Aimlessly over-achieving

Sylvia Amalie Ilka. 1st Year Magical Law at Hogwarts University, Durmstrang Alumnus. Desultory over-achiever, Quidditch player, ballerina. She should have been perfect in every way, if only she could always maintain the charade. But she was a seeker destined to be a beater.... This blog is affiliated with Hogwarts Elementum, a next gen Harry Potter role play.

[accio-pirouette]

the-storm-macleod:

“Well my day’s only just getting started, so-” Sam trailed off and just gave a shrug. “Besides, if we can’t occasionally listen to other people’s feelings, we’re kind of failing in our jobs.” He gave a smile that he didn’t feel at all. “Besides. I … I can imagine what it feels like to lose a parent. And since that’s not something I’d wish on anyone, or something I’d wish anyone to go through alone. It can’t make it easy, coming back to hospitals.”

Understanding what it was like to lose a parent wasn’t possible without actually loosing one. To even imagine it meant to Sylvia that Sam must have at least come close.  He didn’t seem the type to exaggerate, or make haphazard assessments of his own abilities. He understood the weight of the condition. She had half an intention of seeing what she could find out about that before the end of his statement caught her psyche below it’s centre of gravity.

Talk about social support had been a topic she left behind in group therapy. She had relied entirely on cognitive and biochemical solutions, ignoring the social and emotional sides of the fallout ensuing her mother’s rather sudden death. At first, people had said they would be there for her. It generally wasn’t a genuine offer. Not that she would have taken them up on it anyways. Vulnerability, even more so than trust, was not in her repertoire.

She knew Sam in a limited way - it was something she reminded herself in the face of her indecipherable reaction. He had fixed her ankle, and practiced with her in a match-up that certainly had better prospects for her.  He certainly didn’t open up about himself, but he wasn’t dishonest, it seemed to her, in his character. He seemed genuine. She felt off kilter.

“It’s... Not. I usually avoid them. Which may have been why you were the one that ended up patching up my ankle,”

[accio-pirouette]

the-storm-macleod:

Sam looked at his shoes. He had had a suspicion it would be something like that, and it stung somewhere close to home. At least he could still see his mother, even if he wasn’t sure she was behind her own eyes. “I’m sorry.” He looked up again. “About your Mum.”

“Thank you,” Her response was automatized from the many times she had addressed the topic with near strangers the months following her mother’s death. She met his gaze for a moment. With the fatigue, and the discomfort from being back in a hospital, she felt a hollowness in her stomach when their eyes met for that instant. Her eyes slid back down to those flowers, “I’m sorry for bringing it up. You surely have more than enough somber stories in your day,”

[accio-pirouette]

It seemed to Sylvia that Olivier made plans easily. When it came up in conversation that she enjoyed skating, it seemed natural for him to suggest that they go in spite of his self-proclaimed clumsiness on skates. Perhaps it was bold on an already audacious surprise first date to make plans for a second date, but this didn’t bother her. There was something suave to his confidence, perhaps the implication that she was the right company, that made such assumptions permissible. 

There was more to her opinion of him than that, that had her poised in front of Sommerset House that mild January afternoon, with her skates totted in a hand bag. He had been the subject of conversation with her father a few nights before. The German ambassador had asked for her schedule. When she had blocked off an afternoon without classes, he was interested in the purpose. Her given explanation had been more utilitarian than the more meandering diagnostic she pondered in the midst of muggle London, staring up at the architecture in that purposefully wistful manner.

When she caught a glimpse of her date slipping through the crowds, she changed her posture, quiet smile seeming to melt that mask. She raised a gloved hand in greeting, "It's a wonderful afternoon for this, don't you think? I don't think we could have actually chosen a nicer day without worrying about the ice melting,"

@deeper-end-of-dupond

[accio-pirouette]

the-storm-macleod:

“Oh that’s alright,” Sam gave a ‘far-away’ sort of smile, “You know, when we start on these placements they sat us all down and gave us a talk. About how some people always find that they hate working in the hospital, and how we shouldn’t expect thank yous and things like that.” He shrugged. “People come into St Mungo’s because they need help, sometimes at the worst points in their lives, right? We do our jobs and try to help. And then we move on. If you’re doing it for some sort of glory, then you’re in the wrong line of work. All that sort of stuff.”

She glanced at him for a moment, then fixed her eyes on those numbers that kept flooding her memory,”My mother died in a hospital similar to St. Mungos, several years ago. If I ever go back I think I’d thank the healers, regardless of whether they expected thanks.”

[accio-pirouette]

the-storm-macleod:

Sam’s eyes narrowed for a second as he processed the meaning in her words, or at least, what they seemed to suggest. “It’s like a lot of jobs. You just have to do the best you can, every time. Sometimes there are people who are on the mend and don’t take much time and we win it back,” he shrugged fighting back the strange urge to blurt out that his mother loved the healers. Seemed to love them more than either of her sons, who she struggled to even recognise if they hadn’t visited in the last few days. “We try to do our best,” he added, more sombrely, his gaze lowered to the floor.

What exactly she had said to upset Sam, was lost upon her, but Sylvia did understand that he was upset. Her tired mind reeled to try to put together some apology to glaze it over, but halfway through the process, she found herself stalled. The preemptive empathetic smile she had conjured was replaced with a more genuine, yet hard expression, “I know. I know you do, and I expect it’s largely able to be generalized. I expect everyone did - does - their best. You know hospital patients probably don’t always have the most realistic expectations,” Looking back now, Sylvia realized her mother was scared in those last days, so her usually tendencies were amplified, to try to regain some control over the situation.

[scorped-by-the-gods]

Hallow-Birth-Mas Year’s Eve

[accio-pirouette]

scorped-by-the-gods:

You would have fit right in Slytherin with that ingenuity.

I wasn’t aware I was attending the birthday of a singing hat. At any rate, my soul, should it exist, which I can neither confirm nor deny, is a confidential file, so I must decline to comment.

[the-storm-macleod]

accio-pirouette:

“Not everyone, no,” Sylvia glanced at the room number over her shoulder. It was  response meant to pacify the topic. She had never received flowers for a performance, and had only received one flower elsewise. It was true that other dancers like her would commonly receive flowers from loved ones, however, so Sam wasn’t incorrect. Regardless, the idea reminded her of her currently overly-salient mother. Though she had rarely seen her mother with flowers during her life, most of the remaining photo of the deceased Mrs. Ilka included a bouquet.

“I guess I just have unfortunate timing then. I should have accounted for the morning rounds,”

Sam shook his head. “Oh it’s not your fault,” he gave an amused grin for a fleeting moment. “We healers are singularly unpredictable. You could have had a detailed list of exactly when he was supposed to be seen by healers and even then you’d still probably not catch him without anyone there on your first try. There’s always another question to answer, or something takes longer than it should. And some of the patients just like a chat, as well. They need it.”

[accio-pirouette]

She ran her spare hand over her hair. It was an unusual gesture for her, "Not to say I had ever considered being a healer, but the unpredictability of that would probably drive me mad. Perhaps that's why.." she drifted off, frowning, leaving a pause between her words, "My mother was always aggravated with the healers. Likely, they were just two minutes later than she thought they were meant to be,"

[mia-selwyn]

accio-pirouette:

“That is sensible. I saw Sophya not too long ago. I assume you two are still close, though I imagine you also made new friends at Hogwarts. You and Jonathan Marks were quite charismatic,” This of course was a measurement, and a thinly veiled one on purpose. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen Jonathan Marks in the recent past as well, and it seemed likely to her that Mia would have heard as much.

“I think the age difference and difference in interests forced a drift between us,” Mia stated, speaking about Sophya and holding back a comment about how it was best to stay a bit away from the girl anyway to avoid getting oil and grease on her. “She does work in the Ministry now, I believe, so perhaps I can meet her for lunch one day and help reacquaint myself with her.” It was a false promise to herself and not even a real promise in any way at all, but it seemed to her that making claims about trying to reconnect with others always came off well. At the mention of Jon, she forced herself not to falter as she raised her tea to her lips and took a careful sip. “I think him more so than me. After everything that has happened…many are saying awful things about him in public and then probably privately mourning a friendship they feel they have lost.”

[accio-pirouette]

"A lot has changed since we were all young children," Sylvia stated to close the topic on Sophya, "I imagine Jonathan is a sensitive topic for many. I do hope you are not so upset by it. While I know that you two were close, I've always assessed you to be strong on such matters,"

[accio-pirouette]

the-storm-macleod:

Sam acknowledged her words with a slight raise of his eyebrows. “I’m sure people can appreciate members of the ensemble as well. Not everyone can be in the solo limelight.” Checking his watch, Sam shrugged. “I’m sure it’ll just be morning rounds. If you go back in twenty minutes or so you should be able to see them.”

“Not everyone, no,” Sylvia glanced at the room number over her shoulder. It was  response meant to pacify the topic. She had never received flowers for a performance, and had only received one flower elsewise. It was true that other dancers like her would commonly receive flowers from loved ones, however, so Sam wasn’t incorrect. Regardless, the idea reminded her of her currently overly-salient mother. Though she had rarely seen her mother with flowers during her life, most of the remaining photo of the deceased Mrs. Ilka included a bouquet.

“I guess I just have unfortunate timing then. I should have accounted for the morning rounds,”

[accio-pirouette]

the-storm-macleod:

Sam nodded, only really seeming to notice the flowers for the first time. He acknowledged his mistake with a nod and a grimace. “Well I suppose that makes sense, but you never know,” he chuckled, “If you were feeling sorry for yourself. Or had been tracked down by an adoring fan. I hope it’s nothing serious. That they’re on the mend?” His face became solemn again, instantly sympathetic for anyone having to carry out hospital visits

“I’m the wrong Ilka to have gotten flowers,” The words were out of her mouth before she had thought them through. She would have liked to have been alone that moment so that she could have rolled her eyes at herself. It wasn’t a topic she really wanted to discuss, but Sam had the attention of a surgeon, and wouldn’t skip over such a statement, “I mean that my mother was the soloist. I just dance ensemble, so it’s unlikely that I’ll have any flower-giving fanatics. As for the condition of the actual recipient, I’m not sure. They were with the healer when I arrived,”

[accio-pirouette]

the-storm-macleod:

Sam gave a grin in amusement - although as usual it disappeared quickly. He remembered their last conversation and held out his hand to her. “Well I suppose it’s still early enough that I’ll forgive anyone for not completely being ‘with it’,” he said. “What brings you hear at this hour. Not more ankle problems, I hope?”

Juggling the flowers to one hand with less grace than usual, she met his hand with hers. The resulting shake was firm but brief. As she let go of his hand, her fingers traced back to the box holding the arrangement, running absently over the wooden surface. Catching this old nervous habit she grabbed the box more firmly with both hands, “No, my ankle is doing well. Thank you for asking. I’m just a visitor today. I don’t really have a habit of buying myself sympathy flowers,” She offered a hint of a smile with the joke.

[accio-pirouette]

the-storm-macleod:

Sam’s day was starting in it’s usual fashion. After waking up early, and taking himself out for a quick run in the breath-stealingly cold air of a dark winter morning, and stopping just long enough for a shower, it was into the hospital. He had already changed into the horrible, bright robes of a trainee healer but knew he still had the time to kill before he actually had to head back down to the Artefact incident ward for the day-shift’s meeting. Checking his watch as he walked automatically up towards the fourth floor, climbing the stairs with his head down and let his mind drift. 

He hadn’t even paid attention to the fact there was another person there as he reached the landing of the stairwell, until he heard a voice beside him. Jolted from his drifting, Sam stared - a flicker of confusion crossing his face. Why was she saying sorry? Then he recognised her, and stopped walking. “Apologies? For not being in the way at all? Now you’re definitely picking up British culture.”

When Sam responded Sylvia’s brain groggily switched back on. Her head swiveled to look at him, eyes, open with surprise. At first she thought the bright robes were an after image of the amicas, but when she blinked and focused her  eyes on them for a second, they stayed. Focusing back on his face, she attempted her usual polite smile though the results were unconvincing even to her so she dropped it, “I’m sorry. I supposed I wasn’t really paying attention enough to even know that I wasn’t in the way,”

[accio-pirouette]

mia-selwyn:

“Not really, no. Sometimes my mother’s brothers or my father’s sisters would come visit with their family, but that was mostly when their children were younger and did not have their own obligations. My father used to invite a group of his old friends over for dinner around Christmastime, which was a lovely little get together. Now that there is no school to keep me in contact almost daily with my friends, I think it may be something I adopt, too.”

“That is sensible. I saw Sophya not too long ago. I assume you two are still close, though I imagine you also made new friends at Hogwarts. You and Jonathan Marks were quite charismatic,” This of course was a measurement, and a thinly veiled one on purpose. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen Jonathan Marks in the recent past as well, and it seemed likely to her that Mia would have heard as much.

[accio-pirouette]

slytherin-better-win:

“Nerissa, Noah and Scorpius. Other than that, no one.”

“Alright. Well, I am going to let you get back to orchestrating your own Noah Sharpe film. I’ll collect the gossip on the reactions for you,”

[accio-pirouette]

slyt

“Just clap and nod with excitement when the news breaks.”

“I am adept at these actions,” Sylvia nodded, amicably, “Are you telling anyone else the truth?”

[accio-pirouette]

slytherin-better-win:

“You can be co-planner. I think we need a list of baby names to pick from!”

“Alright. I’ll go and make to-do lists as soon as the party is over. Is there anything else I need to do to help pull this off?”

[scorped-by-the-gods]

Hallow-Birth-Mas Year’s Eve

[accio-pirouette]

scorped-by-the-gods:

I’m beginning to think everyone thinks I’m an alcoholic. Either that or they think I’m opening a new bar or have no faith in me as a party host. Everyone brought booze. Thank you though. Now that I know black market passports are on the table though, clearly that’s the gift next time. Just in case I want to disappear one day in the more mundane way

It certainly breaks gift-giving tradition, but I think I can make an exception. I may have to hide it inside of a bottle of wine though, so that no one suspects anything.