—white rabbit.

she had a little bit of magic & a whole lot of contradiction living inside her. lunette faline. nineteen. aqua. seven months. true illusion.

[thea-hudson]

before the dawn

The sun was slowly disappearing as Thea, jaw clenched and steps pounding into the ground, stalked into the forest alone. The entire week had been horrible, and Thea had truly never felt so outraged in her life. To the point where she had no idea how to handle her shaking hands and constant urge to- honestly- bite the head off of anyone who worked at the damn place. And it was so normalized, as if there was nothing wrong there. Oh yeah, no one can leave. But hey, it’s alright, because good food! Fuck that. Thea’s had under cooked squirrel and rabbit before and she’d take that over being trapped like a criminal.

So caught up in her thoughts, she hadn’t realized how far she had walked. Though with a quick glance around and only seeing trees, she assumed she got pretty far out.

Good.

Dropping her bag to the ground, she brought a hand up to run through her hair. God, she almost felt claustrophobic at the thought of not being able to continue past the forest and find something other than the damn castle. It was like they were on a whole other planet, isolated from every other part of the world.

Deep breaths, Thea.

She was pacing, muttering to herself. She had to calm herself down, she knew it wouldn’t be long before they took their own measures to keep her calm. It was just so frustrating. She’d come so far, met so many good people. She had found a permanent home again, kind friends that treated her like she was family, like they’ve known her her entire life. Iris, the kind old woman that had barely a dime to her name never stopped smiling, and Sara had the biggest heart, she reminded her so much of her younger sister. Andre would play fetch with the stray dogs, and little Hugo- Fuck, fuck.

“Fuck!”

Thea slammed her hand against the tree she found herself in front of, fresh tears burning her eyes. Leaning forward, she let her weight fall against the heavy oak, forehead pressing to the bark and eyes squeezing shut. Her chest was so tight, the sadness weighing her down like bricks. Thea wanted so desperately to just go home.

[lunettics-blog]

She liked to pretend she was everywhere. Everywhere was easier than nowhere, though it sounded harder, because everywhere also meant anywhere. And that was why Lunette came to the forest; she imagined it was like many forests all around the world, and then she could pretend she was in those places (if only momentarily, if only partially) while she sat by a stream or on a rock and looked on into the endless array of flora stretched out before her. Endless, of course, not because it was infinite but because she nor any other Elswood student would make it to the end. Inside of Elswood, things were not so vague: they had specific points and distinct locations that made it easy to recognize but hard to lose oneself in. It was a very sad thing, if you asked Lunette, who appreciated being lost from time to time.

But it was very apparent from the moment that she heard her that the girl who had entered the forest had not done so for the same reason as Lunette. Though that didn’t mean she didn’t understand the reason immediately.

Fuck!

Yeah, she understood perfectly.

Lunette peeked from her place sitting behind the base of the tree, seeing the girl lean her weight into the tree. Something cringed behind her ribs. She stood up silently and trod her way over, picking up the stranger’s bag on the way and placing it softly at their side. 

“You picked a good place.” She didn’t say for what, but it filled itself out. It didn’t have a proper name because it was too many things at once: anger, grief, melancholy, the last spark dying or a new one igniting. “These trees are probably old enough that they’ve seen every emotion on dozens of people. They won’t judge. People -- everyone here is too young. Well, almost everyone. Adham is probably alright.” Her face was soft and open, though not overwrought with emotion, it was still curved with it. Lunette could have walked away and left the girl to pluck the thorns from her howling demons on her own, but that was the whole issue with the place. In Lunette’s opinion, of course. But she stayed out of arms reach, not intruding on the girl’s space -- and because she couldn’t be sure what kind of powers she had, and what it could do if she triggered the wrong emotion. “Did you hurt your hand?”

[rosecutietyler]

melanie martinez // mad hatter

[blondbruja]

You’re about as weak as this match.” Carol held it burning for a moment after she lighted her cigarette. “But given the right conditions, you could burn a house down, couldn’t you?

Patricia Highsmith, Carol (The Price of Salt)

[npeltzsource-blog]

[lunettics-blog]

( HANEUL. )

“I suppose you’ll just have to be my translator, then. The go-between. Send my compliments to the maple, yes?” Haneul waved a flippant hand, playing along. Though Lunette appeared to drift through the halls, her head somewhere far away, there was something more to her airy demeanor, her fairy’s walk. Perhaps part of it was true, but there was always more beneath the surface.

( Haneul knew this fact well. )

Fingers wrapped around her wrist, and her immediate thought was to yank her hand out of Lunette’s light hold. The weight was different, less like a shackle, but she couldn’t help the mental sigh of relief when her friend finally let go. “You should start with those ones. The stars.” Kneeling down next to Lunette, she pointed to the shimmering, gold stickers on the sheet.

She looked to the section Haneul had motioned to and than ricocheted her gaze up to Haneul.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try?” She teased, peeling off one of the celestial decorations and extending it to Haneul on the tip of her finger. “You have an eye for aesthetic, Haneul.” She hummed, the offering still extended in the air. “And besides, it is far more fun to be the magpie than the mockingbird.”

[lunettics-blog]

stars fall | lunette & cricket.

[lunettics-blog]

( CRICKET. )

“I don’t remember. But if there are fish, we’ll be the ones to catch them.” She offered Lunette a wink, playful and conspiratorial. They’d be the first to catch a fish, the first to escape the school. They’d go down in history, Lunette and her. Maybe. One day. “Hey, you’re not lookin’ so bad yourself. I always did want golden locks like yours. Rapunzel worthy.” Her fingers ran gently through Lunette’s hair as she spoke. Whatever sedation the other girl was under didn’t unsettle Cricket like some of the others. (Though even she found herself avoiding certain sleepwalkers now and again.) She simply appreciated that she’d been able to find this, this connection, with someone…anyone. Time spent with Lunette was nice. And it didn’t have to be anything other than that.

“I decided what I want my first meal to be.” They talked about firsts often. What luxuries of the outside world they’d indulge in before all others. Cricket had spent her whole life extolling the virtues of freedom and liberty, but she’d only just come to appreciate what those words truly meant. “When I was thirteen, my grandmother drove me down to her hometown. Just the two of us stuck in this beat-up pickup truck that hadn’t seen the light of day since the 50s. Dust is flyin’ and we’re jumpin’ every few seconds cause she’s takin’ the back roads. Those old dirt roads that you think of when the South comes to mind. Roads that stretch out farer than the eye can see with pot holes and cows that you have to shoo before you can get anywhere.”

She had to pause, the image almost too vivid in her eyes. “And…and we get there. Eventually. A little worse for the wear with my grandmother’s drivin’. But we get there and she takes me to a diner that’s the most rundown hole in the wall I ever have seen. I’m talkin’ the kind of place you wouldn’t let your dog eat at. So I put up a fuss, but she drags me in anyway and sits me down. And then…and then we proceed to have the best meal I’ve ever eatin’ in my entire life. Never would have guessed it from the look of that place. You see, my grandmother used to work there. Before she met her husband, she had waitressed there with nothin’ but moxie and old-fashioned grit. And she served the best dang food Texas offered. Still offers. My mouth is watern’ just imaginin’ it.”

“I’ll have to take you when we’re out, alright?” Cricket added, suddenly aware of her rambling. “I promise you’ll love it.”

They didn’t look like much, but surprises never did. That was the nature of them -- a prerequisite, almost. Lunette had never so much as touched a piece of fishing equipment, but Cricket’s affirmation was hook and bait enough, curling to her confidence. So she chuckled, but nodded. They would. They would do all the things they whispered about under this tree, where the lake was their co-conspirator and eavesdropper. “We’ll have to catch them all,” She teased. “If they’re there, the fish have heard all our secrets.” She wrinkled her nose at the princess comparison, waving her hand in a dismissive motion. “Not Rapunzel. No more towers for us.” The scrunched-up nature of her face relaxed, and in its place was a teasing joy. Once we’re out, no more locked gates. No more waiting. No more aching.

She settled down more completely once Cricket started talking, making only an interest humming noise after the first sentence, than moving to quiet. To sit physically was one thing, but something inside Lunette’s bejeweled and bothered mind began to rest only now, floating down to placidity and calmness like falling feathers. It was a balm, listening. It wasn’t a world she had ever known, this dust-and-glitter South that Cricket wore around her shoulders like a coat, but she could still see it, a young but still beautiful Cricket bouncing along in the seat of a rusted-edged truck, the pale orange and yellow hues of the countryside illuminating the windows into stained glass.

She chuckled at first, her eyes fixated on their feet as she listened contentedly. By the twist of the story, the arrival at the diner, Lunette had looked up again to watch Cricket’s face, her own lips split open as if by some joy-through-osmosis. It sounded -- wonderful. She held their silence warmly until Cricket broke it, not wanting to be the one who washed away the mental imagery that was playing between them.

“I would love to go.” She acquiesced, laughter braided through the small word. “And we’ll split everything between us, a whole pile of food on the table - if it’s the best in Texas, I want to try it all!  -- But, ah, what is moxie?” She paused to ask, blinking curiously. The word was unfamiliar to her, though she had picked up most of Cricket’s colloquialisms.  

“I don’t know what my first meal will be...” Lunette leaned her head back on the tree, sighing in thought. Her eyes drifted to the branches above, watching the spaces were the sky cut through the trees’ blank spaces. “Mmm... maybe... Yes, okay, I know.” Once she had decided, an expectant kind of excitement installed itself on her features as she readjusted an turned to Cricket. “There’s this one little shop that sells the best pastries. Of course, Bordeaux has a lot of wonderful bakeries, but this one had these pain au chocolat -- chocolate croissants --” Her hand rested casually on Cricket’s hand as she corrected herself, then rested there. “That you cannot beat. I don’t care what anyone says, these are the best in all of Bordeaux, and even Paris! It’s a tiny little shop, like twenty minutes away from my house, but every year on my birthday my father would drive down there to pick up all the pain au chocolats they had, first thing in the morning before any of us were awake. And then -” Her reverie ceased momentarily as she chuckled, shaking her head, the live thoughts playing against the backs of her eyelids. “- Then, all of my brothers would always pretend they had eaten them all before I got up. They’d smudge chocolate on their faces and shrug, saying ‘They’re all gone, Lunette, you slept too late!’ and then I’d have to run to their rooms to have baskets of the croissants, and -- ah. It was our tradition.”

Usually, until dinner, that’s all I would eat all day, because there would be dozens - they are the best, Cricket, with a little bit of powdered sugar on top, chocolate all through the middle -- we’ll have those too.” She smiled wholly than, squeezing Cricket’s hand. “I’ll get you a whole basket, fresh from the bakery. -- And maybe one of my brothers, too.” She added with a cant of her head, punctuating the jest with a slight giggle. “They’d like you. And I think you’d like at least one of them. They’re all very handsome -- or, that’s what everyone says.”

[lunettics-blog]

( KYUWON. )

He had to remind himself for the future to ask questions later if somebody were to run into him. Standing still during a time for running was always and forever a bad idea!!!

“I hear you, but any animal can —”

Another crash cut him off, and Kyuwon didn’t spare a look over his shoulder. As Lunette gripped his shirt, he was already shooting forward. Yes, standing still was never a G O O D idea.

“I don’t think it’s chasing me — I think it’s running in the only clear path it sees.” If it was chasing him – them – then there was a trip-up weird with his powers. But as another whinny sounded, he highly doubted there was anger where fear was meant to thrive. ‘We just have to outwit it! Find an open room, different hallway, something!”

If she had had more breath -- or less of an adrenaline-induced survival instinct -- she would have laughed, but as it was, Lunette had neither of these things, and instead there was a breathy noise that could have almost been an incredulous laugh pushing out of her mouth in one burst.

“Well it seems intent on choosing the same path you are!” The edges of her syllables malformed and fell off under her French accent, growing heavy as she did not have the concentration to speak more properly formed English. Lunette didn’t earnestly believe the frightened thing was trying to flatten Kyuwon (and by association, her), but it was a comment borne out of the ill-luck that seemed to imitate as much. “Right! A- A room! --”

Her head jarred from one side to the other looking for an escape, but all doors seemed to be locked, and the hallway seemed maddeningly unending. Then, she made the mistake of looking back -- and seeing just how close the large animal was. “If we stop, he’ll run us over! Can you unsummon it?!” The answer should have been obvious, but the shook mind asks battered questions. “I could try -- I could try something -- a-a blockade, or something its afraid of?!”

[lunettics-blog]

( LAILA. )

Someone might wish to take Laila aside and insist that she could not save the world, but school was not the outside world; it was a much more contained environment, with limitations. And if she could be bothered to save this world, then she had done a good thing indeed. Although she herself would not like the implications coming with it, the ones that said she took on friends only due to their nature as a charity case. As if that was such a negative, traumatic thing. If someone was not friends with someone else, then no one might be – and having no friends, especially in such isolation already, was not a doomsday she would wish upon her worst enemy.

Therefore, she did her best for inclusion. ( Even if it did sometimes borderline into the people-pleasing attitude. ) And if someone wished to be her friend back, like Lunette, then she thanked Ganesha tenfold for such a blessing. And it was not out of charity.

When her hand found itself captured, she knew she was done for, being pulled into this whether she decided later it wasn’t for her or not. Yet she could not keep herself from beaming. Touch was a significant exchange of trust - at least, in her opinion.

         “Oh, sorry.” She, too, lowered her voice into a whisper. “No, I could not imagine the pain of wearing the same thing. And since he seems so content, then we must - embellish what he already has. I think this is a proper plan.” Perhaps he had something to the madness, being a table and being more noticed than a regular person.

She took the couch - and the extended stickers. Flowers. Something she and Lunette both enjoyed - a fond similarity. Within three seconds, Leo had a few daisies on his sides. “Look at that, already he looks much brighter than before. Although you never did answer my question, which brings me to think that the answer is no.”

Perhaps it was the similarity to their powers -- if that was the right word, and Lunette was never sure it was -- that had linked them together, like the fated red string that Grecians and romantics spoke of, but even those were not so similar without the right eye. Laila brought the worlds out of books (or whatever written word was available), while Lunette was the harbinger of things part-lie, part-truth with no great way to distinguish between them yet for proper summoning. Laila spoke, Lunette thought. But together -- they were like a fairytale. 

They understood reality in a way others didn’t: that it wasn’t quite any which way. Up was meant to be down, sometimes.

While Laila handled the flora decorations, Lunette took to embellishing Leo with ocean-themed stickers, beginning with a row of waves towards the bottom. She leaned over at Laila’s comment, her lips pulling open to reveal teeth at the site. “C’est bon, Laila. He looks so handsome.” Careening back to her side, she smiled with some measure of mystery as she continued her decoration. “I did not say that. Nor did I say yes. Perhaps I am hoping to surprise you too, eh?”

[lunettics-blog]

( PASCAL. )

“Yeah, he could do with a little pizazz. He’s been looking a little grim lately. I like the sound of the stars.” Pascal spoke in fluent French, looking more excited than he supposed he should have to be back in his native language. He’d had his years of practice, and so his English was far from faulty, but it still felt foreign on his tongue, even after all this time. It was very rare to find himself falling back into French, not only because so few people spoke it here, but because he didn’t look like he’d speak it himself. If anything, he’d been approached with Spanish–which he spoke as well; it was both his parents’ mother tongue, after all, and their ‘In-house’ language while French was reserved for school and friends–but that only served to make him long for the outside world far too much.

Pascal sat back on the chair beside Leo, scooping a bit of pasta into his mouth–he was starved and couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d eaten between classes, planning classes, and intervening with a bit of magic gone wrong in the halls. He swallowed quickly, pushed the bowl aside, and took the stickers instead. “What about the world?” he said. “Stars, planets, these moons you’ve got on this side–that’s the sky, the galaxy, then we zoom in on this side to the Earth. Animals, plants. Then people, language on that side. Leo’s a cultured guy; I think he deserves to explore, right? And he’ll be a teacher, a different lesson for every angle you walk past him.”

Pascal padded Leo’s top. “You in, Buddy?” He looked to Lunette then shrugged. “I think that was a yes.”

While Lunette noted the evident joy that blossomed on the teacher’s face as French returned to his tongue -- she was more observant than most gave her credit for, sleepwalking tendencies notwithstanding -- she made no vocal note of it, but just smiled. There was no use ruining special moments with words. It was like explaining a joke -- the whole thing fell flat as soon as you tried to describe it.

Another appreciated, but unmentioned, trivial manner was how Mr. Armand chose to sit - notably, without utilizing Leo as an actual piece of furniture, which was a relief to Lunette. More than one class had been at least partially spent wondering how the teacher in question handled themselves around Leo, whether or not they placed their coffee cups down on him or kicked their heels onto his surface for a nap. It was almost anxiety-inducing, the thought of something too hot, cold, or uncomfortable being placed on something sentient that could not reject it. But this was nice - respectful. Mr. Armand was cultivating a positive image today.

“Ah, what a beautiful mind!” She laughed in response to the teacher’s suggestion, both excited and amused by his thought. “That’s perfect. He’ll be well-rounded... aside from his corners.” Her eyes flicked up briefly to Mr. Armand at the pun, biting her lip and returning to Leo’s surface after her giggle subsided. With the rhetorical - was that the right word for a query that couldn’t physically be answered? - question asked and silent acquiescence given as answer, Lunette nodded and took to the side she was facing. “I’ll start with the sea and the sky.” As she began to peel and stick various images onto Leo’s surface, focused on the task. She paused only to cant her head at times and observe the work she’d already put in, holding a unstuck sticker on the edge of her thumb and miming at where to put it.

“Why do you think he chose a table?” She asked with a hum, her voice far-away as she concentrated. “I suppose a chair would be worse, if you’re determined to be furniture. And why in here? I think I’d like to be somewhere outside, if I could choose.”

[lunettics-blog]

☛ GET INSIDE YOUR CHARACTER'S HEAD! aka The Excessively Detailed Headcanon Meme

Ask a question, any question! Because I have nothing better to do than to answer your questions. ... No, really. I don't. D:

1: What does their bedroom look like?

2: Do they have any daily rituals?

3: Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?

4: What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?

5: Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

6: Eating habits and sample daily menu

7: Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

8: Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging

9: Makeup?

10: Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such?

11: Intellectual pursuits?

12: Favorite book genre?

13: Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?

14: Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.)

15: Biggest and smallest short term goal?

16: Biggest and smallest long term goal?

17: Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

18: Favorite beverage?

19: What do they think about before falling asleep at night?

20: Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?

21: Turn-ons? Turn-offs?

22: Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

23: How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?

24: Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all?

25: How do they see themselves 5 years from today?

26: Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?

27: What is their biggest regret?

28: Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy?

29: Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?)

30: Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies)

31: Most prized possession?

32: Thoughts on material possessions in general?

33: Concept of home and family?

34: Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?)

35: What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?

36: What makes them feel guilty?

37: Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making?

38: What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?

39: Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither?

40: How misanthropic are they?

41: Hobbies?

42: How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education?

43: Religion?

44: Superstitions or views on the occult?

45: Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?

46: If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal?

47: How do they express love?

48: If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?

49: Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not?

[wordsnquotes]

It’s just this strange thing I do where I allow myself to briefly fall in love with another human being that I see on a train, or the sidewalk, or in a warm café.

Chelsea Fagan, Dear Beautiful Guys I Pass On The Street: I Love You (via wordsnquotes)

[lunettics-blog]

curiouser and curiouser | lunette & roman.

Lunette was full of things: blood (fresh), bones, veins, dreams (expired), hopes, the water-logged memories of a past life, and the numerous pieces of mental bric-a-brac that one acquired over the years, some fact and some opinion. And she was not the only one like this -- every person, to her knowledge, consisted of varied and wonderful things. But unlike others, Lunette had learned to take stock of what she had every so often: how to make a souffle (by asking the chef; check), the names of every boy she’d ever kissed (blanks; no check), the names of her family (strong check, red check), when it was appropriate to dance with a married man at a party (never; check), where silverware goes on a table (check), how she liked her eggs (not at all; check). She did this because the threat of losing parts of herself was always present -- handfuls of forgetfulness passed down to her by her doctor and her parents in little blue and pink capsules, the clinical and austere staff of Elswood watching on as they moved down her throat. She did this because she was a self-serve, individual-practice rebel. She did this for times like these, when she had to empty herself bit by bit.

It was easier to play hollow when you could sort out all the parts of yourself you had to put aside.

She was becoming an awfully good actress these days, and seeing as she was an authority on the subject of being herself, and what not doing so consisted off, she knew this with certainty. The sedatives had been administered, and for all intents and purposes to the casual observer, they had worked: her limbs were slow moving, her eyes large and glassy, as if she had borrowed them from a degenerating doll. But to step inside Lunette’s body would be to make clear that all was not as it seemed (and wasn’t that true with the best of things?). She was learning. She was lucid.

But she was also good at playing this game (so she thought).

Sitting quietly by herself, cross-legged on the floor of one of the lounge areas, Lunette flipped passively through a book in a manner that was at once inattentive and too-fast, her gaze skirting over the page in a manner that assured she was not actually reading what as in front of her. It would be a perfectly convincing act to anyone that would bother to look at her, another sleepwalker on campus, but perhaps there was yet a flaw in her design: words appealed to her, language meant something, and so her eyes hooked on a few black-print words at a time before she leafed to the next page. 

When a shadow crossed over her, Lunette looked up, watching the person pass her idly, blankly, one foot in a dream and the other on land.

[eloudi]

[gillianandersons]

[lunettics-blog]

( YOUNG. )

“Lunette –” was the first word he said, an apology for startling her. It was stupid of him to not recognise her voice in an instant; he had listened to her speak well enough, and had grown accustomed to the variations  – the chattering, the singing, the accent of the French she would sometimes use, the airy quality to her voice that reminded him of a cloud girl that had been pulled down from the sky.

When she laughed, it was his turn to be startled  – though, thankfully, not enough to set off another explosion. He had exhausted his jumpiness for now. Now that he thought of it, there was an obvious humour in his situation ( an exploding flower pot sounded like a bad magician’s act ), and the failure of a gardener found himself chuckling a little. But he schooled his features, willing himself to return to the solemnity. He had destroyed the flowers, after all.

Young shifted to the side to allow space for Lunette. He managed a half-smile at her assurance that it wasn’t ‘so bad’; his gaze falling to the broken pottery reminded him that it was. Hearing her supposition, his lips bunching to the side a bit as he considered it. Of course there were worse things – he could list some right then and there, but now wasn’t the time to be dark and dramatic. With Lunette, he felt an obligation to be light.

"Oui,“ one of the few French words that didn’t sound ridiculous with his accent, "but you probably should not go around startling other boys. Boys don’t like it.”

He reached his hand out to stop her from touching the shards, but in the end it just hovered over her, keeping an eye out for any especially sharp ones. "You’re the one who can do the mosaics, I’ll just bring you the tiles,” he gestured at the work of art before them. Young focused on his breathing, the calming process already started, and the cold hair nipped his nose a little as he inhaled. “Have you already finished your activity?”

She liked when Young laughed. He had a face suited for smiling -- dimples were universal and anatomical proof of as much, tiny imprints that appeared when the face moved in just the right way -- though he didn’t seem to do so with countable frequency. Haneul seemed to have the monopoly on the Choi smile, but her most prolific smile was one full of microphone static and crisp lines, practiced like a handshake -- a diplomat’s curve. (Which wasn’t to say there was anything wrong with it; Lunette could mirror the same shape without looking. They came from separate boxes, but they fit several of the same molds). So, she was pleased when Young started to chuckle along with her, and all at once disappointed when he sound died off. She would have to try harder.

-- Though, in reality, it was the distinct lack of trying that categorized the warmth and comfort Lunette felt for and in Young. She could just be (because she had his protection; and he, her’s). -- 

Her lips stretched out absently as he answered with a piece of French. It should have been small and insignificant, but it meant something to her. The details always did. And it was cute, the slight word lilting with his accent. Lunette shook dirt from another pinched piece of pottery, watching Young’s hand but not pausing.

“Don’t they? My mother told me,” She paused for the clink of the dropped clay as it met its brethren. “That fear and love could be mixed up. Fright -- oh,” Lunette stilled once more, brows creasing in thought. “What’s the word? Ah... Hmm.” Her hand waved absently towards Young in a gesture meant to impart what she meant, looking at him with creased brows as she struggled for the word in English. “Releases? The same chemicals as attraction.” But my mother told me a lot of things. The anecdote, something Lunette hadn’t thought of in quite some time, wobbled her smile as the thought made her run over its implications. She looked away for a moment. “But I suppose if that’s true, all of us would be in love with each other around here. And with all the wrong people.” It was meant as a joke, observant humor, but her mouth wasn’t shaped with as much zeal when she looked back up at Young. Her teeth weren’t showing. The sad truth was pushed under her tongue: Everyone is afraid here, even if we aren’t allowed to scream.

Lunette shook her head, shaking out the thought. “Well, I thought your pattern was lovely. Very natural.” It wasn’t the best quip, but it was better than her last.

Most of the pieces had been plucked out by now, and Lunette resettled herself, moving up onto her knees to reach one of the last shards that had landed farther away. “Ne,” She answered, giving a simple answer in Korean as he had French. “All the flowers were quite agreeable today. Not one gave me a thorn. -- And I didn’t have much to do.” Wind stirred, and Lunette tucked loose hair behind her ear. With a certain amount of sympathy, she picked up one of the scorched flowers and ran a thumb over its petals. “I could try making new ones.” The offer came adjacent to her attention turning to Young, making the statement as much a question as it was an offer: Will you let me help you? “I’ve never done flowers before but -- they are small. It might not be so hard.”

[lunettics-blog]

( HANEUL. )

“Can you read the minds of tables, too? Is that some secret ability of yours?” she quipped. True, they would. She doubted sparkly stickers were Elswood’s preferred form of decor; they seemed to keep to sterile white and cutting edge modernism. Or something like that.

Lunette had a certain way of dragging people into her various adventures, and Haneul found hanging around the blonde made her no exception. Was it bad? Not necessarily, nor was it entirely unwelcome. It was simply unusual.

But Haneul was good with compromises. Loopholes.

“You can do the honors. And I can be supervise,” she conceded. “You know, look out for any staff members that might want to take a break.”

“No,” Lunette answered quickly, her tone soft and definitive. “That’s my only ability. Illusion is just a cover-up. You should see the conversational skills a mahogany has. And oak -- so flirtatious.” Her sardonic smile punctuated the jest after a moment of pause.

The concession was half-way but fully-placating, as with nearly all things that Haneul did. Lunette smiled, accepting the compromise by way of a nod. “Alright.” She moved to wrap Haneul’s wrist with her fingers and move them both into the prohibited space, moving lightly towards Leo before settling down on the ground before his flat-faceted self. 

“Hi, Leo.” Lunette released Haneul and dragged a hand reverently across a corner in greeting. “Haneul and I are going to make you handsome today, d’accord?” 

[lunettics-blog]

( HAWKE. )

A voice, female and unfamiliar rang out, just as excited as him about the whole gymnastics thing. He felt like a balloon, his emotions going up, up, up as the person before him talked more and more. Hawke didn’t know them personally per se, but anyone excited with him was bound to be someone good to be with. It was better to be excited with someone else rather than to be excited alone—though being excited alone was prone to in-room boxer dance parties, which were something else in their own right.

“You’re blatantly flattering me and I am going to take it because I’m on a gymtastic high!” He laughed at the most magnificent ( read: horrible ) pun he made, completely ignoring the fact that it probably wasn’t his best work. He could’ve done better than gymtastic, when there were so many flexibility jokes that were in the general vicinity. “The cheer team’s amazing, but like I think I have a chance at getting a few moves in now! Not just shouting all the time!” he exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “I’m so glad that all that training wasn’t for nothing….. er, miss! Name’s Hawke by the way, if you’d care to know, future star of Circque du Soleil!”

The giggle that had started at the beginning of the boy’s reply rolled and lacquered itself into a full laugh by the time the statement had ended. Puns had a way of doing that -- escalating a situation -- regardless of the situation or conversation. They were the vocal equivalent of throwing more chips into the center of a social green-felt poker table, Lunette thought. Everything seemed to get better when they were used. Played? She was mixing up her metaphors.

“You were wonderful.” She cooed happily -- genuinely -- because in truth, it had been a splendidly perfect move. “I was going to say fabuletic,” (A hybrid of fabulous and athletic, of course). “But I think that’s that clothing line by Kate Hudson. -- - ” Lunette’s head bobbed following his excited bouncing, her lips kept open in a smile as she watched his enthusiasm. “I’m sure it wasn’t!” Her answer was braided with laughter again, the sound weaving through the syllables and into the space between them. “Hawke, what a perfect name too! Think of all the posters they can do up...” 

She trailed off, her eyes turning upwards in thought before she pulled herself back down to earth. “Do send me a ticket when you premier, I just have to see you. -- Which you can address to Lunette, room 402. Aqua.” She smiled at the playful introduction, the lilting of her French accent tightening itself when she said her name, as it always did. There was something very odd about saying your own name in the intonation of a different language; Lunette could never seem to do it.