𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒚𝒏𝒆𝒊𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 blunt - force object than any sort of refined weapon . he knew he had a tendency to trample through problems without prior thought . still , polyneices was aware enough to know when he’s put his foot in his own mouth . ❝ no , i get that . i do , ❞ he insists , and the earnestness coloring his tone only corroborates his words . ❝ it’s just . . . it’s the choosing separation i don’t get . ❞ polyneices noticed . he always noticed when things were bothering them or if they were hurt or if they were struggling because he was always watching . his self - proclaimed role as protector of A L L remaining scamanders was one he took very seriously . at times , however , his need to help out didn’t always translate into an ability to help . it certainly never stopped him from trying though . or from running his stupid mouth . ❝ you know ant’s friend from the shop ? he’s got no magic either . that one bloke is a muggle at the ministry . they’re doing just fine , you know ? ❞ and it’s a rough argument , one that he knows doesn’t acknowledge all of the hardships that either one of those examples have probably faced within this realm of magic , but he’s sticking by it . ❝ you don’t have to isolate yourself as much as you think you do . the dumb ones will just do it for you and i’ll beat em up about it . ❞
Realistically, words are what she’s best at. Fashioning syllables into weapons and shields has become her lifeline. The thing about it is that Odessa excels at guarded antagonism, at verbal war, a knight of sorts in her own right. And like any knight of fable or history, it comes with a price: she doesn’t know what to make of peace. It is in times of understanding and calm respect that she falters. And so here, looking across at Polyneices, her words fail her. How does she explain that even sitting right here next to him, she feels a world away? How can she make him understand that there is a spark of something in him that she isn’t privy to--something she can only observe, never feel? How does she tell him how desperately, ferociously, deeply that hurts without sounding like she’s throwing herself a pity party? Language is not her ally here. It is not her friend. It is a steadfast enemy of the state of Belgrave-Scamander. But still, she listens to what he has to say. For any faults he may have, Polyneices is insistent and loving, a defender to his core. Everything he offers her now comes from a place of care, of wanting to see her succeed. It’s truly only family that she could listen to like this without getting angry. Her smile doesn’t slip free of its position on her lips, but it does stop meeting her eyes. “Dursley.” She provides the name easily, filling the space between them for a moment. “The muggle in the Ministry. He’s not so bad.” Far from high praise, but certainly not her most condemning statement. All things considered, she thinks higher of him than half the rest of her coworkers. She reaches out, brushing her fingers across her cousin’s hand just for a moment of contact. It’s grounding. And hopefully, for him, it’s reassuring. “There’s this gap between you and me, right? Not that anyone put there, but that exists by nature of my... condition. And there’s big shoes to fill in the family name, which I know you know.” When she looks at him, she thinks she can see the weight of it on his shoulders. “Not because of anything put on us by our mums and dads, but because of who our family has been. There’s this social pressure to be something... I don’t know, something spectacular? At the very least, something powerful. And I think I’m still figuring out how to be that in my own way.” A pause, giving her words a moment to breathe. “Does that make any sense?”