. Remember when Gio had to change choreography onstage because one of her shoes was so broken that she couldn't go up en pointe and you had no idea what was going on and why everything she did had to be on her left foot? You survived that! Remember when Rory had a full discussion weighing the pros and cons of drowning? You...no, you didn't survive that one.)
Jasmin adjusts his tie one more time. And then another time. And then another. He scrutinizes himself, wonders if he should've done something else with his hair besides running a hand through it with some gel, pushing it back, and—
Okay, being completely honest here: Jasmin barely looks any different in a suit. Which is sort of sad, but he doesn't have that undead-teenager-walking look in every day life—he just looks like Jasmin. He still, wearing a suit, looks like Jasmin. (sometimes he cleaned up better onstage. Oftentimes, he accidentally goes onstage without his hair gelled back and his teacher yells at him in Russian and Jasmin knows enough Russian to recognize that she is mad at him because as it turns out, no one could see his eyes because his bangs shadow his face. Whoops.)
He adjusts his tie one more time.
It doesn't take him very long to reach the dance, because he weaves between couples and soloists (that's. really not the term for people who are by themselves, Jas, but okay, just bring ballet terms into things constantly, that's fine), with his legs (which are not long, simply proportionate to his body, but now that we're not on the official warrior cats forum I can say: his ass is fine as hell and that, along with his thighs, are his best features by far. Not his eyes. Hell nah. This boy is thicc af.) set on a path of destruction. No, I'm kidding. But boy, can he strut. He only really looks at people just to weave by them, not so much to actually look at them and what they're wearing or anything, one, because Jasmin is an unobservant person, and two, because he's more ace and aro than a rock and also aesthetics are really not the most important thing to Jasmin. (literally why is he in dance? No one knows, considering 90% of ballet is aesthetics onstage, but.)
Jasmin had whole-heartedly been expecting the decorations, it was a given, but perhaps he wasn't expecting it in this large a scale. When he walks in, he feels taken aback for a moment, feels small compared to ceiling charmed to be a glittering night skin, streaked with stars, dappled, like light being filtered between tree leaves (what is this, an Eden post?). But, even in all its significance, Jasmin still finds Sadja so easily it should be embarrassing, and it really is embarrassing when he stops in his tracks, coming to a halt so suddenly a girl hits his shoulder and he manages to mutter a "Sorry," that he barely puts thought into, because Jasmin may not be overtly concerned with aesthetics of things, but stars are just a faraway lump of coal in comparison to the glittering, autumn-coloured sun that is Sadja Al Jarad.
He's always been told, by his mother, that he has the cutest little smile, but it is not little in this moment, but a wide parting of his lips to reveal white white teeth. He isn't suave or subtle about it, trots up to Sadja like a damn puppy, couldn't give less of a shit how dumb he may look. He pauses when he reaches her, smiling still, because he wants to hug her but she seems untouchable in the moment, untouchable and bright.
(Neither of my characters have even noticed the Abernathy's because they've been too invested in their girl friends. Literally dead.)
"Sadja," he starts, still smiling, smiling himself silly: "Y-you are stunning."
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Post by servalstrike on Aug 5, 2016 18:38:23 GMT -5
Cedric;
“How kind of you to say,” he accepted her compliment. It was amazing that he had yet to actually insult Cordelia. She did look ravishing though, true to the nature of her blood status she was regal and refined. She wore her dress like a glittering snakeskin.
He took her hand and kissed the top of it. Leading her out to the dancefloor, where other couples had found themselves dancing in the arms of their partners. Each dance was different, unique to the couple, a mixture of fun and elegance. Cedric spotted one couple who clearly had no idea how to dance and though they seemed to be having fun Cedric could only sneer at them. He rolled his eyes and looked away, glad he wouldn’t be one of the imbeciles who lacked a knowledge of proper ballroom etiquette.
From the corner of his eye he looked down at Cordelia, his lips quirking into a smirk at her question. Of course he’d expected a curiosity for the matter. It wasn’t like the two seemed to be made for each other after all. Already people had noticed the two of them together and interests had piqued. Whispers arising akin to the circumstances of how in the world Cedric Harlot and Cordelia Spencer had ended up as each other's dates.
“Power move,” he explained in a matter-of-fact tone. He nodded to a pair tossing glances their way and talking behind their hands, “See how much attention we’re getting. We’re the two most intelligent people in the school, from two of the most well known families, why shouldn’t we go together? Oh, because we loathe each other’s existences? Because I would rather watch you be torn to pieces by wolves then ever touch your hand again?” His eyes glinted in the candle light. He turned to her and twined his fingers through hers then placed his hand on her waist. Cedric stared down into Cordelia’s eyes. “You’re feeding off all this attention aren’t you, my lovely? You crave it. For once people are paying attention to you and not just your brother.”
Oh Cedric was a manipulative and cunning bastard. Was that even the real reason he asked her to the dance? Maybe it was one part to it, but more likely it was only the tip of the iceberg. But he knew how to lie. He could play people’s heartstrings like a harp. Let them hear what they wanted or expected to hear and he could keep his true secrets close.
Sadja;
The moment she saw Jasmin her heart was all aflutter again. She twined her fingers together and beamed. Her eyes glowing in the light, like the sun shining on a smooth bed of stones. Turned to greet him her dress brushed against her legs, the silk soft and loose. Looking him up and down she took in this version of Jasmin Valeska.
His smile could have baked bread, and also so big and happy it was adorable and almost silly. The boy was practically glowing. The first thing Sadja noticed was that his hair was gelled, it was sweeping across his eyes like an old english sheep dog. Leaving his eyes of sky blue and warm brown exposed and shining. Then of course her gaze wandered over the rest of him. Sadja herself was a person of beauty so she noticed attractive things when she saw them and Jasmin...Jasmin was incredibly attractive and had legs for days.
It wasn’t as though Sadja hadn’t noticed before, how could someone walk behind Jasmin and not stare at that ass? It was just that Sadja had never felt heat rise to her cheeks and the need to avert her eyes before. It was probably just because she was stuffed in a room with a ton of other hormonal teenagers right? Of course that had to be it, she'd never looked at Jasmin and wondered what was under those clothes before. She would never want to put him in an uncomfortable situation like that. She knew he was interested in things like that, it was just how he was wired. The same way she was interested in both genders, he didn't care for either.
Quickly, she returned her attention to Jasmin’s face. Before she let a word slip she put her arms around him and hugged him tight. With a smile she released him then took her skirt and curtsied “Thank you, Jasmin, and you are as dashing and charming as usual.”
Holding out her hand she smiled so wide the corners of her eyes crinkled in the most delightful way. “Care to dance before we lose anymore of the night? You still owe me a dance you know.”
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Aug 6, 2016 15:04:18 GMT -5
anyway here's wonderwall (there is a list in this post and i blame koi's sinfluence.)
[ Gray Markell ]
Aviva Harel sits several hundred paces behind them, fidgeting with the fool's gold fabric of her dress. She is beautiful. Gray does not love her.
“No”, Gray phrases his reply simply. The fact that it is October 31st, Halloween, flashes momentarily through his mind, intensely, like the beep of a reminder on his phone, or the scream of a tornado siren. How ironic. “Not to my knowledge, at least.” Gray tries to keep the tone of his response as light-hearted as possible, which, considering that this is Gray, probably comes across slightly forced - less so because he is in Enid’s presence and she is warmth and light and her - but even in these moments of weakness Gray is composed. Detached, almost; like he can see happiness and love and life, mere inches in front of his face, but is separated from them by a wall of glass. Cold and achromic and permanent.
(And Gray is reaching out, placing his palms against this metaphorical barrier, seeing it in a way he has not in what seems like ages when - Enid’s expression changes.)
It is a look that he has seen before; a quiet flash of revelation, and then nothing. The moment of calm in the eye of a storm. Gray instinctively feels as if he has done something wrong. Enid is still bright, still shining, but it is like someone has flicked on the dimmer switch. The way she looks over at Eden is as slight as it is profound, and Gray is once again struck by the complexity of their bond. On first glance, one would automatically mark down Enid and Eden as light and dark. Enid is fire and Eden is the flint. The stone. That assumption would be wrong. There is something almost imperceptibly soft in Eden; Gray first saw it the night of the truth or dare game, and sees it again now, in the way his face twinges as he reads the text messages, subtle glances sent to Enid, as if they had their own language. A kind of telepathy built on years of knowing each other, intimately, in the way that lovers do, but purely in the emotional sense. Something more visceral than sign language, the way the ocean meets the land, touching it and reshaping it, becoming a part of each other, distinct but infinitely colliding, two parts of the same star system.
They are twin planets and Gray is a comet; cold and flashing by somewhere in the periphery. Enid casts her light on him for a second and then he is gone.
And then Enid moves her hands and it feels almost like a threat. Why does it feel like a threat? This is Enid. This is Enid and it is not a threat. She doesn’t know anything about him; doesn’t know what happened. Doesn’t know that Gray would have any reason besides ‘yolo why not’ or ‘because I like her’ to take Aviva to the dance. But there is still a catching in his throat, none the less.
Why did he say yes?
The answer is threefold.
a. He didn’t have a date to the dance. This one is simple: Gray was alone and going to the dance with Aviva would mean not being alone, even if it was merely a superficial and transient way.
b. It would have hurt Aviva. Obviously the girl had a thing for him; the way she asked - nervous, eyes adverted, blush spreading across her cheeks, ironically mispronouncing his name - was almost endearing. What monster of a person would say no to that? (What monster of a person would say yes and not mean it?)
c. (It is summer and Gray is seventeen and he is crawling through a shattered window. He has never broken into a building before. There is another boy ten feet in front of him, vaulting down from a table top. He said that they would be perfectly safe, that he did this kind of stuff all the time, that it was just an abandoned radio tower; no big deal, no surveillance, just something to do. As if Gray didn’t have a thousand other things he could be, and should be, doing. But none of that mattered. He thinks back to this moment now, the inimitable rush of both tranquility and adrenaline that came with hanging on the side of a ladder, sixty feet up the in air. Back to a question he had asked, suspended there with the wind whipping through his hair. “Why are we doing this?” The response was simple, said with a grin and a shrug: “Because we can.” And in that moment Gray had never felt more like a god.) i. That is why Gray went to the dance with Aviva. Because why the f*ck not. But Gray would not say any of that out loud. Instead, he defaults to apathy.
“There is a quote from an American author, Chuck Palahniuk, that goes something along the lines of, ‘It is easy to be sad in a world where everyone you love will either reject you or die.’” Gray gestures with a punch glass, a symbolic nod of concession. “Now, I may be pompous and arrogant and all such synonyms you wish, but I have no desire to see Aviva Harel sad. Unfortunately - or fortunately depending on who you talk to - I have not yet figured out how to avoid the whole ‘death’ thing. And so when she asked me if I wanted to go to the dance with her, I said yes. Not because I have any romantic feelings for her, I should hope there is no pretense about that, but because I did not want her to feel alone.”
Gray’s voice is clear, airy and light and precise, tinged with an inflection almost condescending, towards whom it was not immediately clear..
(and his eyes are so very cold.)
❁
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Post by maple on Aug 6, 2016 18:43:30 GMT -5
» tristan bailey // aka here to steal yo dates
Suits had never really been Tristan's thing. Tight and rough, half choking and half suffocating him to death. The only reason he had one on was mainly because: 1. he was pretty sure he had to. and 2. well, he just looked kind of badass and hot in a sophisticated millionaire way? As you can probably tell, option number two was held with the highest standards. The only thing he was missing was some dark shades and an expensive watch. Hogwarts probably wouldn't have appreciated his style so perhaps it was for the best.
Entering the dance Tristan had a very prominent air of personality, kind of slouching around against the wall next to the food before presuming to pop a miniature cake in his mouth before sauntering by. All the while he looked rather bored, throwing in an occasional yawn and tugging at the collar of his suit. It didn't really matter what expression was on his handsome face, he could have been yelling at someone and he'd still look incredibly attractive. His hair was as usual a dark mess, sticking out all over his head - the only difference was today he actually decided to wash it with shampoo so it actually smelled nice and was soft (maybe he should make a habit of this?). He also had his signature half smirk on that was hard to decipher between a nice smile or a i'm-such-a-player grin that could usually be found spreading across his face.
The only real reason Tristan hadn't rolled in incredibly late (or poorly dressed), was because tonight was actually somewhat special. There were going to be lots of students attending (most importantly female students) and it was the perfect watering hole for him to check out all the pretty girls in pretty dresses. It wasn't his fault he had such a one-track mind. He purposely hadn't asked anyone to the dance, he wanted to go solo. Then he wouldn't have to dance with one person the whole night, pretending that his attention was only on her. That was way too difficult. Being tied down was a nightmare, being free to flirt was a dream. Though he never thought about things much, he did occasionally ponder what would happen when he no longer attended Hogwarts. What about when he was ten years older and refused to settle down? Or twenty years? He didn't want to be that creepy old dude who stood around staring at the ladies. He wanted something but he didn't know what, flings were satisfying enough but something always felt missing, when he hopped from one relationship to the next he sometimes felt so shallow. But would he ever admit that? No. Did he ever apologize when he broke some girl's heart? Hell no. There had been times when he wished he had, just to ease his conscious, but pride always stepped in to assure him that saying "sorry" really wasn't necessary.
Tristan leaned his head back and shook out his hair, it was time to get his charm on.
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Post by koi on Aug 6, 2016 18:53:33 GMT -5
tfw u try to write a jasmin valeska post and rory pops his head in and says "helo naughty childreñ it's murder time"
jasmin valeska --
Many of the Valeska's are about as romantically inclined as rocks (which probably has something to do with their upbringings, but let's not get into that). Jasmin is as aromantic as that one time Gio cried on his shoulder and got snot all over his sweater and then patted his head and said "Thank you for putting up with me. I love you, my very small son." and Jasmin has the distinct thought in his head: thank god I was just son-zoned. (Giovanna De Luca was also, like, 4'11" so he has no idea why she called him very small.)
As Jasmin's eyes travel over Sadja, and words like goddamn she is lovely pass into his mind, his heart beats like a f*cking dubstep drop into his stomach and. oh. shit.
("Y'know," says Rory, back against the fridge, with Jasmin hoping he won't dent it or something with his elbows—they're sharp, okay—"Have you ever considered that maybe...you just don't like people in that way?")
("In what w-way?" Jasmin asks, and—)
(Rory sends Jasmin one of his looks, but it isn't the f*ck-off-Jasmin look, nor is it the if-you-f*cking-talk-to-me-right-now-I'll-send-us-both-to-hell look, either. It's something almost...sympathetic?)
("Like," he says, "Wine and dine and marry at the ripe age of twenty-five and have kids at thirty and then realize when you're forty that you've wasted some good years of your life on someone who is probably cheating on you behind your back but what about the kids? And then you have your mid-life crisis when you're barely forty-two and your mom holds an intervention and I'd be there too, laughing, wearing a leather jacket—that's besides the point, but we'd both be there and Tori will wonder why you had to go buy a giraffe and also a f*cking expensive car in a moment of insecurity but you just say, "Look, mom, it's not about you, it's about me." Then Tori would start crying. And you'd feel like shit.")
(Jasmin blinks, half-afraid.)
("I g-guess...I don't like pe-people in that w-way?" he ends up saying, and when Rory shrugs, and nods, and says "Yeah. Same," that's the end of it.)
Jasmin feels himself panicking because he wouldn't mind marrying Sadja at the ripe age of twenty five and having kids at thirty but there wouldn't be any cheating because they'd be best friends and that just wouldn't happen and they'd get a falcon instead of a giraffe and it would be a goddamn happy family and there would be no need for his mom to hold an intervention and holy shit. Holy shit. Oh no. He needs to slow the hell down. Jasmin. Jasmin you're sixteen. Okay, he takes it back, he does need an intervention. Right. Now. Right now. Because—
(He forgets all about what he'd been internally screaming about when she hugs him. How typical is that?)
When she releases him, he sends that same dimple-cheeked grin to her. "As usual?" Jasmin says, jokingly; "It looks like I've b-been hit by a c-car so-sometimes."
Then she offers her hand, and Jasmin looks at it a moment too long, eyes trailing up her arm and meeting her eyes as he takes it. He feels his cheeks flush at mention of that, mention of what had gone down those first weeks of school. "God, d-don't remind me. Still feel sh-shitty about th-that." He's smiling still, but it has turned vaguely softer, as he pulls her away from where they'd be standing, as they were too close to a table to get a lot of dancing done. As he pulls her closer, so that he's closer to her ear and can afford to drop his voice against the noise around them that had turned white and static when Jasmin tunes it all out, "How much t-time until the p-plan gets set in a-action?"
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Post by servalstrike on Aug 6, 2016 23:18:09 GMT -5
Sadja;
“Not to me. To me you are always beautiful.” She flashed him a big wholly sincere smile. Did she mean to say beautiful or was that just another slip of her English? Maybe a little of both because she certainly did mean that in the kindest way possible. At the mention of the incident from earlier in the year her joy falters only sightly, she knew Jasmin still felt bad about it and she would have still been a bit bitter over it if she didn’t have a whole mess of other things to attend to. With a sigh she managed a small apologetic smile “Apologies, I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”
All else seemed to fade away as Jasmin took her hand. The people around them blurred and even the fabulous decorations became only a piece of the background. Sadja couldn’t take her eyes off him. He pulled her close and she could feel her heart drumming it’s song again, she wondered if he could feel or hear it (hoped that he couldn’t).
His voice was soft and she braced for whispering of sweet nothings, had been hoping for it. But he asks about the plan. Sadja’s heart drops just enough that she’s brought back to reality. She had to remind herself that there was nothing romantic between them. Blinking up at him she cast a quick survey around the hall to find the other members of the Botany Club. Then she answered, “Two hours.” With another apologetic smile she said, “I hope that’s enough time for us.” She held his hand tight, threading her fingers through his. “Worry not, Pretty Jas, the night is still young as are we and whatever business we leave unfinished tonight we can continue another time. And if everything goes according to plan I will be back before the night is over.”
Arching a brow she titled her head to give him a confident grin, with something else threaded in. Something...flirty. Putting her thumb on his chin she brought him down and kissed his cheek. Sadja knew she shouldn’t be acting that way with Jasmin, they were best friend and nothing more, and Jasmin would want it to stay that way. She was treating him differently tonight, even if no one else would notice anything new Jasmin would. Sadja would only make things uncomfortable between them, but she couldn’t help herself. Maybe it was crazy hormones or her frayed nerves from the thought of breaking into Absolon’s office.
Slowly, she started to move in time with the music. Sticking to the boring ballroom dancing all the other couples were doing around them. Her feet glided over the floor as she picked up her pace and led Jasmin in a swirling dance, as though they were the only ones in the whole world.
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Aug 7, 2016 0:02:21 GMT -5
wow my posts get really stream-of-conciousness at 1am. lol have fun.
[ Leelah Veyera ] Suits own. This is an objective statement; if anyone put in a word to the contrary they were obviously insane. Leelah straightens her tie, yanks it taut, before looking up at herself in the mirror. She is not one to brag about her appearance - Leelah is confident but not conceited - but damn she is looking fine. Her tie is several shades darker than the suit she is currently wearing, which itself is a light and silky gray. Not quite silver, not quite white. The kind of mellow, peaceful gray that is reminiscent of a summer raincloud or light glittering through fog. It compliments Liesel’s dress well, too, which is a plus, especially because Leelah planned on complimenting Liesel a lot that night. Not in any romantic way, of course. Leelah did not see the other girl like that - yes, she was cute, no one was denying that fact, but contrary to popular belief Leelah did not fall in love with every pretty face. Just most of them.
Okay, that is also a lie, but hey. Girls are cute. Leelah respects aesthetic beauty. Not in a poetic way - she doesn’t see a girl and suddenly think “ah, yes, thy lips art like a rose, thy eyes poplar leaves” - but in that instinctual, “wow, she’s cute” action-reaction train of thought speeding down the tracks kind of way. But I digress. Leelah has seen how Liesel is shy - honestly it’s hard to miss, as much a facet of her as her odd colored eyes or dyed hair - how she is timid, a sweet deerling. And Leelah wants to instill some confidence in the girl. Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, Leelah is a very active person, so big grins and lots of kind words are her go to. She hands out flower crowns like they were the cure to every ailment. Even though they are not. Obviously. And Leelah has trouble realizing that some people just don’t want her to ‘help’ them. But that’s beside the point.
Leelah runs her comb through her hair one more time like she’s Danny Zuko from Grease, flashes a grin at the mirror, and struts down to the dance. While wandering the halls she passes a tall, dark-haired looking man looking vaguely lost and out of place, a light traveling bag in one hand and a slip of paper in the other. If it were any other day Leelah would have stopped to ask who in the world he was, because she’s a nosy piece of shit, but the party had already started and she wasn’t about to ditch Liesel. So she walks on, swerving between students in beautiful dresses and great tux’s, feeling kind of tall in all of her 5’9, and is for a moment happy that she decided to forgo the whole dress thing because then she would have had to wear heels. Leelah doesn’t mind standing out, she has always stood out, she is a lesbian who likes to make herself heard above the crowd, but she is still somewhat insecure about her height, in the same way she is insecure about her naturally curvy body and frizzy nest of hair. It doesn’t bother her that much, she has learned to accept it as a fact, a part of herself she can’t change and that she just lives with, and she’s okay with just living with it, she loves being Leelah, most of the time, but that doesn’t mean she can’t get nervous time to time. And she’s nervous right now. Not that she would let it show though; she’s still smiling. When Leelah is nervous she smiles more.
Anyways, there’s Liesel. She approaches the other girl with a grin and an excited wave of her hand. She notices the decorations, thinks they’re cool but nothing more, and ignores the Abernathy’s completely. “Hey!” Her voice is a kind of humm, deep but not disconcertingly so, and confident. “Wow! Dang, Liesel, you look amazing!”
❁
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Post by koi on Aug 7, 2016 4:13:56 GMT -5
i put a list in this just to stick it to honey and briar
eden sytko --
Eden, sometimes, likes to take a moment to step back and observe things from afar. Sometimes, he wishes he employed this idea more (because he figures, towards the forefront of his mind, that it would’ve saved him from a lot, saved him from conversations he did not want to get into, could’ve saved him from everything Eden’s ever gotten himself into that he regrets. Eden is an intuitive person, but he also rushes through things without enough thought, sometimes, and now he has to remind himself that doing so can get himself hurt, and, well.), wishes he could observe everything from a bubble from afar.
Right now, he notices a few things.
1. He looks at Enid, Eden does, and her blush is starting to calm down, or maybe be reigned in by another emotion that he cannot place, but it is stilled, and uncomfortable suddenly against the canvas of her skin, the peaks of her features, the way the muscles underneath her skin contort because she is trying not to show it, the way her lips tighten. She looks at Eden and it is a plea. Eden does not know how to help her.
2. Even Gray, who is a cold person by nature, cold person in the way he looks, even, the sort of person whose personality spills, like hair fanning out on a pillow, over the lines of his mind and into his appearance, bleeds over like watercolours, (Eden used to watch Aunt Magy paint, and sometimes she’d deliberately move her brush outside of the lines, making the colouring look disconnected, and Eden had asked why, because he was young and a part of him figured that since she was an adult she should be filling in the lines she’d put down perfectly, and she’d put her hand on his shoulder, fondly, and said, ‘You don’t need to colour within the lines, Eden. Everyone can draw however they want to,’ and Eden would be lying if he didn’t take it to heart the same way he’d take a bullet, or stitches) looks...there is no set word for it, and if there is, Eden’s vocabulary is too limited to know it, but there is just something about Gray for a short moment, the shortest moment, that is just as still as Enid’s expression, too, but even more so. Gray is more ice than young man, always has been.
3. There is no way this isn’t all about Aviva.
‘Not to my knowledge, at least.’
(Eden wants to laugh.)
His phone is still buzzing in his pocket, so he picks it up, manages to skim read the message, ‘what? who is he??? eden what the hell??? i did not perform cpr on you to have you hook enid up with shit guys’ and, in a moment that is not so much immature as it is simply Eden, he puts his phone back in his pocket, ignores it, and he’s good at that one. Good at ignoring words of wisdom from his sister who is, though people oftentimes forget, younger than him, and is never truly there for Eden when he really, really needs her, but that is Eden’s fault, because he is closed off, never shows when he needs anyone.
You’re prickly, Eden. Those words are too-often in Eden’s head. Marika telling him the truth. Telling him that no one will want to put up with him with an attitude like that.
Eden decides, somewhere else in his mind, that now it is time to tune back into the world and he does so with a breath that fills his lungs like water, a flood, suddenly, because Eden tends to hold his breath when he is deep in thought, and just like the rest of the habits he learnt as a child, it’s not the healthiest thing--but, whatever, whatever.
He tunes in at a very odd moment to tune in, catching Gray’s voice, the way it is tinged, painted with the same watercolours Magdalene uses, light blues, and purples, and desaturated periwinkle. Cold colours. Eden wants to say so much. Do you always talk like you’re trying to impress a grade eight English teacher? is one of the many things he would say, if he could, maybe if he had even less of a filter, if he did not love Enid as much as he did and did not want to see her unhappy.
So instead, he settles.
(doesn’t he always?)
“Fair enough,” chimes in Eden, and whenever he is talking with both Gray and Enid he always, always feels like he is intruding on something more personal than it should be--feels like he’s walking into a room with only them in it with both arms up yelling, ‘look at me! I have to be involved in things I shouldn’t get involved in because I’m a major shit-stirrer and a f*cking ****!’ which is, an over exaggeration, but close to how he feels. That, in itself, motivates Eden to push them together even more.
(if Eden is going to be the third wheel, it will be of his own volition.)
“Enid and I went as friends,” Eden says, makes sure to say, that casual may-as-well-be-wiggling-his-eyebrows soft sort of buoyancy to his voice. He sends a look to Enid that is all but screaming let me handle this one, don’t be upset about Aviva: “Probably ‘cause no one else will put up with me.”
Then: “Punch is a good idea,” he says, “I’ll go grab us some, E,” and with one last blithe little smile, he pats Gray and Enid both on the shoulder as he walks away.
Mid-stride, mid-thought, Eden’s eyes land on Tristan Bailey, close to the table, leaning against a wall looking deliriously like a stray tom cat with a mouse in its jaws; except, the mouse would have to be figurative, because with the way Tristan was smiling (why was he smiling? It wasn’t a bad smile, by any means, but) there would be no room for prey between his teeth. Eden does not know a lot about Tristan, has simply seen him around. Everything Eden has learnt about Tristan has been through simple observation, of the way Tristan walks down halls, the way his hair falls alongside his face, messy, seems like the type of boy that burns more than open flame and cuts deeper than surgical steel, but then again, sometimes Eden is not the best judge of character.
Eden realizes, belatedly, he is staring. Call him Gray Markell, because, damn.
“I hope you’re smiling because you just spiked the punch,” Eden ends up saying, raising an eyebrow at him; off-beat, off-kilter, amused so lightly it is barely there at all, taking a cup and starting to fill it.
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