Dorian listened as best as he could despite his shaking and whimpering and general half-weeping. While each individual word slipped from his mind nearly as soon as it had entered, he retained the essence of it, and the sentiment on which it was carried. In fact, it was to those meanings that he clung, and though in any other situation he would resent the fact, the assurance and reassurances bolstered not only his sense of determination, but also his own confidence.
In more ways that only metaphorically, he often had enough confidence abound to drown himself and his worries as well. But, the problem was that he was hollow. When fear caused one to act and strive as opposed to genuine passion, the fire disappeared and was replaced with a gas that built up into something horrible and eroding. And the erosion of his sureness and confidence was happening at the same time that it multiplied and built itself, which made it almost unrecognized save for when no inhibitions kept it at bay. So, like any good noxious gas, it condensed into liquid and overflowed as tears.
He almost had nothing to say as he let the meanings Zagan had conveyed slosh around in his mind. He truly understood that their connection was a very real thing, and that it was somehow more important than he could remember at the moment. “I can feel it in my heart,” he said, sniffing and patting his chest. “It’s like everything you’ve said is here… It’s always been there, and it’s in my head too… But I just… It slipped. But you caught it for me. But… Oh, but…”
‘You can’t always do that,’ he wanted to say. ‘You cannot be there to save me like this, because you can never see anything like this again. This can never happen again. I have to be perfect, constantly, and you have to know that whatever weakness I have are inconsequential because failure means death. It means I wither away, and you die too.’ But he couldn’t say those things for the simple reason that a sharp pain in his chest erased them from the tip of his tongue, and his mind as well. A single gasp of pain escaped him, but after he remained quiet.
Drawing away from Zagan, he cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with the handkerchief he had been given. His eyes were difficult to focus on any one thing, but he caught the color of Zagan’s irises and trained them there. Suddenly, a thought came to him and he said softly, “Make our mark… No, no. We’ve already made a mark. It’s one which… not going to show up yet. It won’t, not yet, not yet, but it has been burned into everything around us. And when it does show…” He chuckled, and it spread into quiet, unhinged laughter. “It will engulf everything in flames. I can see it now. Nothing will remain, Zagan, but from those ashes will arise something beautiful bearing our mark.” He smiled and nodded tiredly. “Can you see it? It’s beautiful - breathtaking.”
None of Zagan’s words were nearly as powerful as the simple gesture of extended his arm out, and that was an odd thing. He found absolutely no revulsion in the idea of coming closer, and that was a horrifying thing. Or rather, it would have been should he had been thinking clearly. Typically, there was a wall of coldness and hatred reserved for anyone who attempted to touch him, or even speak too kindly. Now, it was nothing but a pile of rubble which he and anyone else could freely hope over. That would have easily explained why he so suddenly felt the need to speak, to cry, and to be embraced. It was a boyish thing, full of childhood weakness and developmental stunting that came from overbearing and sheltered nurturing, and it was strengthened to the point of showing by the removal of his usually so necessary inhibitions.
“Loss...” he echoed. “That’s what it is! Lose of this...” He pressed his hands against his forehead, wondering if he could somehow just straighten the jumbled mess of thoughts that way. Finding the pressure to be the opposite of helpful, he dropped his hands and shook his head. “Zagan, I am at a loss because I haven’t won anything. These heels of greatness I’ve slipped into are far too large, far too tight, and I have not the balance to man the adequately. Nothing! I can’t do anything! It isn’t a matter of doing it right, but a matter of doing it at all! I am losing everything because I never...had...anything!” With that word, his eyes, which had been staring at Zagan’s and darting to and fro so chaotically, were overtaken by the bleariness of tears.
He collapsed against Zagan, muttered fervently about losses and the case of feeling like he was being suffocated. “My lungs cannot withstand this, Zagan! These bones of my chest, these ribs and all, are compressing to nothing because if I cannot hold myself up then I fall! Do you know what that means? Death, obscurity, death, obscurity! Which is worse, Zagan, oh, damn it all to hell and back if I end up in obscurity - life or death is nothing without a name, Zagan!” He paused after this exclamation to inhale, deeply and shakily through the tears and sadness overwhelming him.. “A name is everything, my friend, and I have none...” he whispered, horrified. “Or... I have a name, but I have made nothing... Nothing of it! Oh, what is this! Nothing of it! Nothing... Nothing...”
Dorian closed his eyes, sobbing quite pitifully at that moment as his ability to convey his feelings failed. Indeed, the feeling of being suffocated was quickly becoming a real thing. He still breathed, of course, but the sensations of crying were foreign and frightened him more than he would have ever expected. He clutched Zagan as if he might die otherwise, and through sobbing gasps managed to mutter something about being, “a terrible loser, terrible, terrible. Only seventeen and a loser already!”
“You do have lovely lips,” Dorian replied, closing his eyes as Zagan had said. “Reminds me of a statue in my mother’s garden... It’s an angel, but I think it represents the dark entity of a demon much better. Something about it... Beauty in that stone face which is so...animated, too. It’s sickening.” The feel of the brush against his skin made any other thoughts which he had fall short and disappear entirely, and for a moment he could almost disregard the ill feelings which were beginning to swirl around inside him.
He caught the end of Zagan’s words, and shrugged his shoulders slightly. “It’s a matter of...control, isn’t it? If you stretch too far, you’ll lose your hold and... withering in a storm leads to fragility. More than that, I think it has something to do with sheltering yourself and being so... I dunno, control again. It is slipping. Oh, Zagan! Zagan! Zagan, oh my... Zagan, it’s slipping!” His eyes opened and he stared into Zagan’s, having disregarded the handkerchief entirely. In fact, everything was forgotten other than the feeling that something was crawling its way up his throat, shoving his organs aside and taking special care to kick his heart as it did so. He felt panicked, and more than that, he didn’t care about letting it show.
“Zagan, it’s slipping away from me...” he whispered. “There’s this little thing, this something, and in this moment... It is slipping out of my hands. I can feel it, through my fingers - metaphorically. Do you know what that is like? It’s like going insane... Zagan, I’m slowly going insane every day of my life, and more so than the average person. Oh, I feel ill! This need to have control has weakened me... I would die without it, and I do not have it... Oh, it’s crippling me... The vice that will ultimately destroy me because I’m not strong enough to control it... Zagan, what is wrong with me? I’m such a brilliant failure if I cannot do the one thing that is my essence...if I cannot maintain control... I’m losing it, Zagan. Cold and numb is nothing if it is slipping away... Is that why I so long to let everything go? Because it’s leaving me already?”
He hung his head, trying desperately to come to terms with the idea. Such was impossible, though, given the fact that his mind was too distorted and drowned with the effects of alcohol to possibly wrap around such a soul-shaking idea. The hollow feeling in the back of his throat was steadily growing stronger, and while he didn’t recognize it, it was the frustration induced need to cry. Unfortunately, he was never the person to resort to tears in these cases when they were so very much needed. No, he kept everything inside, and that was perhaps why he felt the need to speak and feel so strongly and freely now. Now, of all times.
Dorian looked up, eyes bleary and lips trembling. “If I wasn’t such a sore loser, I would want to give up right this minute,” he said, sighing. “These pitiful hands are so very useless, and I can’t do anything about it. I’m at such a loss, Zagan. A loss indeed - it’s slipping so quickly... I can’t keep up! Ugh, what a true travesty of my life and intent.” He took the handkerchief and wiped his mouth with it, then set it aside. “Thank you, dear friend. Dear, dear friend indeed you are. I would trust you with my life... Perhaps that’s why I’m speaking as I am to you now... Perhaps that is why I’ve allowed myself to be so bonded to you, past this ridiculous point of return.” He reached, clumsily grasping Zagan’s hand with his own. “Look at our marks, dear friend. Look at what they mean. Oh, what a thing! I’m so sorry I’ve sucked you into this mess, I truly am.”
“My mother is a goddess... Do not speak of her in the same breath that you’d speak of a whorish lifestyle,” was Dorian’s response to Zagan’s warning. He had only digested the fact that Zagan had mentioned his mother, and the rest of the words had trickled away into the hole of oblivion which housed anything else which had been or might be spoken that night. Though he spared no thoughts to the matter, it was better that way. Although, at the same time, he might have fleetingly considered the ridiculousness of his own in-and-out recognition of what was being said, and it perhaps made him think of a literal black hole engulfing the streams of color that represented the essence of the two people within the dungeon cell, but it was inconsequential nonetheless.
In fact, everything was inconsequential, right up to the backwards notice that Zagan was behind him, that his nose was so close to his neck, and that he was speaking. Or at least it felt backwards, with backwards being a creeping feeling that something was terribly wrong. Then, he decided that he hated the same thing about alcohol and its effects. There was nothing beautiful about it. You only felt horrible and disjointed, and it wasn’t at all the type of thing which made him feel pretty. He did feel eloquent, though, and that fueled the spill of word vomit that, to his knowledge, felt a lot like actual vomit. That, of course, followed Zagan’s moving away from him.
“I feel ill...” he murmured. “I feel ill, not because I can easily imagine you being accused of spreading my brain matter along the dark, dank floor like some sort of beautiful yet forbidden paint, but because... I think my insides are unhappy. They’re burning, Zagan. That’s... I have a bad throat to begin with, it’s not pretty. Outwardly quite lovely, yes, but inside it’s... It’s bloody and horrible and I’m surprised I don’t hack when I speak. Look, I can taste the burn of the alcohol burning blood out of those wounds. It’s like... Reminds me of friendship, Zagan.” These words, he said as he walked over to where Zagan had moved to. He crossed his arms and stood still, or what he hoped was standing still. “Friendship is like this situation deep in my throat, Zagan, it is. It’s like alcohol and blood and perforated flesh and skin... It’s burning and blood and never ending requirement. I think you’d understand that. It’s pull and push, give and take, pain and relief. It isn’t good for you, not in the long run, because you’ll only be hurt, but you use pain to console pain because burning understands bleeding... I think so, I believe so... Yes.”
He sighed and dropped his arms, hands dangling at his sides. “I think I threw up over there, Zagan. It’s terrible. Do you have a handkerchief...? I left mine... I left it somewhere. For the love of all that’s dark and convoluted... I feel empty. Zagan, being pretty doesn’t make you feel better... It’s like sugar coating a wound. It’s not useful, it just sounds like a good idea. It sounds like a good idea.” He groaned and sat down, making sure his dress remained classily placed around him. “Make me beautiful, Zagan, please. I feel so hollow and ill and strange...”
All of the words seemed to float into Dorian’s head and swirl around, doing a dance that was nearly as otherworld and captivating as Zagan’s face appeared in the strange light of the dungeon cell. He stared, swaying as he listened to the soothing words that were not very soothing at all. There was no meaning to be found until the dress was produced, and by then there was no hesitation nor ideas of saying no. It was perfectly normal and exciting to see the flimsy bit of fabric Zagan held, and he was in the process of stripping before it occurred to him that the cell was cold.
“I can be all dressed up and pretty for myself,” he said between sudden hiccups as he attempted to yank his pants off without having removed his shoes first. It was awkward and impossible, given the flailing state of his limbs, but he was determined to do it with as much gusto as his words held. “Isn’t that what this century is about, after all? Higher heels, shorter skirts, longer rides and...self righteousness? Power. Power, yes, and heart... From there.” He patted his chest with one hand. “The heart... Such power there alone. But when it’s empty... nothing compared to a beautiful brain.”
Dorian had backed away from Zagan while taking off his pants and shoes, but waltzed closer while tossing his shirt and tie into the air. “You said something about bleeding out on the floor... That’s so terrifying. What if that happened, though? Would you really cry if I suddenly started...dying? What if I just collapsed and didn’t get up? If that happened to you, I would just stare in shock and maybe sniffle a little. Do you know why? Because tears are weakness, and you absolutely cannot be fierce if you are weak. Now, give me that rag and let me make it lovely.”
He took the dress from Zagan’s since dropped hand and went about putting it on, being much more careful than he had with his own clothing. There was something about having the article of clothing in his hands that left him with a strange sense of awe. Perhaps it was because he felt like the control he held over himself was slipping away, and that perhaps it was similar if not better to the mindless joy that came with those potions he downed so giddily. But it wasn’t giddiness, not really. The brilliance of drunkenness and the brilliance of being out of one’s mind were more than that. It was peculiar to not think that, even if he wasn’t thinking quite the clearest.
With the dress on, he straightened his slumping form and held out his arms. “I think this is like a second skin, Zagan. It’s so tight and beautiful. Like, if you pulled it you might accidentally rip my skin along with it. That’s how perfect it is. But, oh, look at this scandalous him. If I wasn’t this thin, I might pour out of it.” With those words, so uncharacteristic and which would truly be regretted in sobriety, he brushed past Zagana and pressed his hands against the wall. With his head hanging, he closed his eyes and sighed.
“I keep seeing myself falling and busting my head open and dying. You would see my blood and brain matter, Zagan. How intimate would that be? It would be like...seeing my soul, almost. My mind is the key to my soul, after all...” Dorian sighed again, this one more grand and exaggerated. “What else did you bring for us?”
Dorian’s hand were sensitive. They weren’t quite the sort of sensitive where one would be compelled to giggle at a touch, or so that pain or irritation resulted. They were more along the sensitive side in which he felt touch through thin skin, and could easily detect texture and warmth. He would have liked to have taken a moment to appreciate the texture and coolness of Zagan’s own hand against his, but he wasn’t even stable enough to recognize much about it. He instead put his single track focus on the bottle he had been handed, and attempted to connect it with the instructs he’d been given.
He finally disregarded and touched the chilly lip of the bottle to his own, and for a brief moment debated whether drinking anymore was a good idea. His rational side had no time to fight through the heavy fog before it was drowned in more of the stinging liquid. Unfortunately, his throat was used to the abuse and was no more use at fighting it than the broken frequency of his rationality.
Holding the bottle with both hands around the neck, he took a few careful steps in a drifting line over to the center of the room. He looked at the blank wall for a long time, until his eyes had crossed, and then slowly shook his head. It wasn’t a nice sensation, but he liked that, in a way. Dorian turned around to face Zagan again, and smiled slightly.
“These cells,” he said softly and slowly, a sort of placid mystery to his tone. “Aren’t at all the same, or even similar. Not really, at least. Like people, in a way... If you’d... Well. They are, like people. Essentially the same, but with these really and obvious - once you’ve noticed, that is - differences.” He stepped over to Zagan once more, standing directly in front of him with a curious expression about his features. “Differences...”
His thoughts were congealing and dispersing rapidly, but at a slower rate that he could keep up with. What did come out was loosely what he had meant to say. “The cells are much like people because they’re different, but we don’t make use of them all because they’re different, like with people. Some are good and make good use, but yet those others are more like whatever damn it all to hell and that lot. Now...those we chose are special. And like special people, they do special things. And we keep them, while the less special ones...they rot and grow lonely and become nothing but memories...no one recalls.”
Dorian lifted his arm and rested his hand on Zagan’s shoulder. “But the special ones...” He gestured around the cell with the hand still holding the bottle. “We’re drawn to them and in them we keep.” He chuckled. “I like... I dunno, what color, but some color regal. My mother likes green...reminds her of emerald eyes. Lovely mother...”
Notes: DJ's focus isn't exactly what it ought to be, which is rotten luck for him, but after such a hectic week there truly isn't much he can hope to do about it now.
Extra Notes: Alrighty. I've got nearly 3000 words here, so as always, no one is required to bother reading this. It's probably not that entertaining anyway. Puh, excuse any typos if you do give it a look-see. I tried to proofread and got quite a few. We'll see.
DJ Alexander
November was always a lovely time of the year. While it was bitingly cold some days, there were plenty of brisk treasures to be found when being outside with a warm scarf and sweater was almost beyond enjoyable. Today was one of those days. The sun shone brightly and a breeze blew sharply, and caused the autumn affected trees to sway and shimmer nicely. The leaves were changing each day, and this week seemed to be enchanted, frozen, perpetually stuck in a form that was a palette of deep emerald greens yet morphed with rosy oranges and roasted golds. The colors merged and diffused with each swaying dance of the branches, and some of the leaves drifted down to the blanket of still green grass below. All across the hills, the blades could be seen as a mass of green changing to frost bitten yellow, to a brown that, while of dying breaths, couldn’t subtract from the beauty of the view. The rolling hills met the sky, and it was a sky that only added to the loveliness. It was a stew of crystal blue, of foaming white and turbulent gray. However, despite the seemingly dreary colors, it was calm, it was peaceful, and it was complementary in every way.
So was the fantastic sight DJ saw as he spent the day out on the quidditch pitch with the Slytherin team. Despite how relaxing and calming everything was, he had a thick aura of pure displeasure around himself, strung and bound tightly by stress, and stamped with anxiety and frustration. As he prowled the ground with his hands balled to fists within his cloak, he kept a glowering stare on the brooms and bodies flying around above his head. He searched meticulously for any defect, anything that was even slightly incorrect, anything and anyone that happened to be a liability. It was almost a sickly sort of enjoyment that he had when he thought of how smart it had been to keep not one, not two, but three backups on string just in case he needed to replace one of the sorry, ungrateful players he had been tricked into thinking were worth of representing their noble House. He did find himself having to admit, though, that despite the personalities, he was gifted with several good players. Nonetheless, he worked the alternates just as hard as everyone else, in case the unthinkable happened and he had to replace someone. The first person who came to mind when those thoughts swirled about was Dallas Rolf. His attitude made DJ excessively angry, but he had skills and that was undeniable. Perhaps if DJ himself had an existing sense of humor, and perhaps if he loosened his hold on perfection a smidge, he would be able to excuse the boy’s antics. But as it always came to be, he was only annoyed by the crass, loud, and rude arrogance. He couldn’t really sit well with the idea of someone replacing him, and that made him more than a little cross, and in what was purely spite.
This particular day, he was seeing little to no faults in the flying, in the way the beaters protected their space, in the way his chasers moved just right and with such good timing. He was proud, he was hopeful, and he was in tender anticipation regarding the match against Gryffindor in the coming days. In the past few weeks, he had been under a stress that was entirely too mature, too serious, and too important for someone his age to understandably be under, so he had had little time to truly enjoy one of his most favorite pastimes. In fact, the idea of quidditch wasn’t anywhere near the forefront of his mind during the day, or the night either. However, this week, as well as the two prior, he had devoted his entire focus to winning the game, and the ones after it too. The team was in excellent condition as it was, and while he didn’t spend much time thinking about the sport, he went out of his way daily to be sure that every single player got in the hours of practice he demanded, and that they made up for his distraction by focusing unendingly themselves.
DJ barked a few orders up to the flyers that were currently in the air, his voice carrying louder and more forcefully than it ever could in general conversation. Something about being on the pitch brought out a stronger need for control, for dominance, and for everyone to not only follow his directions to a T, but also to have respect and perhaps fear of his authority. Maybe it was because here, in the game, he allowed himself to demand excellence of not only himself, but also others. He directed the need for perfection that he was always trapped by to the players, and had almost become addicted to the euphoria that came along with a perfect match, a won game, exactly how he planned it to go.
Around that time, he decided he wanted to fly himself, though decidedly not with the snitch that was in his pocket at that very moment, as it was at most practices. He walked back over to where everyone had haphazardly tossed their bags, looking at the disorganized mess with disdain. Something about it threatened to set of his perfectionist’s tick, and he quickly busied himself with grabbing his broom instead of wasting time straightening the bags. By the time he had walked out onto the pitch, everyone had dispersed quite a bit, practicing in different parts of the air, though he spotted a pair on the ground doing something with the case he had brought out.
He went through the passive motions of mounting the broomstick and uttering the nonverbal command of “up!” and was then in the air, feeling it throughout his hair as he ascended. The wind was invigorating as his skin seemed to absorb it, and he would have felt so much lighter any other day because being so far up, seemingly away from his problems, was usually enough to let him move his focus to things less heavy. Today, though, the opposite seemed to happen and there was very little he was able to do about it.
Once he was above it all, the barrier in his mind broke and crumbled. His expression remained the same, but in the span of his conscious mind, there was an explosion of whatever fixed deadlock he had created with himself. It shattered and the force of it threatened to shake up his concentration, but he managed to hold it in place as he navigated the broom higher, faster. The source of the emotional and mental chaos was from the previous week, he forced himself to acknowledge. He was unsettled and unable to properly deal with the feelings because he had found himself in a very, very confusing and horrible situation less than two days ago, and he was sure to be scarred by it forever. Not only was it the physical effects of whatever had happened that had stunned him into a sort of internal identity crisis, but also the fact that he couldn’t remember anything that had happened for days, and that the people who he could connect to where he had found himself made no sense. He couldn’t find any traces of anything foreign in his system, and he checked very thoroughly for such things. He couldn’t explain it in the slightest, and the only other person who could possibly know seemed to be avoiding him as much as he was unconsciously avoiding her. It made no sense, it made him feel a deep sense of paranoid fear when he tried to think of it - his week - in any way, and it was a fear rooted deeply in the fact that loss of control and organization in his life would lead him to have what was truly and honestly a mental freak out.
So had been his yesterday. The feeling of fear and nervous ticking drove him to having the sensations of his chest closing up, his breathing not coming fast enough to keep him sustained, and a sickly crawling feeling all over his skin. He wanted the thoughts gone, or at least wanted to experience them in some other way, any other way. The result was his night being spent in the dungeon chambers, particularly the one with the strange moonlight, where he laid on the floor and ingested a brew that caused him to experience surreal, uncontrollable nightmares seemingly beneath his eyelids. It was a coping method he had long since developed, and that was transferring his restless mind’s ideas into images and sensations that his mind wasn’t lucid enough to deal with outright. Instead, he simply watched the terrifying images behind his eyes and let his conscious drift away from his body until he felt weightless and without worries that would persist. It was an intense case of psychologically tricking himself into thinking that the best way to deal with problems was by letting it run its course with a mind that wasn’t in its usual state, and it was unhealthy in many ways because it prevented him from coping properly and therefore only stunted his emotional growth further, but it seemed to him to work.
DJ’s thoughts, despite his persistent objections to himself, seemed to stick with the state of his body as it had been ever since he had, as he considered it to be, regained control of himself. His neck still ached in spots from the discolorations he could only identify with as being bruises of some sort, and he couldn’t get over the fact that his torso was a canvas of even more bruising, and scratches, too. It sickened him; it made him upset, and the frustration of the unknown being, well, unknown continued to grate at his nerves even when he wasn’t directly thinking of it. Now, he was more than directly thinking of it.
‘Damn it. The worst part is that I cannot even know what happened to my body without me possibly having consented to it. I don’t... I know exactly whom I could easily implicate, but that’s just so improbable! I lost myself somehow, and in regaining whatever control I think I can exert over myself, I’ve assumed this horrible... Oh, I don’t even know what to call it!’ he raved internally as he made a side note to focus more on productive practicing and less on flying in large loops. ‘Not to mention all of this...hectic whatever... Pah! So much to do, so much to plan. There’s not enough hours in the night and entirely too many in the day to suit me. I’ve got to find a way to smuggle some things back to school with me after the break this December. I need to get that book out of the wall in the third chamber and carry it with me. Mother said something the last time she wrote about having found a page I was missing... She hasn’t written me yet. Letter should have arrived the day before yesterday. I actually would have loved to have heard from her then. I do hope she’s okay. Two days late isn’t proper. She wouldn’t slack like that, though... Must be some issue with the owl? Incompetent coot she’s got. I’ll get her a new one. Perhaps with a nice jade ribbon. She likes that. She -’
His thoughts were cut short. It could have been represented by an image, it would have been a sheet of white paper in otherwise dark background ripping in half, and then being shredded, followed by a fiery explosion that left embers burning and shaking violently. The smoke would have engulfed the senses and the paper would have been forgotten. What paper, even, one might ask after blinking and looking away from the strange smoke that had obscured... Well, what it had obscured, one would further wonder. The wouldn’t know. Only smoke was there, until they were shocked to see more embers, and then the embers bursting into flames.
The grass was soft and almost chilled, with no insects visible but a small bit of wetness on the soil below that DJ could feel on the tender skin of his face. He was barely aware it was grass, or even that it was his face he felt it on. Instead, he felt only pain, and a dizzy sensation. The pain was a dull pain, he believed, and he couldn’t directly place what it was. He was confused. There was noise, but it was distant and faded in and out as seconds ticked by slowly and rapidly. He went to shake his head and felt the pain increase, throbbing now as his sight became unfocused for a moment. He stretched to get up, or so he thought, but the movement of muscle stopped when he felt two things. First was something he could only relate to sandpaper being rubbed together inside of his body, and the second being a sharp pain that shot all the way up through his body. He felt the dizziness increasing, and his eyes squeezed shut as a groan escaped his lips. He wanted to move again, to get up and slink off to a corner to discover what was causing the pain. He tried to move again, and that was it. He blacked out and that was that.
Upon awaking, DJ found himself to be in a place that was almost entirely foreign. After his eyes adjusted to the light, he came to realize he was in the school’s infirmary. Confusion spread through him and he moved to sit up, but was met with a throbbing pain. It emitted from every part of his body, it seemed. He tried moving a few seconds later and found he was restrained entirely. Panic built up in his chest, which itself felt heavy and hurt as he tried to breath. After struggling to move without truly moving, he saw that the majority of his upper torso was bound with something he assumed to be bandages. The confusion intensified as did the panic, his mind racing to decide why he was there, what was wrong with him, why he didn’t know already, and how he could leave. It quickly became too much and, in a stupidly spontaneous move, he jerked his entire body to the left in an attempt to get up, to run, to leave the glaringly white environment and the bed he knew he must be on. The movement caused a sharp pain to shoot up from… He forced himself to concentrate, then attempted to move his feet. More of the sharp pain, and he discerned throbbing as well. He continued with the trying to move, to determine what was wrong through exploration of pain, and finally tried to jolt up his right leg, from which most of the pain seemed to be coming. It was a horrible mistake, and he regretted it instantly as he screamed in pain.
When one of the nurses finally came over to him, she found him with his eyes closed, gasping, and making a face of pure horror. He heard her approach and his eyes snapped open. “Stop!” he whispered as he saw her hand rise. “Whatever... Whatever you are going to do, stop it right now and explain to me why I am here and what is wrong with me.” The nurse looked surprised, but the look on his face showed quite obviously that he wasn’t asking her at all, but truly commanding her to answer him accordingly. She dropped her hand and did so. While she spoke, he listened with care and tried to understand despite the dizziness he still felt, the pain throbbing dully in his leg and neck, and the irritation caused by the stuffy heat he was surrounded by. When she had finished and left him with ingesting unwanted medication, he was left endure his erratic thoughts.
When they were finally and painstakingly ordered, he stared up at the ceiling with an expressionless face. The truths he was facing now were more unfortunate, were more shaking, and had him closer to tears than anything he had suffered in quite a while. Firstly, he was confined to the infirmary for the next three days while the magical ministrations of the nurses took effect and stabilized his internal situations. Secondly, he had been unconscious since nearly eleven that morning, and it was now an hour or so after dinner. Thirdly, he had somehow fallen from his broom and landed on the ground. No one had properly seen the incident, so no one knew exactly what had occurred. Fourthly, his right leg was virtually useless. The system of joints connecting an around the knee had been splintered and fractured, and everything between those and his ankle were virtually shattered. In fact, as the nurse said, his leg was unusually limp and she was certain he could have been able to hear the bone fragments shifting earlier. Now, they had been set with a series of medical spells, though it would still be weeks - until February - for his leg to be mostly healed. The rest of his body would be sore and bruised for the next few weeks, but that wasn’t crippling. Now, the fourth and most important truth that caused his eyesight to blur with tears of pure anger was a simple one: according to the nurses and the quidditch supervisor, he could be on the sidelines captaining, but wasn’t to even think of touching a broomstick until, not February as he would have assumed, but nearly May.
Alexandra waited for her words to click, but she knew it would take a longer amount of time than one would expect. Surprisingly, she was willing to wait. Not that she could be terribly impatient with such things. She understood that the direction she was taking things was a leap from what the initial intentions were behind their stay together and also accepted that the subject would possibly go right over his head. As she waited, she noticed a small change, but it seemed to be one of confusion. The urge to smile was almost overwhelming, but she kept it well hidden.
“Oh?” She asked, not expecting an answer. There wasnt much that she felt the need to say, but she figured a reply would have been considered polite, even if it were short. Watching his expressions change through levels of comprehension had become much more interesting than she had thought, and took a small bit of pleasure in the show. Though his expression didn’t change as often as someone else’s might, his eyes were all she needed to see through him. Light flickers of different emotion went through them as small burst of color wove themselves through his already vibrant aura with each thought and conclusion.
Even though he saw through her expression, she kept one that was similar to somehow prove that it wasn’t just a facade. Well, it was, but it also wasn’t. But she wasn’t willing to admit to herself that she actually felt hurt in any way. She was unwilling to admit to herself that she was weak in any way, but was somehow okay with allowing DJ to see. The conclusion she had come to was confusing, in that way. But she wasn’t comfortable with feeling weak, and knew it wouldn’t benefit her in any way. This, on the other hand, she could get something out of.
In response to his question, Alexandra bit her lip and contemplated what exactly she would do next. Quickly she decided that words could only make things uncomfortable, so she decided to take this as an opportunity to take action. “I’ll try my best to make things clear for you, Dorian.” Once again, she leaned in closer to the boy beside her, but went past her previous destination. Just inches away, she glanced down at his lips then into his eyes, taking in the color that hand now been much more appealing than ever. The slightest scent of cologne found it’s way to her senses through the thick veil of incense she had previously tainted the room with and it sent her heart racing. With little consideration of the outcome, Alexandra closed her eyes and pressed her lips against his lightly, awaiting whatever response was to come next.
DJ Alexander
With curious eyes still, DJ watched as she thought herself, concentrating and deliberating. He presumed it was on how to deal with his question, and while he wanted an answer, he did have a inkling of worry as to what it might be specifically. He had an idea, but he knew that could be skewed and stretched in virtually any and all directions, or worse, he could be dead wrong in his vague wondering concepts of ideas. He almost sighed, but instead slowly exhaled through his nose.
He saw the resolution in her eyes and waited for her words, and when she spoke them, he had a few seconds to debate their true meaning before she moved. Again, she moved closer and closer until she was in his space, only there was something decidedly different about it, despite the similarities. With her so close, he half expected his mind to, perhaps, fog a bit. However, such things didn’t happen and he watched with what wasn’t exactly confusion as she looked down at his lips, then into his eyes. He stared evenly back into hers, with their graying blue that he found to be lovely despite how it lacked depth. But so large, so expressive, and so interesting were her eyes as a whole that the color hardly mattered.
Perhaps it was staring into her eyes that distracted him, but he was decidedly caught off guard by her lips against his own. It was an entirely foreign feeling, and he felt his hands curling with the spontaneous reaction of wanting to push her away. However, he told himself that obviously there was reason behind it, and that perhaps if he gave it - and Alexandra - a chance, there might be something worthwhile to be garnered from the experience. So, he let the moment carry on for a moment or so long, having tilted his head slightly in an attempt to make it less awkward for himself, and also because the mostly soft texture of her lips was pleasant. The whole time, he had not closed his eyes and was instead looking at the lids of hers as she kept them closed. He suddenly wished his life hadn’t been quite so very sheltered, to save him the confusion and awkwardness he currently felt, but his disposition was too light and sunny to be upset. If anything, he felt even more motivated to go with the flow of things, which in this case, meant following Alexandra’s lead.
A second, two or three more, passed and he pulled away from her. It wasn’t very much, barely a bit of an inch, and only so that he could ask of her in a breathy but still solid tone, “I’ve not got any qualms with this because your lips are very nice, but I’m also finding it proper to inform you that I have no laid out idea what you’re doing here. Feel free to carry on.” The latter phrase escaped before he could find a more suitable one, but it was perhaps the best he could have given as far as meaning was concerned. He didn’t have an issue with this, this kiss, and he wasn’t sure what she expected of him, but he also had no issues with her carrying on with whatever it was she intended on doing, now that she had done this. ‘How... strangely nice.’
“Well you can’t just hint at things like that, you know. I’m a rather direct sort of person and it’s just not fair to go around beginning to explain things then just- “oh, never mind”. But yes, I do get the idea.” Alexandra looked down and unbuttoned the cuffs on her sleeves then pulled them up to her elbows. She drummed her fingers against her knee, thinking through how exactly she could turn ideas into action. “Well, either way. I’ve got my own bad habits. Copious amounts of cravings that all feel a bit odd, but like I’ve had them for ages.”
“That sounds wonderful, really. Tell me, though. If one has a difficulty sleeping, how would they experience such things. I, unfortunately, am stuck in a seemingly never-ending cycle of the same daily routine. With no breaks from reality, might I add.” She took a moment to think, chewing on the inside of her cheek lightly. “I mean, there are a few options. But a large amount are out of the question since I’ve never been terribly interested in hard drugs. Mainly because I haven’t felt the need for another addiction, though. Oh well.” She shrugged, realizing she didn’t need to go on that long, but not caring much about it either.
After a moment to let him think, Alexandra leaned in a bit closer so that she was only a couple inches away from his ear, lowered her voice slightly and added on, “Well, I’ve got a few. But they might make you blush.” The corners of her lips curled up and she leaned back against her hands, resting her head on one of her shoulders and closing her eyes for a moment. “But, unfortunately, it gets so lonely sometimes. The effects just aren’t the same when you haven’t got someone to join you. But I’d say that’s with any coping method.”
She sighed then returned her gaze to DJ, hoping her face appeared the way she had attempted. A bit hurt, slightly broken, with a hint of pleading, just before she looked away. Nothing terribly obvious, but enough to get the point across. There was no telling how DJ would react, or if he’d completely get it at all. She wasn’t sure, but she figured he wasn’t so ignorant as to let the comment completely go over his head. Either way, she hoped he’d clear his odd, jumbled brain for a moment to understand what she might be hinting at- more blatantly stating, to catch his attention.
DJ Alexander
DJ watched her patiently as she spoke, a faint smile lingering on his features. He felt completely and utterly at home in this room with Alexandra, and relaxed in a way he was surprised to find that he felt he had never truly been. He was still looking for traces of the internal disorder she had been in moments before, but was pleasantly surprised to find that there was something else concealed behind her eyes, in the way she moved her fingers and chewed on the inside of her cheek. All were gestures of thought, none intentional but perhaps forces of habit, occurring in most human being one could have the pleasure of encountering.
He wasn’t sure what it was she was debating, but his reflection on it was effectively punctured and deflated when she was suddenly so much closer, her voice so much lower, and her breath even gentle touching his skin. He looked over at her as she smiled and leaned away, and her words lingered with him as he wondered what could have possibly provoked her to incorporate such a manner into them. He found himself to be further unsettled by her expression, what he quickly deciphered as being layered within it. “Haven’t got someone to join you...” he echoed, his tone hollow. Though he happened to be looking directly at her with seemingly unchanging eyes, they were actually quite emotionless as he stared at her, through her, perhaps past her.
Her words were indicative of their own of what she was thinking and had been, at least to some degree, but he couldn’t bring himself to really interpret in that direction. He lifted his right hand, his small finger going directly to his lips. It was a habit, often accompanying thought, that he created a union between his mouth and his fingers, and it happened regardless of what company he happened to be in. It was childlike, the habit, but it was almost compulsively necessary in such unchildlike situations.
Finally, he clasped his hands and focused his attention directly back to her, looking at her eyes, her nose, her hair, her mouth. “What are you asking?” he said quietly, soft curiosity in his voice as he admired the curve of her pink lips. “Implying rather,” he clarified, eyes cutting back to hers. “It’s... You look so sad, I’m sure you are in spirit, but... Whatever you want, you’re using these pretty little expression unfairly. Speak up, don’t be so coy.” His smile was decidedly absent, replaced with a set expression of impatient expectance. His eyes, however, were very light and animated, perhaps more so than they had been all day. He felt that, superficially, but also felt a sort of anticipation, excitement.
After DJ finally made his way over and sat down, Alexandra took the time to move a bit closer and made herself comfortable in this new spot. She had managed to adjust herself out of a small crack she had fallen into, then settled and smiled back slightly. It had been a rather long day of doing absolutely nothing, and she was glad to be relieved of simmering in her own thoughts. though She hadn’t normally thought so much of it, she couldn’t get her parents or childhood off of her mind that day and felt that she needed a break from the overwhelming annoyance.
For some time Alexandra couldn’t pin why she was so bothered by the situation, then in a moment of enlightenment understood. She had come of the conclusion that the situations they had involved her in were much too extreme to rationally include such a small child in and was no less than furious about her parents decisions. What would have been heartbreak quickly turned into an outburst of rage and lead to nothing good. The more she thought about it, the worse it became. It was then that she understood the true darkness behind her scars and felt anything terribly negative about the tattoo that was permanently etched into her thigh.
When DJ decided to speak up, she was quickly pulled away from her thoughts and brought back to reality. Alexandra noticed her fists were uncomfortably and pulled her fingers away to find deep ridges in her palm that her nails had dug themselves into. She sighed to herself, then turned her palms down and looked back at DJ. “Well of course. That is, if you prove yourself. I don’t bring just anyone in here, you know. You’re one of three, so count yourself lucky to even be here the first time.” She said with a haughty tone to her voice. She found a small smile had crept it’s way back to her lips, and noticed she had been doing a lot of that even though she hadn’t felt like she wanted too much at all that day. “Evening, yes. I’m sure it will be simply marvelous.”
His delighted tone had rubbed off on her, ever so slightly. Nothing that impacted her much, but enough to give her some motivation to keep herself from asking him to go. Of course it wasn’t what she wanted, but she felt a deep sense of uneasiness about her since earlier that day. “Oh, thank you. I put a lot of meaningless effort into that for no one to see it, so I appreciate that you enjoy it. The woman just sort of crept her way into my mind and refused to leave until I gave her the attention that she demanded.” She spoke half-heartedly, in hopes to give it some emotion that she no longer felt a connection to. “Hm, well that’s an odd way to think of it, but I believe you’re right, in a way. Throughout my stay at Hogwarts, it’s been sort of a security blanket. I used to always feel so out of place, and this kept me comfortable when I needed some sort of escape.” She added with a shrug.
After a few moments, Alexandra’s anger towards her family had boiled up in her again and she couldn’t seem to find a way to calm it down. She bit the inside of her lip lightly and looked to DJ for some sort of release, then realized fully what situation she had put herself in. The thought had quickly crossed her mind before, but she hadn’t planned on taking action. She leaned against her palm and turned so she was facing DJ. Feeling oddly desperate, she asked a bit more seriously. “Dorian, this might be unrelated and I’m sorry for changing the subject on you, but what do you do to distract yourself?”
DJ Alexander
DJ noticed that there seemed to be something troubling her. It was on her features, in her posture, and it seemed so unconcealed that there was no way he could conceivably not happen to notice. He was a little bothered by it, but it also felt strange to care. That, in turn, left him to brush it aside and assure himself whatever was bothering her surely wasn’t anything major and that she would be fine either way.
As she said the words, he nodded in agreement with her words on the school providing her with comfort. It seemed entirely fitting, as many things he had come to learn so far in the evening. Alexandra obviously had parts and aspects of her personal and home life that perhaps no one would ever truly know of, and he gathered that from her expression as she spoke, the things she concealed behind lacking emotion and what was obviously not full heartfelt word flow. He didn't mind it too much, and knew he couldn't very well blame her for it, but he did wish it was appropriate to wish her well. That brought back the strange feeling in the back of his conscious, but he against pushed it away.
He was surprised when her eyes seemed to contain a sort of irritation, and while he wondered if it were directed at him, he nearly missed its flaring into full blown anger. He tracked the murkiness of her irises as she seemed to struggle with something on dual levels of consciousness, but finally blinked away his intrigued stare when she spoke. Her question wasn't as random as it could have been, as he seemed to feel her train of thought through her expression, so he only took a few moments to formulate an acceptable answer.
"Well, I can't be too entirely clear for reasons unbeknownst to me at present," he began with a sort of small, cocked, thoughtful smile. "I know that I prefer to... I firmly believe that the senses can overpower concentration. It's human nature, of course. Beauty, glorious scents and sights and sounds... They can take over one's mind in an instant. Complete immersion in sensory overloading is the best method of distraction, for me. Hence why I have a habit of -” He stopped and shook his head. “Bad habits, but whatever.” He lifted his arms and gestures around in little circles and spirals with his hands, in the air. “Emotion from aesthetic invoking is the best distraction... I just can’t think of things normally when I’m so overcome with interest, and sometimes, outright confusion at what I’m seeing, hearing, smelling, feeling... It’s lovely.”
With a little shrug, DJ closed his eyes. “Like how you go to sleep and dream. The issues you want to distract yourself from are still there, but you conscious crafts a lovely way of dealing with them, which is making you unaware of the fact that they’re there, while also forcing you to deal with them through interaction and incorporation into the things it spawns for you to, and this is figuratively, drown in.” He smiled and nodded, and looked back over to her with an almost drowsy sort of half smile. “Those aren’t even the specific answers to what you asked, are they? I apologize.”
Alexandra smiled slightly, though she wasn’t in DJ’s sight. She figured it’d be reassuring to him if he glanced back for any reason. “Well, it’d be kind of you to show me. That is, if you ever actually decided to carry through with the idea.” She breathed in deeply and stepped inside, then closed the door behind her. Unsure of what exactly to say for the moment, she simply walked in and sat down on the pile of pillows before her, making herself comfortable. Cravings for a cigarette welled up in her stomach as she settled in, but she figured it’d be best not to indulge. It was odd how some students tended to react to those things. She sighed, then looked up at DJ.
“Don’t argue. They’re lovely in many ways, including depth, and I am more than sure that you’re aware of it. They’ve got a crystal clear color, a depth that is just fine, and an icy feel to them that’s generally quite attractive.” She leaned back and closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. The urge to smoke was on the verge of something ridiculous and quickly becoming bothersome. Her eyes opened widely as she began a quick search for incense. Certainly not what she wanted, but it was something. It was then that she remembered she had run out earlier. She cursed herself for stopping, but then let it go as she figured her time with DJ would be more interesting than time alone in a smoky room.
Shortly after giving up, she motioned for DJ to sit down next to her. Upon realizing there were several bottles of paint scattered around where she had directed him to go, she gathered them up and moved them to the side, along with her most recent painting. She glanced at it for a moment, then returned her attention to the boy. “Why thank you, Dorian.” She put a smile on her face, then continued on, “Oh, well, I claimed this room as my own a rather long time ago. I found it in my second year, and I’ve been adding to it slowly ever since then.”
Though DJ acted nothing like what she felt used to enjoying, Alexandra couldn’t help but notice that he was aesthetically appealing in more ways than just his eyes. His lingering at the door gave her a moment to sit back and just look at him. His posture was what appealed to her, mostly. He held himself in a way that was professional and demanded recognition. Besides that, he was also gifted with an oddly appealing nose, and though his jawline wasn’t terribly defined, it fit him well. It was then that she found her way back to his eyes, and bit the inside of her lip lightly. “Well, this is it. I’m glad you decided to stay with me.”
DJ Alexander
DJ devoted a good few moments to looking around still as he took heavy, slow steps to where she had directed him, and she had moved the paints by the time he moved to seat himself next to her. Completing his assessment for the time being, he had looked back to Alexandra in time to catch her saying when she had found the room. He nodded and smiled a small smile with merry eyes, easily able to imagine a younger version of the girl stumbling upon the room. He thought back to her comment about not finding the library interesting, and wondered if so was always and forever the case.
When he actually sat down, he found could understand how all of it had come to be, now that he was aware of how long she had had the place in under her claim. Less than five years, yes, but still substantial considering that most students wouldn’t be able to locate and retain access to such a lovely area. Furthermore, he wasn’t sure many people could make it their own the way Alexandra had. He felt a gnawing feeling in the back of his mind that perhaps he understood those views more than he already felt he did, but it wasn’t important at the time.
He had noticed and registered her gaze, but didn’t really think much of it. Relaxing somewhat against the cushioning pillows, he leaned toward her and said, “You know, I firmly believe that now that you’ve introduced me to this little world of yours, it would just be an act of injustice and human cruelty to not invite me here again. And I’m sure we’ll have a terrific afternoon - evening, would it be? - together.” He spoke softly and regarded her from beneath his eyelashes with a completely at home and serene expression. For some reason, he felt like his entire body had been rigid, cramped, and conformed to impossible standards of pressure for the longest time, and the atmosphere with its soft warmth and lingering scents was getting to him. It felt wonderful, and he was already endlessly grateful for Alexandra and her company.
With an exhaling sigh, he stretched out his arms and legs, and leaned back against the pillows as she was. “Your art is lovely,” he said, pointing to a random painting. “It fits so cohesively with the room, which is magnificent. It’s possibly the best hidden nook in the entirety of the castle, which is saying something. You’re a remarkable person yourself for crafting it. I feel like it’s not you, though, if that makes any sense.” He looked over to her, feeling an emotion fueled with admiration and musing. “It seems like rather than being a projection of yourself as some would assume, this is a haven projected out of the things that makes you...stable and happy. Like complementary completion of the mind and heart.” He rested his own hand over his heart and smiled. “It’s like being in a portrait painted backwards.” The words probably wouldn’t carry meaning to her, but to him they contained more depth and romanticism than he cared to admit. "I'm very much glad I decided to stay with you," he added after several moments.
“Oh, really?” Alexandra smiled to herself. It was rare that she would allow anyone to see her artwork, but she hadn’t thought that she would be showing him several of her paintings just by taking him back with her. Her paintings weren’t terrible, but she wasn’t sure if anyone else would appreciate them the way she did, or that they could. She gave DJ the benefit of the doubt and went along with what he had said. “Well, I’ve painted all my life. I’ve never actually taken the time to share my work with others, but it takes up a large portion of my time. I think you might enjoy painting, possibly. I mean, there are many ways you could go about it. Even if you aren’t skilled with realism, you can always get away with abstract.” She replied, shrugging casually.
“I wasn’t aware that the library seemed interesting in the first place. Not that I don’t enjoy reading, I just don’t like the idea of staying around there for terribly long.” There was an irony in her words, since she spent more of her time in the library than out. She even slept in there from time to time, but she never considered her little nook in the corner a part of it. The feel of the rooms were much different from each other. At least, they were to her. “Maybe that’s just me, though. Oh well.”
Alexandra had avoided making eye contact with the boy since he she felt trapped the last time, this time she couldn’t help but turn around and give him a curious look. “Beads?” She asked, lifting her hair and examining it carefully. “Well, my mother used to put beads in my hair. I’ve never quite been able to do it right without her, though. I’ve tried once or twice, but they end up looking silly.” She wasn’t quite sure if she wanted too many reminders of home. The thought quickly felt strange to her, as she would have normally enjoyed nothing more than a small reminder of how she was raised. But as of now, the thought seemed sickening. It grasped onto her tightly and knotted itself into her stomach, before she shook her head then turned back to DJ. “Not in a while, no. Why?” She added, before giving in and saying what was on her mind earlier. “I have no idea how you could think my eyes are interesting in any way when you’ve been gifted with ones such as your own.” She spoke quickly, then headed to the door and opened it for him. “After you, darling.”
DJ Alexander
The prospect of seeing her work was delightful, and he smiled kindly as he imagined what her modesty could be concealing. His imagination had been vivid all week long, but unlike most things, it didn’t feel off, but rather natural on both sides. So, now, it ran away with ideas of what she could even paint. She didn’t really strike him as much of a landscape artist, and he frankly found those to be boring anyhow. Living things seemed more her forte, but he assumed abstract wasn’t much of a stretch either.
“I don’t think I would, show anything like that to anyone else,” DJ said, his tone light and thoughtfully. “Perhaps you, because I feel like your judgement would be proper.” He listened as she explained about the library, and came to the realization that perhaps Alexandra wasn’t as much of an enigma as she seemed to be. His recollection of her was foggy at best, but he felt like some of that misty cloud cover was from the girl herself. It was interesting, and very telling about how she seemed to be presenting herself this day.
He imagined her lovely hair with beads while she spoke of it, and was almost unaware of the comment she made regarding his eyes. When it did occur to him what she had said, he smiled at her and shook his head. “I’ve been given eyes for sight, and they’re a nice shade of blue, but they’ve not got very much depth. At least, not where it counts,” he replied as he watched her go and open the door. He didn’t argue with her ushering him in first, but he had to pause just a half foot into the doorway.
“My, oh my,” he murmured as the warmth of the room seemed to begin to envelop him, and the scent of incense - he recognized it but couldn’t directly place it - washed over him. There were other mingling scents, his keen sense of smell noted, including what was obviously that of paint. He looked around with wide, awe filled eyes. The room itself was cozy and small, invitingly so, and the pillows littering the floor only made the plushness of it more literal. Then there were the paintings, and the candles. He stepped farther in, moving to the side so Alexandra could get by, and continued lavishing everything with lingering, admiring, appraising looks.
“It’s so...lovely,” he said to her, taking his eyes from a candle and looking over to Alexandra with a sort of airy dreaminess in his eyes. “The whole room. You must spend hours here. How could you not? It’s like... It’s a perfect den of reflection, theoretically and otherwise. Just begging to catch ideas, thoughts, ideas, feelings... Ugh, it’s perfectly and utterly Alexandra.” His words ended with a breathy sigh, perhaps not as dramatic as any before were, and more sincere.
“Well then, you can bring a book if you’d like. I’d like to think I’m not terribly boring, but I’m sure some might like to say so.If it actually comes to that, I’ve got some paints and a couple blank canvases stored in there and I don’t mind silence much.” Alexandra mentioned, picking at the dead skin around her nails. ‘How lovely.’ She thought to herself with an overly sarcastic tone, before she pulled back a bit too far and began to bleed. “Well, if I’m boring I wouldn’t want you to feel the need to stay around. Nothing is worse than wasted time on someone you don’t even enjoy being around” She put the tip of her finger to her tongue and held it in her mouth for a moment before adding, “Well I’m not sure if I would have been able to put up with that for long. Next time just sort of stomp on her toe, she’ll understand that she is no longer needed and leave much more quickly.”
She smiled slightly at the idea of what terrible shriek would come pouring from the girls mouth. “Well your day seems to have been much more eventful than mine, at least you’ve got that.” Alexandra added with a slightly cheerful tone. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed to match his excitement, if only to make him more comfortable than the unappealing feel that she felt she was giving off. Sadly for DJ, she wasn’t in the mood for acting especially different for him. She had figured he could handle the way she felt naturally, anyways. Not that he was doing a bad job of it already. “But, yes. I’d rather be anywhere than here, at least for the moment. Sad thing is, I’m not even taking you far. Oh well, it’s all I’ve got for now. Come on.” She hoisted herself into an upright position, for once standing taller than the Slytherin that sat before her. A small flicker of pride was in her eyes but gone no quicker than a moment later.
“I’m most certain they do it on purpose. Hurry up, now. We haven’t got all night.” She commanded, though he was barely given enough time to react on his own. “Well, we do. But nonetheless, I would love nothing more than to be anywhere but the direct center of this soulless wasteland. They say it’s for learning, but I’d much more quickly believe that it was simply for the practice of making personalities dull, though they don’t need much help becoming that on their own.” Growing a bit impatient, she started to head off to the small room in the back of the library she had claimed to be her own. She called back, much too loudly for a library, “That sounds like a wonderful plan. Come along, now. I’m in no mood to waste another minute here. Hurry along. We can continue our conversation off this way.”
DJ Alexander
“Ooh, paint,” he said, smiling. It seemed fantastically appropriate that Alexandra would have painting as a hobby, and he supposed she was rather good at it, too. She seemed to think on a spiritual level that would allow her to see with her heart, in his opinion and theory. ‘Therefore, anything she commands with artistic expression is sure to be mindbogglingly wonderful. Full of wonder, perhaps awesome,’ he thought as he imagined walls of some hidden cove room lined with shimmering paintings lining the walls, flickering back candlelight. ‘Because, obviously, a room as grand as he imagined her to be must have candles. Or something similar.’
“You seem like someone who would paint,” he said as he stood as well. “You’ve got eyes that seem to speak of an unravelable soul, and I’m sure they see directly into the inner core of everyone and everything else around you, hm? I’ve never been one for painting because... Well, I’m not sure why but I’m sure there was a reason. Either way, you’ve just got to show me something you’ve painted. Assuming you’d want to do so, that is.” DJ chuckled and walked with quick strides to catch up with her, though he remained a step behind.
“The library suddenly seems much less interesting,” he said thoughtfully, partially to only himself. He decided that, yes, the library was a contraption devised to ensnare students into a state of silent dreariness, and thus ensuring that the atmosphere remained the perfect climate for them to work alone and leave. ‘Devious, devious.’ He compared this library to his own at home, and found it to different by general principle, but similar in chilliness. The difference was, he came to conclude, was that his library at home made up for its chilliness in the way that it had so many rooms and hidden alcoves, so many cases and shelves of books to be located in nooks and beyond hidden doors, and in the atmosphere of dangerous mystery. ‘Perhaps it’s just the books.’ He felt like it was that dangerous, forbidden edge that made the idea of being in that library seem unsavory to him, but deeper, he felt strange for being hesitant about it. He shook his hands and brushed the thoughts and feelings away.
Sobered up entirely now, he just looked ahead in the general direction they were going, though half of his attention was on Alexandra’s hair, which he firmly believed was something one might find on a fairy somewhere out in the Forest. He could see it being braided into tassels, and that led him to wonder what it would look like if it were studded with beads. “Alexandra, do you weave beads into your hair? Like the glass, handpainted Indian ones? Perhaps porcelain discs, painted with acrylics and gold. Do you use those?” he asked curiously, though he didn’t expect an immediate answer by any means.
“Oh, well that’s unfortunate.” Alexandra sighed. “Well, I could see you excelling quite quickly with a crystal ball.” She stopped for a moment, confirming her thoughts, then nodded. “Yes, a crystal ball would fit you nicely. It takes a very clear mind to be able to actually have any sort of success with one. I’m sure you’d be able to handle it. I would suggest spending some time reading about that, specifically.” She bit the inside of her lip, thinking through any other possible instructions. “Oh, I would also work on your ability to see auras. Connecting with and understanding people is very important, whether you’d like to think it is or not.” She concluded, putting an end to whatever lecture she hadn’t planned on starting.
Alexandra couldn’t help but feel that his kindness was a bit off and something about it felt strange. She pushed the thought into the back of her mind then laughed to herself. “Really? I’m still sort of terrible at it, you know. I’m not the worst, by all means. But I somehow failed to avoid whatever predicament we’ve been put in, even when I did have warning signs. If anything, I’d be disappointed.” Though the words would have normally been the first thing out of her mouth, she finally added, “But thank you, that’s very kind of you to say.” Then smiled, putting an end to that train of thought.
Alexandra sighed slightly dramatically, then rolled her eyes before quickly returning her gaze to his. “Nothing outrageous? Well you’ve just taken the fun out of it. Really, what’s the point if I can’t have a bit of fun with it.” She crossed her arms and gave a fake pout. “Really, you can’t just say those sorts of things then go about adding on rules and stipulations.” She then abandoned whatever sort of charisma she had put into the situation as an idea popped into her mind. “What exactly are you doing out here? I mean, is there any exact reason that you should have to stay? Not that I don’t enjoy the library as much as the next person, but it’s a bit chilly and I’ve got a warmer spot where we could continue coexisting. If you wouldn’t mind, that is. It’s not terribly far away, actually, and it’s much more comfortable than this ridged section of the school.” Though she wasn’t sure if he’d agree to her offer, she figured it’d be worth a shot.
DJ Alexander
He found her crystal ball suggestion to be interesting. While he fully appreciated the art of using such devices, and he admired anyone who was able to, he felt deep inside that it was perhaps a finicky art that didn’t quite suit him. The thought was seven shades of unnatural, feeling first wrong then wrong for feeling wrong and back once more, deeper and deeper. He made a note to give some quality reading to it anyhow. The idea of reading auras was even more interesting to him, and it seemed to fit his needs better - whatever needs those were, as he really couldn’t seem to recall specifically. “I imagine so,” he murmured in response to her remark about understanding people. The words seemed to hold more meaning, but he couldn’t quite fathom it at the moment. It was confusing, but he was too pleased with the conversation to dwell on it.
DJ tapped his chin thoughtfully as he considered her invitation. “I was just sitting and reading, really. I don’t have a single thing to be attended to for the remainder of the evening, leisurely reading and all aside. I was speaking to a girl earlier, she was saying something about some sort of animals - she really, really sounded quite vicious as she spoke so I asked her to leave, eventually, as nicely as possible - but that’s the extent of what my time here has consisted of.” He acknowledged the chilliness of the library, but couldn’t help but think of it on a more depthful level, particularly that the library had an impersonal feel that stifled interactions to quiet, casual atmospheres that lingered only for a moment and returned to silence.
“Hmm, they must do that on purpose,” he mused aloud, smiling. “You know, making the air in here so off putting, stalling conversation. People don’t come here to have deep, meaningful talks, right? Not at all. You casually speak while exchanging notes, maybe while looking for a book, but otherwise... Nope.” He shrugged and smiled at her. “Continuing to coexist in a warmer environment seems nice.”
Alexandra seemed exactly like the sort of person who would have a hidden spot, as he had previously decided, and he found it to be very nice, a true friendly gesture, that she would share her space with him. His curiosity was piqued and he had already made up his mind in the matter before he really had a definite answer. “Yes, yes,” he said, nodding. “Let’s do that. I’ve got some questions for you, in fact, philosophical type inquiries, and I’d like for you to speak with me on these matters, and I’ll write it all down and reflect on it later in private but we’ll share our thoughts because...” He stopped and help a hand up, then looked around. “We’ll share our thoughts because I’ve missed human interaction so far this week and I think your pretty little head is filled with pretty little thoughts worth sharing. And if I’m wrong, then it’s still an adventure to discover.” He grinned happily, nearly excited by definition now.
Quickly after Alexandra mentioned divination, the Slytherin’s face lit up and she knew that meant there was at least some sort of improvement. Gladly, she wasn’t disappointed. Though his reply wasn’t as informative as she would have wished, she was still impressed with any sort of improvement. Not that she didn’t expect any, but there was always the possibility. Most of the students she put effort into helping would quickly disappoint her, but DJ seemed to have more motivation than the others. The sudden realisation felt wrong. She wondered if helping others so often was even worth it, in the end. It had so often proved to be a waste. She sighed to herself, then brought herself out of wherever that train of thought had taken her. “That’s great, has anything in particular helped you out? If so, there’s a possibility that I could find more things that are directly related. The things I gave you were all a bit vague. If there’s anything specific you’d like, just let me know.”
“That’s nonsense, Dorian. Of course I’m proud of you for making such improvements.” She waved off his modesty and smiled slightly. “You’re doing well.” Alexandra bit the inside of her lip lightly, trying to remember all that the Headmistress had said in the announcement earlier. Something about a trick or poison… Well, she couldn’t quite remember it all because she didn’t exactly care to listen at the time.
“Oh, yeah… Well, if you get properly informed, it’d be great for you to let me know what’s going on. I honestly haven’t got the slightest idea as to what it may be, besides everything feeling slightly off. Everything that’s gone on today just feels odd. Oh well, we’ll find out what happened soon enough. Unfortunately, I felt it coming last night. I was just a bit… Absent minded and I chose to ignore it this morning.” Oddly, admitting her fault in that situation was much more difficult than one would think.
Alexandra watched DJ push his book around absentmindedly, then began to feel a bit odd staring at his hands for so long. She brought her gaze up to his eyes and kept them there. The crystal blue that so obviously trumped the shallow grey she was burdened with grabbed her attention and held it there much too quickly for her liking. She almost felt trapped, but couldn’t protest much more than that. They fit him well. “Eternally in my debt?” She cocked a brow and half smiled. “I’m not too sure if you should have said that. But now that you have. I’m sure I’ll be able to think of something for you.” She said with a devilish tone to her voice, then winked and grinned widely.
DJ Alexander
He shook his head in response to her question, mainly because he couldn’t remember any specifics about any of the divination he had been studying, It was peculiar, but there wasn’t any way he’d have ever let something so simply upset the good mood he was in. “It’s foggy. I can’t really point out anything,” he said, his expression bleeding honesty as he did so. “But the vagueness wasn’t negative. I’m... I was floundering in nothing.” He chuckled, then returned his attention to what she was saying now.
DJ raised his eyebrows. “Huh. So you’ve got those feelings. I’m not surprised, I’m really not,” he said with a little smile. “In other words, you seem exactly like a person who would have that specialness about them. Or, alternatively, the specialness isn’t from being able to sense those things, as opposed to being able to know to sense those things you’re sensing already.” As he spoke, he wasn’t looking specifically at her, so he completely missed her eyes looking into his. “So, a matter of being aware of your own senses. That’s a nice gift.”
He mentioned his debt to her, partially joking but also being honest to degree of how much he really did appreciate her simple efforts. Alexandra’s response was amusing enough for him to grin himself and laugh. He shook his finger at her and attempted to pull a serious face. “That’s an excellent look for you, Alexandra,” he chuckled. “Animated suits you pleasantly well.” He placed his fingers thoughtfully under his chin and look around the library for a few moments. “Nothing outrageous, dear lady,” he said at last. “But, yes, sure. You’ve been the gift which will surely continue giving and I feel I’ll do great things in the future with your help. So.” As he spoke, he placed extraordinarily eccentric dramatic emphasis in both tone and the grand gestures he had made. However, deep in the back of his mind, he felt almost as if the words were, to a degree, rather true. It was interesting and his smile faded somewhat, replaced with a thoughtful edge, as he considered that, but he ultimately let it slip away and looked back to Alexandra with the grin back in place. “Where was I? Oh, yeah. Gifts and debts and all that jazz.”
