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Post by maple on Aug 7, 2016 18:58:36 GMT -5
» liesel wailes // this is incredibly short and sloppy, i apologize
All smiles and wrinkled noses. All sweet and dimples and cute in that way she somehow manages to pull off. Sticky with honey. "Thanks, so do you!" She grins and gives Leelah a quick once over with her eyes. There was no denying that the other girl looked notably stunning in that grayish toned suit. Liesel wished she could pull that look off too, but the fair haired girl didn't have enough curves, and if it weren't for her hair and face she could be easily mistaken for a boy.
Despite the fact that she had no romantic feelings towards Leelah, she felt a growing affection that made her actually enjoy having her company quite a lot. There was something about the tall girl, who always seemed so confident and friendly. She seemed as if the type that everyone knew and pretty much liked. Liesel had grown to admire her, and in a way envy her also. She would love to have that outgoing personality Leelah possessed. Maybe hanging out with her wasn't such a bad idea at all (not that it ever had been), for perhaps some of those traits would rub off on Liesel. Was she a fool for thinking such?
Still smiling, she impulsively gave Leelah a sudden hug which was stiff and awkward on Liesel's part (hugging was not her specialty), but it was genuine and her best attempt at being a nice "friend". "Thanks for being my date." She said the last part with a small laugh since it was meant as a joke (haha?), pulling away from the embrace and straightening her posture. Eyes constantly fleeting from one thing to the next, she found them resting on the punch table. Well, not quite literally the table or the punch, but who was standing next to it. She had seen Tristan multiple times before, but usually she opted to look at his general area instead of actually laying eyes on him. He looked good, he really did, but Liesel found herself feeling repulsed by just thinking about Tristan Bailey as anything but hideous. She also noticed Eden, but quickly moved her gaze back to Leelah before she started to stare.
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Post by maple on Aug 7, 2016 19:29:34 GMT -5
» tristan bailey // my sassy little jerk
There were a few things Tristan wanted to accomplish that night, and spiking the punch was most definitely one of them. Moments before Eden had decided to stare at him (yes Tristan notices those things) and made the comment about the punch, he had in fact whisked a small silver flask from the inside of his suit and poured the contents carelessly into the bowl of the koolaide colored drink. Not before taking a generous swig out of it himself, of course. He actually had the nerve to inwardly think now everyone else has my germs too haha! Talk about gross.
Tristan poured himself a cup too, pausing his response until after he chugged it's contents. That was followed up with a ahhhh sound that was nowhere near polite. "That could be one of the reasons." The dark-haired boy responded while raising one corner of his mouth. He leaned back, letting his eyes flicker around the room for a girl he could offer to get a cup of "punch" for. He really was terrible.
Eyes still searching the crowds, he spoke again. "So are you and that girl, what's her name...? Enid? Are you guys an item or something?" He wasn't really interested in small talk, nor was he interested in whether Eden or Enid were "together" or not (not really). He just liked saying random, meaningless things, that could be a jab or just a noisy question. It wasn't for him to decide. Tristan liked his games, maybe even more than he liked hitting on women (wow). He just couldn't resist stirring things up. Maybe that's why he asked, or maybe he was secretly interested in what was going on between the two (even though he would never admit this, not even to himself). Nevertheless he smirked, all full of himself and "tough".
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Post by koi on Aug 9, 2016 1:20:38 GMT -5
jasmin valeska and the most stream of consciousness post ive ever written for him --
There was something different.
(it isn’t wrong.)
There’s nothing different.
(It’s still different. It’s not wrong, it’s just a displacement of the usual simplicity of their friendship that had surrounded Jasmin alike to water. Rory had once asked if Jasmin thought it would be beneficial to drown. Jasmin thinks that if Rory asked the same now, Jasmin wouldn’t know how to answer, because this felt like drowning, felt like suffocating in cigarette smoke, or water, and it was not unwelcome.)
(It isn't wrong, but it is different.)
Sadja calls him beautiful. Jasmin does not show the emotion that starts to weigh oddly on his shoulders, just keeps smiling (freckled and dimpled and blue-brown eyes and dark eyelashes and dark eyebrows and all), but for some reason he feels as if it carries more weight than it usually does. Does’t Sadja compliment Jasmin often? His name is, to Sadja, practically Pretty Jas. He was oftentimes casually offered compliments like breaking bread to toss to ducks in a pond. So why does this feel--like the end of a show, curtains being drawn, inevitable, the sound of applause, inevitable, like the breath that has to come eventually after holding your breath underwater, or the breath that comes mid-jump and lets you soar higher--different?
(to quote something I said, I believe, in the truth or dare game referring to Eden, but is now relevant again: Jasmin would rather catch these hands than catch those feels.)
Two hours?
“That’ll be p-plenty,” he says; there is a moment where he is silent, lets the air between them become warm and fuzzy with something--something he can’t put a name to, wants to ask what the feeling is exactly because it is different, somehow, and Jasmin does not know enough to know exactly how it is different. This is starting to turn very stream of consciousness and I’ve never done that for Jasmin before??? “Don’t worry, S-Sadja; it’ll…”
Sadja Al Jarad tips his face down, very slightly, lightly, and kisses his cheek and--
(It’s just so different.)
Before Jasmin has time to pull away, maybe take a breather, get a damn drink (keep in mind: Jasmin does not know that the punch was spiked, but if he did know, he’d be half-scared and half-hell-yeah-let’s-get-hosed-I’m-emotionally-confused-and-scared-of-my-own-feelings), Sadja pulls him into the sweeping, swirling ballroom that is similar to the dancing around him, but it’s not, because there is a certainty to both Sadja and Jasmin’s movements, regardless of his anxieties,that is unlike anything, anyone, else around them.
In ballet, Jasmin often was chosen to partner with a girl who would, partner herself if she could. She would turn herself. She would hold her own waist during penchés and through promenades too. Right now, he thinks of her, thinks of the way she leads every single pas de deux they must do together, because Sadja is, for all intents and purposes, leading Jasmin in the dance and Jasmin can’t say he minds it. He just sends a smile to her. It is warm, but not like summer, not an all-encompassing warmth, a singular, focused sort of warmth like the burn of a fleeting flame.
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Post by koi on Aug 9, 2016 1:48:55 GMT -5
eden sytko --
Eden’s done filling his first cup when Tristan begins to pour himself a cup, and, well, the last time he’d seen someone drink something that fast it had been a boy shotgunning a beer at some party Eden had gone to over the summer. He’d done it in three seconds. Tristan does it in about five, maybe less. Eden may or may not count it, as he’d been watching the line of Tristan’s throat whilst doing so.
(There’ve been many times where Eden has thought to himself, ah, shit, I’m gay.) (To say this was not one of these times would be doing a great disservice to this roleplay.)
“You’re shitting me,” says Eden, slowly. Just as slowly, with amusement so heavy behind his eyes it makes them shine in the light, still looking at Tristan with an eyebrow raised, he brings his own cup to his lips, he downs his own drink (albeit, not as fast as Tristan has) and yeah--Eden can taste it. No way. Tristan wasn’t shitting Eden at all.
He wipes his mouth with the side of his hand, loosely in a fist when he does so, and when the words “You’re my hero,” slip out of his mouth afterwards, well, who can blame him.
He starts filling another cup up, pouring probably more than Enid will, realistically, want, and then another cup for himself (but, I mean, Eden isn’t a lightweight. At all. Which is actually sort of sad, because five drinks deep and the only thing that changes is that he laughs a little more and is just slightly more inclined towards singing. That’s it.), and then, Tristan starts talking and Eden makes a sound that is probably Polish, or just might be a noise of indignation, mild, still barely unheard over the sounds around them.
“Nope, not a thing,” he says, glances at Tristan, who is leaning against the wall in that typical bad boy with problematic tendencies way, but god help Eden if that is not his type. “I mean, I hope not, ‘cause if we are an ‘item’ without my knowledge, looks like I’ve cheated on her more than once.”
A pause, where Eden starts sipping idly on his own drink--a sip that turns way too long, that turns into Eden downing more than half of what he’d poured for himself, and when he takes his mouth off his cup long enough to answer, he says, “I’m also kind of trying to hook her up with Gray-With-An-A Markell over there. Y’know? The little one with the eyes? They give each other these looks that are just--” he doesn’t know why he’s telling Tristan this, talk about boys not to blurt everything to, Tristan would be near the top of that list, “--it’s almost uncomfortable standing near them.”
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Post by maple on Aug 9, 2016 2:29:20 GMT -5
» tristan bailey // just wrote this at midnight excuse the shortness
Tristan's smile is so lazy and small that it almost isn't even there. Just a flicker across his oh-so-blasé face, that held light amusement with the faintest trace of an expression. It's hard to tell what he's thinking at times like these, it could be multitude of thoughts, the only clear thing is that he likes it this way; mysterious and unreadable.
He watches as Eden downs a cup too, silent approval on his stony features as he once again tugs at the collar of his shirt. Damn suits. He's still not sure what to think of Eden exactly, only that he's what Tristan likes to refer to as a "pretty boy", by the means that his face alone could attract women and - apparently - men to him like a moth to a flame. Now, he wasn't jealous, not even in the slightest. Having good-looks himself was enough to keep Tristan's self-esteem to the point of stability (and far past that), so much to the point that he didn't need to be envious of others (as long as they weren't stealing too much attention from himself that is.)
Eden's comment does in fact get a rusty laugh out of him though, the type that was a little dry and harsh. Then again, everything was a little "harsh" when concerning Tristan Bailey. "Can't say that that's a bad thing." He responded with ease, lolling his head somewhat to the side as he watched two people stroll by. In all honesty, Tristan wasn't much of a cheater. Not, really that is.
Upon mentioning Gray - with an A - Markell, Tristan smirked just the tiniest bit as Eden poured quite a bit of information the dark-haired mans way. "Is that so?" He responded, turning his blue-eyed gaze across the room towards Enid. He didn't have much interested in the "who was into who" game, but he couldn't help but find this small scrap of info slightly interesting. "Why do you want them together so bad? Besides the fact that you think they have a connection." Tristan's demeanor hadn't changed in the slightest, it was still unreadable as he set his cup down on the punch table.
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Post by koi on Aug 9, 2016 3:00:46 GMT -5
Why does Eden want them together?
1. It made for a good story. 2. He wants Enid to be the happiest she can be. 3. He, to some extents, wouldn’t mind seeing Gray smile more too.
(4. He does not, exactly, feel welcome when Gray enters the conversation, when things turn into Enid-and-Gray-making-eyes-at-each-other-time. Eden is more defensive than anyone he knows, will sacrifice his image just to save himself in other ways. Eden remembers, vaguely, how Gray’s eyes had ran over his scar, when he’d quickly taken his shirt off to minimize Sadja’s blood loss as it was useless on Eden’s sopping wet form anyways; he remembers that he’d felt uneasy under the duress of his too-blue stare. It’s easy to equate it all with judgement. Eden feels it as such, regardless of what it had been.)
Eden regards Tristan coolly at his next words, at the way that harsh sort of laugh slips from between his lips. There is something within Tristan that is mirrored, albeit not quite as prominent, in Eden. Callous comments. Offhanded remarks that turn sour on sensitive ears.
Why does Eden want them together so bad?
There are too many things he could say to that, and not enough minutes in an hour, not enough minutes that Eden will have Tristan’s attention anyways—Eden knows boys like Tristan almost too well, knows it’s hard to keep them entertained, knows they move on to bigger and better things when they can, or, just choose another thing to put their attention on. So Eden shrugs. Actions speak louder than words. F*ck, shut up, Marika.
“Sort of just wanna see if I’m right,” says Eden. He wants to be right, sure. There are other reasons, more prominent, but—”Trying to see if my wingman skills are any good.”
And with that, Eden sends a blithe smile to Tristan, because Eden turns everything into a joke and this is no different. He should be getting back to Enid, anyhow.
(but for some reason, Eden glances over at Enid and Gray, and—)
“You’re doing God’s work by spiking the punch, by the way,” he says, and he may be smirking, or it may be the natural inclination of his lips; anyways, he is tilting his head, so that’s something—he keeps his voice low, cup to his lips. “If you get in trouble I’ll advocate for you.”
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Aug 9, 2016 11:20:58 GMT -5
(who is ready for a steaming platter of stream of consciousness? because bon appetit friends this is unedited! )
[ Gray Markell ]Eden Sytko touches his shoulder and Gray realizes that this is the first time he has seen Eden, really seen Eden, since the day at the lake over a month ago. His breath catches in his throat at the realization, at the memory of Eden kneeling next to him, pale hands stark in contrast the the red of Sadja’s blood, moving with a finesse that Gray had only registered as a necessary action at the time but looking back on it seemed natural, as he wrapped his shirt around her wound. The thought catches him off guard, a momentary insight he had overlooked.
You see Gray had always categorized Enid as the healing component in their relationship - certainly Eden was good for her, she loved him and, goodness, he cared for her, would probably tear the Earth in half for her - but Gray had always thought that it was Enid that kept them stable. Her center of gravity that Eden orbited around. But he is wrong, once again he is wrong. There is something ineffably gentle about Eden, something that contrasts so distinctly with his blunt and stone-and-chiseled-edges demeanor that it catches Gray off guard. Like standing on the beach as the waves roll into shore, feeling them swirl around his knees, all rhythmic and similar and predictable, before being knocked over by a sudden rogue that crashes into his chest, drags him down in the undertow.
Eden Sytko touches Gray’s shoulder and something is different. It is subtle, transient. Gray wants to catch his hand, wants to pull him around so that he can look into the eyes of that great stone dragon boy and see him.
(So much for setting him up with Enid, kid. You tried your best, but it was a lost cause. Always has been.)
But of course, Gray does nothing. Just twists his head and watches as the tall boy walks away. He and Enid are alone now. She is standing across from him looking radiant and beautiful and people are starting to move onto the dance floor and Gray is holding two cups of punch and Eden has left them alone. And Eden has left them alone. He clarified that he and Enid went as friends and then smirked and patted them both on the shoulder and now they are alone and - wait. Wait, what? Gray’s face remains impassive but he feels as if someone has kicked the box out from underneath him because there is a serious misunderstanding here.
(of course the first thing that runs through his mind is: not again. The second is: f*ck. )
Gray instinctively turns towards Eden again, as if he could glare the boy into seeing some sense, sign to him behind Enid’s back that he’s not interested in her, not like that. But Eden is now deep in conversation with Tristan Bailey and Tristan Bailey is spiking the punch. Gray wants to die. Wants to turn to Enid, ask her to shove him into the Black Lake, and sink down to the very bottom, become one with the pond grass. Maybe the Giant Squid would throw him a funeral before his body was inevitably eaten by Grindylows. Gray is in half a mind to go report Tristan to Headmaster Abernathy - at least that would give him a good excuse to go talk to the young man - except that Eden is there, and Gray isn’t a snitch. He’s a pretentious asshole who is plenty fond of giving out detentions and making sure students adhere to the rules, but he isn’t going to turn Tristan in. There’s no value in that.
Gray then remembers the punch and his hands and in turn, Aviva Harel. He turns to Enid. “I suppose I should head back, now.” He should say something witty, something that would indicate that he had a personality, was something beyond just pretty eyes and status, beyond simply a computer, cold wires and circuitry, that gained sentience, but, frankly, he’s too lost in thought to even brush hands with the world, never mind think of something clever and living, “I don’t want Aviva to think I ditched her.”
(My muse just hit a brick wall, oops, this is what I get for not sleeping) And so Enid probably responds or something, and Gray feels guilty about ditching her, now, but assumes Eden will be back in a second, so he walks back to Aviva, his lips pulled back into a smile again (empty empty empty). “Sorry that took so long”, and his eyes are cold. “But, if it’s any condolence, after seeing everyone else, I am almost certain you are the prettiest girl in the room.”
❁
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Post by servalstrike on Aug 9, 2016 11:29:36 GMT -5
Sadja;
Sadja was leading in two dances. One she was aware of, moving effortlessly to the rhythm of the music with her feet taking steps she didn’t even have to think about as they were being taken. The other she was less aware of, a dance between just her and Jasmin that followed only the beat of her heart and gentle sway of her body.
For just a moment, Sadja lets herself be selfish. Instead of closing off her newly developing feelings behind a curtain of silk. Instead of hiding them from Jasmin’s blue-brown eyes to spare him any discomfort she lets them out. Through a language only she and Jasmin could speak, dance, she frees them to soar through the air around her like the colorful ribbons of the Northern Lights. It was just...whether or not Jasmin picked up on any of it. He was as aroace as a rock and he didn’t mean it but sometimes he was pretty dense when it came to picking up on subtle hints, even if they weren’t subtle at all.
Sadja hung onto Jasmin’s hand as she spun herself on the stone floor. Her dress swirled around her, making her feel like a whirling dervish. Her black hair flew through the air with her, catching the light and glimmering like shadow incarnate. Pulling herself back into Jasmin’s arms she pressed herself against him taking a moment to catch her breath.
Her face burned red, with panting breaths and a smile that glowed like the dying light of the setting sun she met Jasmin’s eyes. “Dance with me forever. Not just now, but forever.”
The words slipped out before she could catch them. There was meaning behind the words that Sadja now knew might back Jasmin into a corner. But, again, she was being selfish. It wasn’t fair of her to start changing things between them just because Jasmin was starting to look far more attractive to her than he had before.
But things were changing. Things were different.
Whether they were changing like the leaves on the trees in autumn, withering and dying. Or changing like a caterpillar into a butterfly, growing and becoming beautiful and full of life. Either way she was falling. Either way they would dance on the wind.
The look in her eyes hardened and stopped dancing. Her grip on him became firm in a way like she was claiming him. “Would you dance with me until the stars turn to dust?”
Suddenly loosening her grip on him she took a step back to give him space, as though realizing just what she was saying to him and regretting it. Her mouth felt parched all of a sudden, she looked around wondering if it was too late to run away from him, from his answer, and get a drink.
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Aug 9, 2016 12:09:37 GMT -5
[ Leelah Veyera ]
Soft, honey and pumpkin spice candlelight flickers around the room, casting shadows like cinnamon, highlights like candy corn, drapes the Great Hall in the colors of fall and of warmth. It capitalizes on the bubbling voices of the students, accentuates the mood, brings it to a crescendo. Golden light falls onto Liesel Wailes soft silver hair and Leelah thinks “wow she is beautiful” and also “wow you are in too deep." Then, of course, Liesel calls Leelah her date, and really it's all over. Leelah is grinning from cheek to cheek. Hah, you wish! (Actually, it was Leelah who was doing the actual wishing. I mean, who wouldn’t be wishing that they could go on a date with the adorable little deer that was Liesel Wailes because look how cute she was! Slender and elven in her dress, a shimmering off-white that complimented her hair, made her night and day eyes stand out even more poignantly than they usually did. Once again, wow, what a babe. Leelah wanted to punch herself in the face.)
“The honor is all mine, my dear”, Leelah jests back, her lips curling up in a laugh, peach lipstick contrasting against the white of her large, neat teeth (the product of three horrible years of braces). The music in the hall seemed to be swelling, and for a moment Leelah wondered where it was coming from. As far as she could tell there was no DJ, which came as no surprise since Absolon Abernathy struck Leelah as the kind of man who would die before he hired some cheap highschool-prom-music-guy for his event. What a pretentious ass.
For a moment Leelah lets her gaze drift away from Liesel, looking over the rest of the crowd. She finally see’s the Abernathy’s and, oh how fancy, she could have scoffed, god, they were taking this whole ‘royalty of the school’ thing to a whole new level now. Talk about trying too hard. She has to look away from them before her nose wrinkled in judgement, and instead peers over towards the punch table, where Tristan Bailey and Eden Sytko stand. Leelah notices that Liesel’s eyes have gone there too. Of course they have. Eden is there, and dang that girl must have a crush on him. How cute. She needs a better taste in men. Leelah finally lets her gaze turn towards the dance floor, spotting the literal goddess that is Sadja al Jarad and her not-husband-but-come-on-they’re-basically-married-friend Jasmin Valeksa completely owning it out there. The room is more of their kingdom than it is the Abernathy’s. Ah, but that gave Leelah a spark of inspiration, and she turns to Liesel with a smile. “Would you care to join me in a dance?”
❁
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Aug 9, 2016 13:11:28 GMT -5
[ Maelle Lejeune ]
To say that Maelle Lejuene was not beautiful was to say that the sun did not emit light. That water floated on ice, that to live one only had to die.
Maelle had always been confident in her looks; even from her childhood she had been constantly complimented, told that she looked like a model, that she should have been on Toddlers and Tiara’s, that she moved like the world was her catwalk. Growing up in the constant presence of compliments like that had sculpted Maelle into a woman perhaps too self-assured in her own beauty. She wore it like it was one of the, if not the, most important facets of her being. That being said, she had taken this dance quite seriously, using it as a stage upon which to parade her natural assets. She was new to the school, still trying to figure out her place, where she belonged. Maelle would use this dance to make the school her kingdom; she was Marie Antoinette, they simply had not realized this yet.
Well, maybe that was a bit extreme an analogy, but in short: Maelle wanted people to notice her. She did not need to be the center of attention (she was not a narcissist - her mother and her had spent many hours over the dinner table talking about what a clinical narcissist was, and Maelle could stand very assured that she was not one) but she liked to be. She was only human, after all. Feeling important was fun; power could woo even the most timid of souls. So, as it goes, if she made herself into an image of power the school would fall, metaphorically, at her feet. Metaphorically as in the boys heads would all turn as she walked past, and maybe some of the girls, hopefully, Maelle has never been all that fond of softball, but when she did play, she swung both ways. She liked to be admired.
So the dress she wore to the dance would have to be one worthy of being admired in. Maelle was not particularly rich, her mother was a psychologist, which brought in a healthy amount of money, but not enough that they threw it around without any regard for expenses. But Margaux Lejeune also had some connections; her daughter was a model and she had become friends with some very upper class moms whose children were also pinnacles of human beauty. She had called around to them, asking if they had any several-thousand-dollar-designer-dresses laying around that their kids might have worn once and never touched again. The response had been very enthusiastic. No one would ever know, would ever guess, that Maelle’s dress was anything but new. But the fact that it was is important; a flaw in Maelle’s seemingly perfect facade, one that she recognized and one that she was slightly insecure about.
The dress itself was strapless and ebony black. The corset was embroidered with gold silk, threading into natural patterns, resembling the feathers of a peacock and twisting tendrils of ivy. The bottom of the gown came down in a mermaid-esque fashion, covered in layers of tulle like ravens feathers or a waterfall. The back of the dress dipped down, bejeweled and uneven, as if it were melding with her skin, coming out of it, a mere extension of her body. She wore a heavy gold collar necklaces as an accessory, but left her shoulders and wrists bare, sans a handful of golden rings decorating her fingers. Her hair had been done up in a complicated plaited bun and adorned with a thin, golden leaf headband, arranged in a similar pattern to that of her dress. In summary, she looked pretty fine.
Maelle entered the Great Hall fashionably late and alone. This was her moment; she did not need to share the spotlight with anyone else. As she entered she defaulted to walking over to the punch table, noticing a few boys, and wondered if someone had already spiked the punch.
❁
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Post by maple on Aug 9, 2016 18:24:42 GMT -5
» tristan bailey // i wrote this on mobile yikes
Tristan helps himself to more punch, filling his cup with a generous amount - perhaps a lot more than he needs. It would take awhile yet for him to actually become drunk, but with a few added cups his mouth would most likely start to run more than it already was.
"Aw." Tristan nodded as if he understood and smiled as if he cared. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. All he was sure of was that the punch tasted damn good and he was ready to have a good time. It was strange though, that Eden could profess that he was playing match-maker, while his eyes kept wandering back to Enid and Gray as if there was something he longed to look at. It could be that he just liked seeing them together, or maybe there was something else he wasn't sharing. Either way, it wasn't really Tristan's business and for once he didn't feel the need to be noisier than he already had been.
"That's what I'm here for." Tristan responded, raising the corner of his mouth in a smirk. He pushed off the wall and stretched with a huffing sigh, before picking back up his cup. "And thanks man." He downed the rest of his punch, and clapped Eden on his shoulder in a friendly "you're my bro" sort of way, that probably had more to do with the alcohol than actually being nice. "Just one thing," The dark-haired man wiped his mouth and let his hand hang in the air. "If you see any girl who wants some punch or doesn't have anyone to dance with - you make sure to send her my way." He presumed to laugh again, despite that his request was pretty much dead serious.
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Aug 9, 2016 21:13:12 GMT -5
sorry this is short, just wanted to throw something up there for ya' <3 tristan is such a wild child i love him
[ Maelle Lejeune ]There were already two people standing by the punch bowl: one of them she knew, one of them she did not. Eden Sytko had never really stuck out to Maelle, besides the fact that he had an interesting face that seemed almost threatening in its beauty. His eyes were dark, a kind of green-gray-brown that Maelle couldn't quite pin point, couldn't quite decipher. Dark hair on pale skin, eye-lashes like natural mascara. He was tall, too. Height was always an added perk on guys; it was intimidating, and Maelle respected the value of intimidation. Power was attractive, and she was merely a mortal woman. With that being said, she only gave a simple look at Eden, flashed him a sweet smile that could be taken as friendly or flirty depending on who saw it and how much they had to drink beforehand. Maelle's attention had already been drawn elsewhere. To the other boy standing next to the punch bowl. The one she did not know.
Tristan Bailey. Okay, so "did not know" was not in it's entirety correct. She knew who Tristan was, via word of mouth at least. She had only been at the school for two months but Tristan had himself quite a reputation. Pretty boy. Rabble rouser. Got detention the first day back from classes for mouthing off to Professor Reid (really, of all people to talk back to). She also knew that he was a fairly popular boy; well-liked by some of the students, loathed by others. Which is how one got 'popular'; they did enough to garner themselves a reputation, and reputations tended to be those subjective good-bad judgements. Maelle had not held off on forming an initial opinion of Tristan; knew that to do such a thing was pointless. Human nature dictated one form an initial picture - a bias, so to speak, for or against a person. It was a natural thing, instinctive. She and her mother talked about that kind of stuff a lot, over the dinner table and while watching TV at night. Now that she was looking at Tristan, however, Maelle felt her opinion changing slightly, insofar that she realized that, up close even more so than afar, he was very dashing.
What was it with all these Hogwarts students and their unnatural attractiveness? Where are the ugly people?
Maelle smiles as she approaches the punch. There is a faint smell of alcohol on Tristan. Well, that answered her question about the spiking. She pauses. Grins wider. "So, which one of you saved the dance?"
❁
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Post by maple on Aug 9, 2016 22:31:48 GMT -5
» liesel wailes
The vibe in the room was low lights and flickering candles that glowed brightly, casting shadows along the stone walls and ceilings. The decorations were rustic colors that shimmered with an autumnal hues that was a clear indication of the season to come. Liesel loved when the leaves changed their colors to shades of reds and oranges, when the air became more mild with that crisp breeze that reminded her of cinnamon spiced lattes and pumpkin pies. She liked to wear heavy sweaters that were a size too big, accompanied by wooly socks and lace up boots. The season as a whole made her feel warm and fuzzy.
And Leelah has that unique type of grin that is contagious, the one that makes your own face stretch into a mirror image without your consent at all. It's a nice smile, with pearly white teeth that are lovely and straight (liesel has a small obsession with people's teeth). She has a such a radiance about her, detectable in the way she grins or the way she laughs. It radiates in warm waves.
When Leelah asked Liesel to dance it came somewhat as a surprise, mostly because she wasn't use to such a request. Sure, she'd danced with people before, but it always felt awkward and strained. Where do you even look? Directly into their eyes as if you were staring into their soul? Over their shoulder at someone else? These had been the main thoughts circulating around her mind during the last experiences, but surprisingly she wasn't a bad dancer. Throughout her youth, Liesel had taken ballet classes and other genres, mostly to fill up spare time. However, there was something special that she felt when the music was starting; the way her heart matched it's speed and her body it's rhythm. In these times it was easy to clear her mind of the unwanted garbage that liked to reside there.
"I would love to." Liesel smiled, because she knew that this time wouldn't be awkward or weird, it would be fun and enjoyable. She didn't have to feel any pressure to be a certain way with Leelah; it's easy to feel at ease when you're around someone you're comfortable with.
"Shall we?" She took a few strides towards the dance floor, glancing of her shoulder and holding out her hand.
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Aug 9, 2016 23:43:52 GMT -5
sorry this took so long! i got distracted writing about lilo and stich.
[ Leelah Veyera ]Liesel Wailes smiles and the music in the room seems to swell, to play to the same rhythm of Leelah's heartbeat. She smiled over at the other girl, not that she had ever stopped smiling, (it is still up for debate whether Leelah, could, in fact, frown. Very few people can claim to have seem the girl without some sort of grin playing at the edges of her lips. Among the few that can be counted as Sadja Al Jarad and Graham Cracker the nixie, neither of which, Leelah assumed, would ever want to brag about the experience. Professor Reid may have seen her too, Leelah realizes then, after she had run out of the lake, arms wrapped around the waist of Cordelia Spencer. When people talked about the lake attack they talked about those who were physically injured; Enid Glass, Aviva Harel, Sadja, Cordelia. Those who had been cut, torn, pulled down into the sea by the manifestation of a lucid nightmare. They did not talk about those who had watched their friends drowned in front of them, helpless. They did not talk about those who did not flee, who stayed in the water and, often times, physically dragged a wounded classmate from the claws of what at the time must have seemed Death itself. Leelah crawled out of that lake shaking, pretending she was not shaking because Cordelia needed help. Cordelia needed help and Leelah had just stared all the monsters in the depths of the ocean in the face and spat at them, spat teeth and blood, and walked out alive. She could survive standing on shore. Could survive anything - right?)
Leelah does not think about any of that now. She is a happy girl, for the most part, the kind of girl who tries to see the light side of every situation; a relentless optimist always ready with a smile or a kind word. She is at a dance with a pretty girl across from her and music playing in the back ground. She will not let fear drive her away from this dream. She holds out her arm. "After me, my lady." And she is grinning, teasing and wild, her black hair slicked back and glossy against her tan complexion, candles flickering shades of sweet orange against her face. Leelah is not a beautiful person, is not pretty, her brows are too light, jaw's too wide, too sharp, too unconventional to be considered gorgeous. But she is warm. If there is one thing that Leelah is, it is warm. And as she takes Liesel by the hand she feels as if all the warmth in the universe has consolidated into one little bubble somewhere in her chest, a little balloon of pure joy.
She takes Liesel Wailes onto the dance floor and moves to lead, moves into the music. "At least the music they're playing is good", she quips, hand around the other girls waist, casual, they're just here as friends and Leelah is happy with that. Content with it. She likes being friends with Liesel and would never want to push it to anything more. "I wasn't sure what to expect with Abernathy heading the dance and all. I think the only thing that would have surprised me is if I walked in and saw Sir Mix-A-Lot up on a stage or something."
❁
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Post by maple on Aug 10, 2016 1:16:59 GMT -5
» tristan bailey
Holy undeniable hotness. Tristan's eyes stopped scouring the room abruptly when they landed on the complete goddess that was standing in front of him. He down the rest of his cup without taking his eyes of off her. He could care less if his gaze was a rude stare, or that it flickered from her head to her toes. Maybe he'd had one too many drinks, but this beautiful women standing in front of him looked really good. So much, that he ignored Eden's presence completely to center his full attention around his new interest. With the light reflecting off her dark hair and equally dark eyes, dappling across her skin - Tristan found himself leaning closer and letting out a breath that he had presumably been holding.
"That would be me." He responding while running a hand through his hair, allowing a somewhat smug smile to spread across his swarthy face (which up until that point had been serious considering his deep focus on all the details of the walking goddess, who he had no knowledge of name wise). "And who might you be?" He was good at keeping composure, smiling in that casual half-focused fashion, the only thing giving way to his interest being the intensity of his gaze. Just because Tristan thought that this stranger was attractive and fascinating, didn't mean that he was genuine - not in the least. It would take a lot more than gorgeous looks to tame him.
His charm just getting started, Tristan grabbed a new cup from the stack and filled it (rather full if I do say so) with the spiked punch, a mischievous expression on his face all the while. tristan sounds like a ****phile omg "Thirsty?" He offered out the cup.
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Post by koi on Aug 10, 2016 3:47:11 GMT -5
jasmin valeska --
One more time for anyone who may not have heard: the Valeska’s are absolutely terrible with romance.
Once, Jasmin had apparently made a girl think that he liked her. They were fourteen. They were fourteen, and Jasmin barely loved dance back then. Jasmin barely loved anything. Then, when questioned about his feelings for the poor girl, he’d said something like “Oh god no.”
And she’d found out, somehow. Somehow, someone had told her that Jasmin had denied it with such vehemence it had sounded cruel, because Jasmin was afraid of everything it entailed. What heavy meanings hung behind a simple question: “do you like her?”
She had found out, and her best friend, and one of Jasmin’s dearest allies, a certain Giovanna De Luca, had slapped him across the face for hurting the poor thing.
(And Rory, Rory sits with his back against Jasmin’s wall, his grandfather’s wall, their grandfather's wall, technically, looks tired, worn thin, he’s always a little scuffed up like a pair of shoes work down to sole. Glances sideways at a fifteen year old Jasmin. He smiles, smiles like the anything that had mattered the last time Jasmin saw him has been dashed into sand.)
(“Whatever you f*cking do,” starts Rory, and Jasmin is always taken aback by his voice because he looks soft to touch and his voice is lower than it looks like it should be and just as cold. “Don’t fall in love with anyone. Seriously, Jas, it’s…”)
Jasmin—Jas—can finish the sentence now.
(it’s wonderful. his cousin is, as he most always is, classically wrong.)
Sadja is a vision.
A comet does not need a hand to hold as it streaks across the sky, painting an image of not fire but perhaps the streaking of clouds tainted red, tainted gold, tainted all the colours Jasmin equates with her. But Sadja, a comet, a shooting star, decides to hold Jasmin’s hand as she enters the atmosphere as if blessing the mortal world with her presence. If he could draw, if Jasmin were a more talented person, he would want to paint the way she looks, in that small moment that isn’t small no longer but the forefront of Jasmin’s mind, being taken over by the vision that is Sadja. She says something to him.
And Jasmin is eloquent. We all know this important fact about him. He is a lyricist who writes things that can be sung perfectly to the melody of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. He is as vocabularically (haha i made that word up it's 1:30) gifted at speaking as a damn prime minister. So Jasmin, who is a real catch, just says to Sadja: “What?”
And then, Sadja is slipping away from Jasmin. Falls out of his grasp. Sadja is a comet. And she does not need a hand to hold anymore.
“I just—” don’t understand. But he wants to scream. He is close to understanding, one drop of rainwater falling into a gutter from an overflow. It is far away, still, miles and miles but—
(When Jasmin thinks of Sadja, he gets a rush in his stomach, between his innards, and Jasmin thinks it has to mean something. It is anxiety. But it isn’t. That would be like calling the moon a rock, or a mountain a hill, or the sea just a stream.)
Jasmin is brave, sometimes. It’s a selective trait. He reaches out, brushes his knuckles against her cheek.
“I would,” says Jasmin. "I w-will. B-but don’t hate me if I s-sprain m-my ankle and—and have t-to hop on one f-foot unt-until the stars t-turn to dust.”
and in a movement of bravery, of his selective bravery, Jasmin smiles, and it is genuine.
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Post by koi on Aug 10, 2016 4:03:53 GMT -5
eden sytko --
Meanwhile, a little whiles away from the Love Story (On The Dance Floor) that was Jasmin and Sadja, Sadja and Jasmin, Enid is left behind, left by herself, by the boy Eden tried to set her up with who goes back to his date, and Eden is promptly forgotten by a straight boy who found a pretty girl to talk nicely to. And it's f*cking ironic.
(i am wholeheartedly tempted to leave this post as one paragraph, because this p much sums everything up, but i feel like hon would kill me.)
Eden drinks his second drink too fast, fills it up a third time faster, sends a cordial smile to Maelle (and wonders. Wonders what type of girl she is, wonders if he and Maelle share a type in boys, because who the hell would talk to Tristan—who is lingering by the punch bowl like a seagull at a restaurant on a beach making eyes at tourists and daring them to feed it—if the said person didn’t want to get themselves, A. hurt, or B. laid.), and he takes Enid and his own drinks in his hands and begins to make his way back to her.
He is smiling, still, by the time he reaches her. Hands out a cup.
“It’s spiked already, and I didn’t know if you’d want some still, but.” I’m seventeen in a few hours. I want to wake up in a ditch somewhere. I want to go get hosed and make out with someone. Goddamn. eden you are a literal baby none of that is a good idea. He shrugs, starts sipping his third drink like it’s his first and he’s trying to take it slow.
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Post by servalstrike on Aug 10, 2016 11:48:48 GMT -5
Sadja;
Sadja wonders if she made the wrong choice. If she moved too fast and is about to scare her best friend away. Perhaps she did move too fast, these feelings were new to her after all and she wasn’t even sure how to handle them herself let alone make someone else handle them.
So when Jasmin speaks and he speaks words of uncertainty and unknowing she can only be sure that he is about to have some kind panic attack.
She hopes that she hasn’t startled the rabbit back into it’s burrow by baring her teeth when she was only trying to smile.Because Jasmin is everything to her. He is kind and sincere. His stutter matches her thick accent so when they are together no one can make fun of the way they talk. They both mess up words and they both love to dance. Jasmin is imposing and intimidating to anyone who doesn't really know. But he is so beautiful, even if he has what her mother would call "breeder hips" but Sadja doesn't mind, his legs and butt are gorgeous anyway.
Because every moment with Jasmin is another second she spends floating among the stars. Vast and beautiful and breathtaking. The boy leaves her with no air.
No, that wasn’t quite right. He didn’t take her air. He was her air. How could he or anyone expect Sadja to breathe in a world with no air?
Her face scrunches considering him for a moment. Then, Sadja laughs, she laughs and it is so sincere and sweet sounding. It brightens every facet of her face. Putting her hand over his and holding it to her cheek she grinned at him. “Pretty Jas, if you sprain the ankle than I will sprain mine as well. If you hop I will have to do the hop to.” It’s something different. Saying that instead of protecting him or taking care of him she would join him. That she would share his experience as an equal.
She kept his hand in hers as she pulled him against her. “You are the air to me, Jasmin Marlowe Valeska, I would spend the rest of eternity with you if both of your legs were broken.” An overstatement? Not for Sadja al-Jarad, the girl who ended up the leader of a secret rebellion by mistake. “I would break my own legs so that you did not feel the lonely.”
Turning her face up to his, her eyes reflecting in the candlelight. “Jasmin, if you don’t share my feelings of...burning affection then tell me. I would feel worse about making you try and feel something that isn’t there than about your rejection.”
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Aug 10, 2016 12:42:34 GMT -5
i quite enjoy writing short posts. i should do this more often. ok but seriously i wasn't sure what to write so, take this meager offering. i tried. i t r i e d.
[ Maelle Lejeune ]Of course it was Tristan Bailey. Eden didn't strike Maelle as the kind of person who would spike the punch, more so the one who would immediately down several cups and then do something stupid. Like make out with his ex-girlfriend. Or his ex-girlfriends boyfriend. And then probably regret it the next day. But that was simply what Maelle observed. Tristan, on the other hand, seemed to operate somewhat outside of the rules. As if they did not matter to him; as if he was above them, in some way. Maelle watched him as he moved around the punch bowl, as his features skewered into a grin. He was pretty in that traditional way that boys were. Nice body, pretty hair, features that aligned well. There was nothing particularly stunning about him, but he was attractive. Anyways, he seemed to be playing along with her. Why not see where this led?
(Maelle once asked Margaux Lejeune about her father. Well - that was a lie - Maelle asked about him a lot, but Margaux just gave her a lot of vague answers. For most of her childhood Maelle did not even know his name. Margaux had just called him "your father" or "that fool" or "the dumbest piece of shit I have ever had the misfortune of knowing". Anyways, this time Maelle asked why, if her mother seemly hated this man so much, they were even screwing around to the point where she eventually happened. Twelve year old Maelle probably phrased it like that, too. She was a sassy child. Margaux had turned to her daughter, ran a hand through Maelle's poofy mess of hair. "I wanted to see what would happen", she had said. "Even the most seemingly worthless people have their uses, love.")
(Maelle wasn't saying that Tristan Bailey was a useless tool, but well, she hadn't quite figured out what his use was.)
(Besides spiking the punch, of course.)
"Maelle Lejeune", she said this with a small smile, tilting her head slightly, flirty. She said her name in the English way, letting vowels drop, hard and solid, instead of how they would roll when spoken by a natural French speaker. Here people said her name like they were saying "mail". It was pathetic. But she had learned to live with it. "Ah, and thank you. This dance was turning out to be quite - oh, what is the phrase - a let down before this small development. You are my white knight."
❁
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Post by maple on Aug 10, 2016 18:19:42 GMT -5
liesel wailes // this is a lame post im just a little blah
The music was pretty and light-hearted, the perfect tune to stay in rhythm with. Face to face with Leelah, she smiled, all the while realizing how grateful she was that the other girl was being so nice.
Her laughter was almost an impulse, finding it hard to contain as she listened to her dance partner speak. "True." Her eyes flickered away, briefly wondering where exactly the music was even coming from. It echoed from all directions. "You know, I really didn't have high hopes for this, like the whole event." Her voice lowered as her expression became more solemn. The seriousness and quietness oozing back into her demeanor. "It always feels like the excitement is preparing for the event, but once you get there..." Her thought trailed off into nothing, a dark abyss of statements she never finished. There was a slight pause, a momentary silence. "But this time I'm actually glad that I'm here." Maybe her change of heart had something to do with Leelah, or maybe it had to do with Liesel's willingness to have an open mind, who would think that you could have more fun going with a friend than an actual "date"? It was unexpected, and honestly a pleasant relief.
There was something that bothered her though, a tiny little thorn that was lodged somewhere in the back of her mind all the while. It wasn't enough to dampen on her mood, nor was it much of a relevant problem, but Liesel felt the need to address it nevertheless. "Why-Why are you so nice to me?" Out of all the bothersome things that could agitate someone, this was the question that was bothering her. It made her feel somewhat stupid for even asking, but Liesel truly wanted to know. Sure, they were friends, but she didn't want Leelah befriending her out of pity. She didn't want anyone feeling the need to hangout with her merely because she seemed lonely, or because they felt obligated to for some reason. Liesel didn't need charity, nor did she want it.
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Aug 11, 2016 13:27:21 GMT -5
once again, sorry this is so short! I just wanted to get something up while i was home (also it's unedited stream of consciousness lol sorry friends)
[ Leelah Veyera ]The room is spinning, but in a good way. Leelah has her hand around Liesel Wailes waist and they are dancing. They are dancing at this wreck of an event and Leelah is happy, is happy in a way she hasn't been in a while. This doesn't not imply that Leelah is not often happy. She is the faithful optimist, always grinning, always trying to keep a cheerful attitude about everything. But ever since the lake attack there has been something - different - about her. About the school as a whole, really. Like someone had cast a shadow over it that the even the brightest lights could not obscure, would only magnify it. Leelah wasn't blaming this shadow completely on Headmaster Abernathy, but hell if she didn't think he was a big part of it. She wanted to punch the man right in his stupid little mouth. God. Chill, Leelah, chill. She's dancing with a pretty girl and that is where her mind is right now. On Liesel Wailes. On the way she laughs when Leelah talks (Leelah likes that about her; it's selfish, but Leelah loves people who laugh with her), how her smiles are small and fleeting, but seem to glow, to mute out the rest of the room, in the seconds they are there. Liesel should smile more, Leelah thinks. It looks good on her.
"Well, I'm glad you're here too", Leelah is still grinning. Still smiling. How her cheeks are not sore by now is beyond me. The dance floor is light and beautiful and in this moment everything is good. She would have to leave later, sneak out and go find something incriminating in Abernathy's office, but now she was enjoying being here with Liesel Wailes. (Of course, she was highly anticipating the break in too. She was not above falsifying evidence if it would get Abernathy kicked out. I mean, he did throw them into a lake filled with murderous mermaid things. Her loathing of him is very justified.)
"Why-Why are you so nice to me?"
Liesel speaks and, okay. Okay. There are two ways that statement could be phrased. One, that throws a wrench of paranoia into Leelah's gut, is that Liesel is assuming that Leelah is being nice to her because Leelah has a crush on her. Which is always an awkward topic to breach. The other is that Liesel doesn't have that much self-esteem and has no idea why Leelah wants to be around her. Which is really depressing, damn. Leelah isn't sure which option she dislikes more. Anyways, this isn't the kind of talk best suited to a dance floor. Leelah is smart enough to know this little fact. "Hey", Leelah stops moving, takes Liesels hands. Clasps them with both of hers. Lets her expression turn serious for a moment (she's still smiling, but not grinning in the wild way she usually does.) "You're pretty cool, Liesel, and I think you're one of the sweetest people I've ever met. Of course I want to be nice to you." Leelah grins again. "And I would be nice to you even if I didn't like you. I like to think that I'm a pretty nice person in general - even to literal human trashbags like Tristan Bailey over there. And trust me, I like you way more that I like him."
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Post by maple on Aug 11, 2016 19:44:07 GMT -5
tristan bailey // this is so short im sorry >.<
Now, being shy had never been much of a road block for Tristan, there was nothing introverted about the young man. He was a bit of a loud mouth, and considerably opinionated when it came to talking. He had a sense of confidence that could be detected even when he wasn't speaking, just by the way he held his head or his stature. Despite his obnoxious and occasionally callous remarks, he is far from stupid. With the amount of classes he's chosen not to attend you'd think his grades would suffer - but that's just the catch. He's actually incredibly smart, blessed with knowledge and talent, which is often put to waste considering that he keeps this to himself and acts like it doesn't matter. Maybe what Tristan needs is a challenge, or something to occupy his free time besides getting into trouble.
"Maelle," he tasted the name on his tongue, "A pretty name for a pretty girl." He leaned against the table with a smile on his lips. Vibrant blue eyes intently focused, his face almost softening. A muscle in the left side of his jaw tightens. It was sometimes the little things that made Tristan attractive.
"Well, Maelle Lejeune, do you dance?" He smiled with his teeth, white and straight.
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Aug 11, 2016 23:04:32 GMT -5
skipping to saturday night forbidden forest detention - - Enid }
Stepping out into the night, you wouldn’t think it was only early November. The landscape was a sea of white, rolling mounds of bone-white and cold. A skeletal sky stretched overhead, revealing an underbelly speckled with stars like diamond-dust. Clouds could be seen moving in from the horizon, blotting out the moon as they made their way across the sky. Enid shivered in her coat, breath puffing white and fog-like in the frozen air.
Despite being stuffed into a heavy wool coat, she could still feel the bite of the razor-sharp wind against her cheeks. It was especially cruel to her ears. Not even a minute outside and already they had turned the color of cherries. Wrapping her arms around herself, she made her way down the path to the Forbidden Forest, forced to forge her own way through the ankle-deep snow drifts, but not without a touch of help.
Pawprints zig-zagged through the fresh layer of snow, guiding Enid’s way to where the shadow of the trees swallowed the white of the snow. Sitting just outside the treeline was Professor Applejuice, wrapped in a sweater of thick, yellow cloth. Paired with his black, hairless skin; Enid would have thought he wore the sweater on purpose, brandishing Hufflepuff colors in one of the few acts of rebellion left to them. Enid had worn her old Gryffindor scarf; half out of rebellion, half out of necessity.
Even with the detention, everything the other night had gone as planned. The botany club had broken into the Headmaster’s Tower undetected. From there, everything they needed had been laid out plainly on Abernathy’s desk. A wide array of information spread before their eyes in the form of scattered parchments scribbled with notes in English and Korean and dusty tomes opened to pages displaying pictures of pearls clutched in dragon claws. Abernathy was looking for something, something that had to with those pearls. Most of the notes— having been written in Korean —were undecipherable to them. Deciding it best to take what evidence they could, they had grabbed a couple of the parchments. Soon after that, though, had been their discovery by Abernathy himself and the detention was the result.
“Miss Glass,” Applejuice stood up with a stretch, implying he’d been waiting for a while, “Glad you could make it. Headmaster Abernathy has informed me that I am to be watching over your detention for the evening. You’re lucky you weren’t expelled for what you kids did.”
Enid’s lips pursed into a frown, glancing off into the woods. He was right and she knew it. Breaking and entering in itself was a criminal offense, but to break into the Headmaster’s office? On top of that, how long would it take for Abernathy to figure out his parchments were missing and to connect the stolen items to them? They had a plan in place: hand the evidence over to Professor Cicuta so she could properly expose him to the Ministry. But how long would that take? Would the botany club be expelled before the Ministry had a chance to fire Abernathy?
Enid had never thought about it before, never thought about expulsion. Detention was one thing. Serve out your sentence for a day or a week and that was all. But to never return to Hogwarts? The thought alone made Enid’s stomach churn uneasily.
“Ahem.” A cough yanked her attention back to the real world, to the icy night and snowy forest. She glanced down at Applejuice, staring up at her expectantly with all three of his eyes. “The snow is bloody murder on my paws, if you would be a dear…” He trailed off, still staring at her with those unnaturally sentient eyes. Enid nodded again, having left her notepad behind for the night, it was her only form of communication. Not that she really needed it with Professor Applejuice, she was half-convinced he could read her mind.
Hesitantly, she scooped the Divination Professor up into her arms. She’d never held a teacher before. Plenty of cats, but never one that could speak and see the future. It felt… Wrong. Grossly, inherently wrong. But Applejuice didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed quite content to lounge in her arms. She turned back to look out into the forest, wondering how exactly they would be serving out their detention.
Did Applejuice have anything specific in mind for them? Abernathy had certainly mentioned nothing of it. The most details he had given them of their detention was time and place. Precisely 8:30 PM on Saturday at the Forbidden Forest. It was like a party invitation with no party. And it was freezing. And no wants to be there. Seeing as she was the first to arrive, it was all Enid could to stand in the snow, carrying a teacher in her arms, and not try to look as awkward as she felt. A difficult task, to say the least.
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Post by servalstrike on Aug 11, 2016 23:43:10 GMT -5
Sadja;
Brisk wasn’t the word Sadja wanted to use as she walked out into the early November night. It was cold. It didn’t just feel cold, it looked cold. The night sky glittered with stars, as though someone spilled crushed diamonds on ink. Patches of clouds blotted out sections of the beautiful canvas that the sky had become. The world had been leeched of its color by ice and snow, bleached like old bones or a dead tree.
Tightly wrapping her heavy garments around herself she made her way down to the Forbidden Forest. She didn’t have to choose her path though, thankfully one had already been laid out ahead of her possibly by another student of the professor that had been assigned to chaperone them.
The frozen air bit her nose and dug its claws into whatever area of skin she had left bare. Which wasn’t much. She had dressed warm, she always dressed warm even if the weather wasn’t too bad. Sadja was not built for the cold. And the cold was especially hard on her, taking advantage of desert-upbringing. Like it was mocking her for so foolishly travelling this far north. Her black hair protected her ears and neck if nothing else.
As she approached the treeline she could make out one shape. Enid, the mute swan, she gave a smile as she followed the tracks up to the mute girl. As she grew near she could see Enid holding Professor Applejuice in her arms. Unease crowded her mind at the sight of him, but she spoke nothing of it. With a bow she greeted them "Evening, Professor Applejuice and Enid. I am most glad to have...such cheerful company." She was trying to be nice of course.
Guilt punched her gut as he brown eyes shifted from Enid and Applejuice and curved the length of the forest. She blamed herself for their detention. Sadja had failed as a leader. They hadn’t been able to glean enough information from Headmaster Abernathy’s notes before they’d been caught. It had all been so confusing, a jumble of Korean and ancient texts on dragons. Sadja was certain that it had all been for naught, but what had been collected they handed over to Professor Cicuta.
Poor, Cicuta, had felt simply terrible about their detention. If only she had kept a closer eye on Headmaster Abernthy- as she put it. But the professor had seemed very excited at the prospect of the notes given to her. Sadja didn't understand it. The notes were gibberish to her and yet Cicuta had been like a giddy child with wealthy parents in a candy store. She didn't question it though.
Sadja knew it wasn’t her fault though. Sadja was just a bad leader, maybe she wasn’t cut out for this rebellion nonsense afterall. She shoved her gloved hands up under her arms and shivered. “The night is frozen, no?” She looked to Applejuice and Enid, she wanted to talk. To distract herself from her own shortcomings, and to keep her lips from freezing together. Looking at Enid a sad look washed over her. “Apologies, Mute Swan, I did not mean for us to be caught. I was the...overconfident and now we all suffer in the Outlawed Forest.”
For all her shame at least there was one thing she did right. She protected Jasmin. As a leader it was wrong of her to put one life above all others but then again she wasn’t a very good leader was she? Sadja had scolded herself constantly since they’d been caught. Going over what went wrong again and again. Thinking of everything she could have done to prevent it. It was too late now though.
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Post by Salted Squid on Aug 12, 2016 0:18:24 GMT -5
TAviva Harel~
Aviva followed Sadja out of the castle on that cold November night, walking down the path toward the Forbidden Forest not far behind the other girl. Born and raised in the north, Aviva would've thought that she wouldn't be bothered by the cold, but it was the opposite that was true. Aviva had always loathed the cold, and especially the snow. Tonight, she had bundled up against it as best as she could, in the thickest coat she could find as well as gloves and her old Gryffindor scarf, though the cold still seemed to cut down to her bones and she was shivering by the time she made it down to the edge of the forest.
Upon her arrival, Aviva noted that she and Sadja were not the only ones here. Enid Glass was here as well, as was Professor Applejuice. Approaching them, she let out a feeble smile. ''Bloody hell, it's cold, isn't it?'' She said by way of greeting, tucking her hands down into the pockets of her cloak and lamenting the fact that she was not curled in one of the comfy chairs by the common room fire.
Catching the end of the pair's conversation, she frowned, her expression becoming serious. ''It's not your fault, Sadja. None of us is blaming this on you, so don't even think that.''
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Aug 12, 2016 15:21:19 GMT -5
and here we go
Gray and Almach Markell
There is an inherent duplicity to betrayal that goes beyond simply one person hurting another. When one is stabbed in the front the fault lies in the attacker. It is predictable insofar that one has the ability to see it coming. The difference with betrayal is one has blinded themselves to the possibility of such an action. The attacker is no longer the only one at fault. To be stabbed in the back one must first open themselves up to weakness. Drop their guard enough to trust someone; allow themselves a vulnerability, a self-inflicted chink in the armor. To be able to be stabbed in the back one must first believe that someone has it. Gray allowed Enid Glass to see him; cut himself open for her; a voluntary vivisection; peeled back layers of skin and viscera and presented himself as an offering, as a quiet cry; “accept me as I am”. Enid Glass had smiled at him, and Gray had trusted her.
And Enid Glass had sold this trust for 30 pieces of silver. For a pathetic attempt at rebellion; a children's crusade against an adversary that they did not understand.
Gray had told Enid that Abernathy was not the enemy. He had not meant this as a warning, but an observation. He had never expected that a handful of students, mere teenagers, would attempt a coup d'état against the Headmaster of the school. Especially one as competent, if problematic, as Absolon Abernathy. Suffice to say, Gray had been surprised when Abernathy had informed him of what happened (he was less so surprised by the fact that Abernathy was appointing him as a chaperone for the students detention. Gray had become a bit of a ‘go-to’ for cleaning up any of the problems that Abernathy's changes inevitably instigated. Honestly, he should be getting paid for this.) The list of students involved in the little charade had been demoralizing (crushing, an entourage of increasingly heavy cinder blocks being stacked on his chest), in particular, the names of Sadja Al Jarad, Eden Sytko, Aviva Harel, and Enid Glass. How foolish could they be to think that they, a handful of children, could take on the ministry? That they could band together in an act of ‘oh-so-heroic’ vigilantism and ‘save the school from the tyrannical overlord, Dictator Abernathy’. Frankly, it was embarrassing. He felt little sympathy for them; a mere detention felt like an unjustly lenient punishment.
(It no longer mattered that Enid and Eden were among them.)
You see, if Gray were forced to choose between his career and his emotions; between Abernathy and Enid; he would always choose the former. There may be a moral center in Gray, an innate goodness that escapes in fleeting smiles and moments of levity, but he is a cold, cold boy.
(Caring is a weakness, an Achilles Heel that the world will inevitably exploit. If one wants to succeed in the world one must minimize these weaknesses. In Gray this has evolved into a warped sense of nihilism, one that presents as apathy, as sangfroid that runs bone-deep, more circuitry and wires than he is a real person.)
When Gray is hurt he shuts down; hits the reset button and defaults back into the ice.
(Locks himself away, both metaphorically and sometimes literally, and throws away the key. Tosses it into the ocean like Rose and that necklace at the end of Titanic.)
Of course, the attempted coup had not been the only surprise of the night.
Almach Markell has never liked the cold weather. He walks with his hands stuffed into coat pockets, a silver scarf wrapped tight around his neck, stepping lightly around newly formed snow drifts. He had arrived the previous night, waltzed in during the dance and almost immediately gotten himself lost. It had been nine years since he was last at Hogwarts; it was a wonder that it only took him half an hour to hunt down a staff member (one Proffessor Von Grimmelhausenstein, the very neglected History of Magic professor who has had little luck forming his flag-football team) who was kind enough to explain that there was a dance going on that night. And also recap most of the changes to the school in the past few months. Almach had taken the job with few questions (he needed the money), and was completely oblivious to any of the internal turmoil plaguing Hogwarts. He only knew that Professor Snape had apparently "had it" and walked out in the middle of the night and Absolon needed a last minute replacement for the potions professor. And Almach had always been good at potions.
Gray and Almach had been reacquainted with each other the night before, and were now making their way down to the Forbidden Forest. (aside: It was quite the encounter, but I doubt anyone is interested in reading Gray wax poetic for another 2k, nor do I really feel up to writing that.) When seeing the Markell Siblings side by side it is hard not to be struck by how distinctively similar they look. While they are of jarringly different heights - 6’2 versus a little over 5’6 - both have the same slender features, pale skin marbled by freckles (though, granted, Almach is not nearly as white as Gray. Where Gray can be described as anemic and sickly looking, Almach is just ‘pale’. More of a coffee-and-cream to Gray’s Snow White.), dark hair, high-cheekbones, and thin, almost bird-like frames. Gray is also much more comfortable in the cold weather than Almach is; he is dressed in only a black turtleneck and a pair of dark gray winter pants. (The emo aesthetic does not bow to the weather.)
As the brothers walk, they speak to each other in hushed terms, quiet voices merely a whisper, lost to the embrace of the night.
Gray becomes silent as they approach the group, his face dropping into its characteristic mask of apathy. He does not make eye contact with Enid. (He is still wearing her pendent, albeit not visibly; it is tucked under sweater.) He does not make eye contact with anyone.
Almach, on the other hand, brightens. “Professor Applejuice! ¿Como va?” Almach is grinning. “It’s been years!” He doesn’t add the traditional: surely you remember me, part. Who could forget the kid who tried to set a classroom on fire? Also, presumably the staff had been notified of his hiring. Even if they hadn’t, Applejuice would have known. Came with the prophetic-cat thing, you know. Almach then turns to face the students already gathered there; while he had been there for most of the day, he had not yet been formally introduced to the student body, though there must have been rumors about a new teacher, or at least Snape having thrown in the towel. “Well, hello there everyone. I’m Professor Markell” - there was a note of distaste in the way he uttered his surname - “the new Potions Professor, and one of your chaperones for the night.”
"Oh, and also Gray's older brother", he adds that part as an afterthought and accompanies it with a friendly elbow to his brothers ribs. Gray winces.
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Aug 12, 2016 22:40:03 GMT -5
linen viagra is f*cking pissed (and so am i. so am i.)
Leelah Veyera The break-in had been a disaster. To put it kindly. For all of their efforts, the raid had turned up barely any incriminating evidence against Professor Asshole. Even then, what they had managed to find was not even remotely damning. If anything, it just furthered Leelah's conviction that the Headmaster was literally crazy. Leelah admittedly knew very little about schizophrenia, but she did know that one of the most distinguishing symptoms of the mental disorder was seeing patterns where none existed. Abolitions' office had been a mess even before the students got there. Piles of books littered the room, papers were scattered about, arranged in some fashion that might have been orderly, might have been random, Leelah couldn’t say for sure. Many of these documents had been written on in an assortment of languages, seemingly random words were circled, underlined, highlighted. It was bizarre. Anyways, Leelah doubted that the Ministry would fire the Headmaster because he was completely bonkers. They had let Professor Absol stay at the school even after he literally threw them into a murder pool and then noped the hell out of there, leaving the kids to clean up the mess. If the Ministry didn’t find fault with Absinthe for that then she doubted that they would mind him being madder than Jim Carrey on shrooms.
But that was neither here nor there, at least not anymore. There was nothing that Leelah could do about the past. She was still angry about the papers, though. Most of the group had counted them off as being inherently useless, and maybe they were, yeah, but not for the reason they were going on about. Yeah, it wasn’t like Antman’s weird obsession with pearls was going to get him fired, but Leelah was nosy, and hell if the fact that Abercrombie wrote mostly in Korean was going to stop her from figuring out what he had said. I mean, come on? It’s not like he was writing in code or something. There were like a thousand kids at the school, statistically there was probably one who at least knew some Korean. (At least, Leelah was pretty sure it was Korean. Abigail was Korean, right? She had never bothered to ask. Didn’t care enough to.) Even if it was too risky to bring another student into the mix, it’s not like Korean’s are an endangered species or something! All they had to do was post the documents on the internet, there was probably some bored guy on Reddit who would be more than willing to translate some weird papers just for the heck of it. It was the internet. Said bored guy has probably translated weirder stuff than jewelry mythology.
Anyways. Sadja had handed off those papers to Professor Cicuta before Leelah had gotten a chance to enact any of her ideas. Leelah trusted the Herbology professor, knew that she wanted Abnegation sacked just as fervently as the rest of them, but it was still a bit of a downer. Less of a downer than being caught in the act of ransacking the Headmaster’s office by the man the myth the piece of shit himself, but still a mood-killer all the same. Actually, on the subject of getting walked in on by Professor Abdomen: all-things-holy that man was terrifying. It was worse than the time Leelah walked in on her cousin getting her freak on with some girl in the shed out back and gotten yelled at for like twenty minutes straight by a drunk seventeen year old in the midst of her teen rebellion phase. At least Daniella had apologized afterwards. All Abernathy did was give them detention.
On that note, detention was where Leelah was headed. She couldn’t believe the weather was this terrible already: the ground was covered in several inches of snow, fine and powdery and the kind that her feet sank into and got the bottom of her pants and wet and slushy. Leelah hated the cold. She was wrapped up in a black trench coat and yellow scarf, the Hufflepuff colors, as a last ditch attempt at rebellion; a metaphorical middle finger to Professor Abstinence. He could fight her. He could even expel her. Leelah didn’t care anymore. She would just move back to Brazil and go to Castelobruxo. Their Herbology program was better anyways. And they were understanding folk, getting kicked out in the name of trying to overthrow a megalomaniac dictator seemed plenty good enough an excuse for her.
Actually, the concept of moving back to Brazil was seeming sweeter and sweeter with every step that Leelah took through the abysmal hellscape that some dumb song-writer had the audacity to call a Winter Wonderland. She wanted to punch him in the face. Leelah crossed her arms even tighter in front of her than they had been before and looked out towards the Forbidden Forest where a small group of people had already begun to gather. The first face Leelah was able to pick out was Sadja Al Jarad and her distinctive halo of long, dark hair. Honestly, poor Sadja. Leelah didn’t want to imagine what the girl must feel like right now; realizing that a lot of students futures could have been ruined because of a small mistake in her plan. It wasn’t even Sadja’s fault. Leelah knew this; she blamed Sadja for none of it. (Instead she blamed Ampersand for literally everything. She loathed him. Granted, this was understandable. Leelah would rather have the human iteration of the word ‘moist’ as a Headmaster than Absolon Abernathy.)
The other figures there were slightly harder to pick out. Enid Glass was distinguishable because of her small frame and short hair. She looked even tinier against the stark black and white backdrop of the grounds at night. Leelah thought she could pick out Professor Applejuice sitting in her arms, wearing a sweater than on literally any other cat she would have called adorable, except this was the Professor, and calling him cute seemed super awkward and also fifty shades of wrong. Beside Enid stood a girl who Leelah assumed was Aviva Harel, based solely on the fact that her hair was up in a pony-tail. Aviva had been so salty about the whole incident; Leelah wasn’t sure whether she liked the girl or not, but certainly she respected her unwavering dedication to seeing Absorption taken down. The other two figures were slightly more difficult to make out. The shorter one, if Leelah had to take a stab on it, might be Gray Markell, probably there to chaperone (there was no way he would have gotten himself in detention. Boy stared at Abernathy as if he were the second coming of the messiah. Hah. Gay.) The other man was an enigma. Leelah had thought he might be Eden Sytko at first based solely on the fact that he was tall and had dark hair, but as she got closer realized that his face was way too thin to be Hogwarts token Raphaelite statue. Honestly, Leelah had no clue who this guy was. Which was slightly intimidating.
Mystery man was talking as she approached, though she missed the entire exchange. Leelah gave a quick wave to the group, letting her face fold into a smile. “Hey everyone”, she grinned. “Fancy seeing ya’ll out here on this fine evening.”
❁
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Post by koi on Aug 13, 2016 0:40:49 GMT -5
Eden Sytko
(i was sober when i wrote this. i have no excuses)
The first lines of Marika’s letter were, “Happy f*cking birthday, ****squad. Btw: I know you don’t like looking at pictures from your hospital experience, but I want you to look at this picture and just see how much you’ve improved over the past few years. Like goddamn. Also, I’ve never seen anyone who’s glo’d up as much as you have except me so maybe it’s a Sytko thing?”
(and the picture she had had printed up and stuck between the folds of the card--who prints up pictures nowadays?--was glossy, thick in his hand, featured a sickly, cloud-white anemic Eden and a Marika who looked tired and sore of her own emotions. A boy who was not smiling of his own volition, who was smiling like someone told him to. A girl who was only smiling to please whoever was behind the camera. Eden was small shouldered back then, hair was shorter, not quite as wavy, and he would’ve been cute in a simplistic, boyish way--though Eden has never been simple--if it weren’t for starvation which made his cheekbones the main attraction to his pale face. Even his freckles had decided to camp overnight someplace that was not Eden’s cold cheeks. It is not a good photo; it is rough, looks like it should feel rough when Eden runs his fingertips over it. Eden is unwell in this photo. Marika is sick to her stomach with emotion. There are two children, on the same hospital bed, looking like they may not be children any longer. Eden once pondered the exact moment he made the transition from boy to teenager, and Eden thinks it is one of the snapshots captured via camera, that does not show the behind-the-scenes of pain so bad Eden bit his lip to shreds and ground his teeth to unbearable headaches, the beeping of machinery that kept him awake constantly. Eden’s hazel eyes are absent. Marika’s are all-too-there with emotion. And it doesn’t hurt Eden to look at. He doesn’t feel much of anything, sometimes, but this is not a dissociation of emotion that has Eden unable to feel remorse for his old self.)
(Lorraine calls it growing up.)
The night before had gone as well as they could expect and then some. Eden is lying. Eden is lying through his clenched teeth because it had gone terribly. Eden, by the way, did not end up getting more than slightly liquoured--I thought that should be said. The kid pretends he’s a lightweight but five or six drinks in and he is slightly more inclined towards singing and laughing and develops a thicker Polish-Danish-English accent. That’s all that happens. Eden, when more-than-tipsy-less-than-drunk, had a natural inclination to care for people, for some reason. Marika always joked that Eden reverted back to his ten year old sympathetic and empathetic self when he drank. He can’t argue with that.
Regardless of if drinking the spiked punch had tinted the night through rose coloured glass, Eden had had enough mind to realize that things were going downhill, fast. Wasn’t even surprised when they were busted; but he wasn’t thrilled about it, of course not. He didn’t even want to be there. (i feel like i say that a lot about eden. he doesn’t ever want to be anywhere.) He wished he could’ve just stuck his hands up in the universal, “I’m unarmed,” signal, and said, “I would rather kill myself than actively involve myself in any of this and I’ve been softly singing When She Loved Me from Toy Story 2 this whole time which really shows how little I am actually putting towards this rebellion.”
But he hadn’t said that. Of course he hadn’t.
Happy f*cking birthday, ****squad, indeed.
It was cold, which, really should not be a surprise for anyone considering it is now November. Eden, although he is wearing layers upon layers, is still shivering. He is shaking in the cold of the night. He has always been wide-shouldered and wide-smiled and simply an easier person to be around, but something changed, Eden’s sure of it. Espen thinks it’s PTSD. Lorraine thinks it’s simply a matter of growing up, as she always does, silly teenage hormones. Marika still doesn’t know the full story. Regardless of all that, all that, he is shivering gently, and it is unlike Eden to be shivering in the dark, by himself; unlike Eden and mostly unlike the child he used to be, because Eden is mostly warm, at least, to touch.
And a newly seventeen year old Eden shivers in the dark, by himself—always alone, or at least, feels that way—as he is making his way to the rest of the group.
The details of each person in the group, slowly forming like frost on a windshield, are not at all visible in the low light. Eden either doesn’t have the greatest night vision, or things are simply too dark to see much of anything except the vague outline, figures, movement, dark against dark. Figures that he cannot immediately place an assumption of their identity. He can recognize Enid, would be able to recognize just the sense of her, the feeling around her, in a room with blackout curtains and no light bulbs to be seen. Of course, Sadja, the leader of the whole thing, is here. Leelah is just ahead of him, arriving, and--
“Gray’s older brother,”
(Eden starts walking a little faster, practically trips over himself trying to get closer to hear what more is happening, slips in beside Enid without anything more than a confused, one-eyebrow-raised expression, before his eyes pour over the man standing next to Gray Markell.)
(anyhoo, he stares at almach, probably, definitely thinks to himself, 'hello daddy' and it is all very unsuitable for children so thank god no one here can read minds.)
“Wow it is f*cking cold,” Eden ends up saying, very very soft, to no one in particular but probably more to Enid than anyone, and he ends up (i’m too lazy to edit out both those ‘ends up’ because idk why i said it twice) looking right at Professor AJ in her arms. And he says a mild “Hello, Professor,” before he looks up at Enid, gauges her expression carefully, but not carefully enough, I’m assuming, because it’s Eden we’re talking about here.
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Post by maple on Aug 13, 2016 2:01:04 GMT -5
liesel wailes // brrr this makes me cold
There was a certain beauty in the darkness, a kind that perhaps Liesel would be able to acknowledge if under different circumstances. Maybe she could see the stars as something less cruel, if they weren't glaring down upon her like icy steel (or like her mother when she finds out what Liesel has done). And the moon, shrouded by wisps of faded grey clouds that floated like smoke across it's cratered surface. All of this could have been different, if not for the punishment that loomed before her like the towering pine trees that were the Forbidden Forest.
With each step her feet sank deeper into the powdery snow, bits of it somehow getting inside her boots and soaking her wool socks. The breeze, harsh and cold, slapped at her cheeks and tugged at her hair all the while like icy fingers. It really was miserable. She was tired and upset, trying hard to hold her tongue and not complain, all the while wishing she could be inside warm and safe.
Liesel's eyes were red and watering, mostly from the cold but partially swimming with frustrated tears. It wasn't fair - it wasn't fair that they should be punished for simply seeking out the greater good. She'd never received detention ever, not ever. Liesel absolutely, without the slightest doubt, did not like it. Stomach twisted and churning, she managed to keep a steady trudge. She was a little bit behind everyone else, struggling to keep up but tripping over her own legs, and rubbing her arms while breathing out a cloud of frozen air.
"Cold." liesel's voice was raspy and soft, shivering and quiet, "It's cold." Maybe it was a greeting of sorts, but the statement was said mostly to herself or the very air itself. Who knows.
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Aug 13, 2016 16:48:44 GMT -5
As if on cue, the rest of the botany club begins to materialize. A troop of shivering, cherry-cheeked teens ready to wander through a snow-covered forest at night. Enid flinches-- visibly winces --at the nickname 'Mute Swan'. Even when wrapped up in the pretty bow of Sadja's accent all the nickname is is a cruel reminder and a vicious summary. That's how people see her. That's all people see her as. Pretty and voiceless. Mute Swan. She doesn't discourage Sadja though. Firstly, because she is physically incapable. Secondly, why bother? What's the point of telling Sadja to cut it out, that her harmless nickname feels more like a punch in the face, when she's not hurting anyone. It's not her fault, she doesn't know any better. Rather than delve deeper into that mess, Enid brushes it off, forcing a smile that dissolves the moment Gray arrives.
She hardly notices the man in tow, he's an irrelevant fact that Enid easily and painfully glosses over to focus solely on Gray. She can almost feel the betrayal radiating from him in bruising waves. He doesn't even glance in her direction. The cold shoulder feels more like a frostbite shoulder. Enid shrinks away, trying to mask her own hurt beneath another forced smile. This one feels even more fake than the first. She's not listening to her fellow students bemoaning the freezing air and late hour. And suddenly-- with a strong urge bordering violent --Enid wishes the nixies had drowned her. It was more than she deserved. Anything was better than Gray's hatred. Anything.
The shivering girl doesn't glance up as Applejuice engages in conversation, the words falling on her deaf, cold-bitten ears.
"Ah, Markell, or should I call you Henley now? Years feel like seconds to me after living through three hundred and twelve of them. With that said, it feels like only minutes ago you were like the Astronomy Tower on fire and running off to South America. How was it there, by the way? I saw you got a new car and a new name." Being a cat, Rodney Applejuice is incapable of fully expressing emotion through his face, but his tone drips with something akin to disinterest. It's hard to take interest in anything when you can see it coming years away. It's no surprise that Applejuice saw Almach's return to Hogwarts, not as a student, but as a professor. True, it came as a shock to him then, but the shock had worn off in a matter of seconds.
"If you'll excuse me for a second." Applejuice cranes his neck to peer around the small group, ticking off names on a mental checklist: Liesel Wailes. Check. Aviva Harel. Check. Sadja al-Jarad. Check. Eden Sytko. Check. Check. Check. Indeed, everyone was here. "Miss Glass, hate to be a bother, but if you could lead the way into the woods? Excellent. Just keeping going forward."
Enid nods and turns to enter the forest. The smile on her face fades into something more genuine as her gaze drifts from Gray to Eden. She wants to tell him happy birthday, even if it's not entirely true, but with Applejuice in her arms the task is impossible. She settles for communicating solely through her eyes instead, something that only works half the time.
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