Art Museum...? No. Just a Bathroom. Finished

<sub>Emile smiled back at Marla, feeling the exact same way. During his time here, he had really only made a couple of friends. Most of these people were just acquaintances, and sure, he got along with the people in his dorm or in his classes, but being his awkward self he did get teased a lot as well. Emile seemed like the type of person who might be able to be teased a lot. He was extremely pale, and quite short for his age.  Moreover, when he got embarrassed..well..you could see the red on his face so well he literally did look like a tomato. He was definitely not the type of person who others would be scared of. In fact, he was probably the person who would be scared of others. Maybe Marla would be a good person to become friends with. He still was trying to figure out her character though. She seemed like an interesting type. Anyone who skips class to paint on the walls of the abandoned toilets seems cool enough. On instinct, he got out his notebook again and started to write in it, flipping page after page and filling it up with all that he could. Bright, red hair could be something to write about too. "Hmm..I could base a character off you.." Emile muttered, not really saying that to Marla in particular, kind of only to himself, but that wasn't really clear. 

Soon, the two were painting, and still continuing the conversations from earlier about ranting, stairs, and the hospital. OOC: Hope this works!

"Excuse me? You rant a lot? I could talk about one thing for, like, hours." Marla said, laughing a bit. Emile smiled, though he looked a bit confused. Him and Marla were turning out to be very similar, even though they had just met. He quite liked talking to her. "Well, maybe we can rant together sometime!" He blurted out. Wait. Ranting together? Emile, what are you saying? Idiot. Stupid. Your social life ended the day you were born. He thought. He made a grossed out look directed at himself and sighed. "I don't know what that means. Ignore that I just said that please." He said quickly, his face turning a bit red as it did when he got embarrassed. 

"And why wouldn't you be?" Marla had said in response to his statement about being everyone's favorite, and even though she was joking this did actually make him feel quite happy. "Well, thank you, Marla. I'm sure you're everyone's favorite too." 

"Agreed. Those stairs are so pesky. I'd clobber them if they were people. Not really, but you know what I mean." Emile said, reaching for some white paint to finish one of his daisies. "And I feel bad for the new first-years now. Having to learn with how to deal with the stairs. I freaked out when it moved on me the first time. Unfortunately, I can't say it was the stair's fault when I fell." He admitted. In fact, he had tripped on absolutely nothing out of the fact he was extremely clumsy, but he didn't feel like telling that much to Marla. He needed to protect his dignity somehow. 

Whenever Emile talked about his parents, he felt like he might cry, but not in a completely sad way. Yes, he really disliked them..sometimes. He felt like he should hate them, but he couldn't! They had raised him til he was seven..but..the whole thought made his head spin. Why was he never enough? He didn't really feel like thinking about that while trying to paint. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry. Urgh, I'm so stupid sometimes...But I read a horror book... I forget what it was about, I was kind of young when I read it. All I remember is that there was a really unexpected twist at the end and I think everyone died? I could be wrong. It was super good though. Wish I could write like that. It would make school a hundred times more easy." Marla said, and Emile appreciated the fact that she was trying to change the subject.

"Oh, no. It's okay. I would be curious if I were you too, I think." He said, even though he didn't really know if he would want to know about his parents that much. Maybe that was because he was their son. He wasn't quite sure. "Maybe the one about the ghost who pulls people under the floor boards? Or was it the one where the ghost lives in a table leg? My mom has written..so many horror books." He said thinking about all of them. "And about it making school easier, I feel like I have to get everything perfect now. The teacher says at least two rolls of parchment, and I feel inclined to write five. Curse of writers, I guess." He said, laughing weakly.</sub>

<sub>For a second after Emile had stopped mumbling, he noticed that Marla seemed to be a bit in thought. For a moment he slipped his notebook out of his pocket and quickly wrote down how her expression looked, and what she might be thinking. And even if Marla didn't know it or think it, Emile genuinely did think she could be a good character. He was also starting to wonder about her family as well. "Did I say something?" Emile asked, noticing that she had been thinking for quite a bit of time. He hoped that he hadn't said anything. He would feel immensely bad about it. One of his least favorite things was making someone uncomfortable, but he couldn't really tell that Marla was feeling the opposite way. Emile was a bit dense, as you could see. 

Emile turned even more red after Marla stifled her laugh. His ears were now turning pink as well, and as before this was much more prominent on his pale face. His green eyes looked down at the ground nervously. Why did you say that? She probably thinks you're stupid. Emile thought, wincing internally. He was embarassed, yes, but he was also not about to let this feeling be wasted when he could journal it down. His face still red, he quickly wrote what was happening down and then slowly turned his head back up. "Sorry, you must think I'm so awkward." 

"Nah, it's fine. I'd actually like to rant with you sometime. Ranting, in general, is honestly one of my favorite things to do, so screaming at nothing in particular with someone that I like would be nice, actually."  Marla told him, and Emile could kind of see she was joking a bit. He smiled at her and nodded, this redness on his face going away slowly. "Sure! Tell me about your pet peeves." He said, turning up to her curiously. He asked this for two reasons. One reason was that he wanted to find out more about the girl who had been painting in the abandoned toilets. Secondly, he also wanted to see if she had any odd pet peeves that could work as a strange character trait. Emile felt like whatever he said or asked Marla was a win-win, since he was making a character and making a friend. Sure, they had just met, but Emile felt like they were already decently close, and he was getting along quite well with her. Whose to say they aren't friends?

"I'm sure I'm not, but thanks for saying that anyways." Marla had said in regards to his statement about her being everyone's favorite. Was she smiling? Emile couldn't quite see her face. If she was, this made Emile feel 10 times better about saying that. Marla didn't know yet, but Emile had also been treated as an outcast. He wrote too much, or he didn't care about others. He only cared about his books. He was too cold. He was too shy. All of these things were the things people had told him before. It was devastating to feel like your passion was invalid. It might have been a bit different from the treatment Marla had gotten, but he still knew how she felt, and it sucked. "Well, even if it's not everyone, I'm sure you're one of my favorite people!" He assured her. 

"No kidding. The first years are going to have a disastrous time... Not to be screwed up or anything, but I don't know whether to laugh at them or help them. Probably both. And oh my god, you are not the only one who falls down. I mean... For example, I fell down a freaking toilet like five seconds ago." Marla then said about the stairs, and Emile couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. He felt a bit guilty for laughing at this, since it was toilet water, but still, who wouldn't laugh at it? He also appreciated the fact that Marla seemed to want to level things out. He brought up tripping on stairs, so she brought up falling into the toilet. He thought she might make fun on him for it, but tis was a bit of a surprise to him, and it was a pleasant surprise as well. He smiled to himself. 

When he said his mother had written a ton of horror stories, he wasn't lying. Since her first year at Hogwarts she had cranked out over 50 books, and counting. The table leg one was one of her most popular though. "It was the table leg one! And I thiiink that the survivors escaped by eating the table leg? I stumbled across a fanfiction with eggrolls and lakes of tears and a boat of eggrolls and– you know what, never mind." Marla chimed, and Emile felt a small smile tug at his mouth. thank you for including this ily "Yes! They do have to eat the table leg. Quite a strange story..I don't know what she was doing while writing that.." He said. "And an eggroll fanfiction? Marla, not to be rude, but what are you reading?" He asked, letting out a laugh.  

"Dude. The teacher says at least two rolls of parchment, and I feel inclined to write, like, half." Marla said in response to his statement about parchment. "Wow..honestly that doesn't seem so bad to me." Emile admitted, his smile fading a bit. Genuinely, he kind of wished he didn't have writers for parents sometimes. At times like these. 

"Oh! I've been wanting to ask this, but what's your favorite class so far? I really like Defense Against the Dark Arts. It's so...Epic learning about different creatures, y'know?" Marla questioned. "Yeah Defense Against the Dark Arts has been very interesting, but my favorite subject is definitely Herbology. I love nature..and learning potions and spells while being outside has been absolutely wonderful." He said, his voice a bit dreamy sounding. In fact, his first magic experience had been in nature, and that was probably why he loved as much as he did.</sub> 

<sub>Emile decided not to respond about Marla being boring. He knew in his heart that she was absolutely far from boring, but he didn't want to seem too nice or something. Maybe that could seem weird? Emile was not the best at social interactions. It also seemed that Marla wanted to change the subject quickly, so Emile wanted to respect that and he changed it with her. Really though, from what Emile had seen he could easily base a character off her. A girl with bright red hair..maybe she had a red wand and was named Robin? Should could be a painter, and if he was writing a fantasy story, maybe her drawings could come to life! He nodded to himself and set down his paintbrush, quickly scribbling everything he had just thought of down into one of the pages, smiling to himself and putting it back into his pocket once again. He picked up his paintbrush and drew some little grass blades on the ground to give it a bit more detail.


"Not at all," Marla said, smiling. "You just sounded a lot like my brother. Not like that's a bad thing or anything. I miss him though." She told him, putting a few butterflies onto their painting. Emile nodded and thought about brothers and siblings. It was something he had always wanted. "I'm sure he misses you too." Emile said, thinking that something simple like that seemed to be a good thing to say in this type of situation. And he was being completely truthful. He was 99% sure anyone with a sister like Marla might miss her while she was away.

On the statement of pet peeves, Marla responded. "I hate small ticking noises. Like someone tapping their fingers on a desk, or a clock turning. And kiss-ups. They're the worst. Ugh." Emile noticed Marla shiver a bit, and this gave him a chill down his spine as well. He absolutely hated kiss-ups as well. He didn't really mind the little sounds though. "What about you?" Marla asked, which took Emile aback a bit. For some reason he hadn't expected her to ask him the same question. For a moment he thought. What did annoy him? "I hate the feel of flour or corn starch on your hands." He said, feeling himself cringe extremely hard at the thought of it. Seriously though, it was..wet but also dry? It kind of stuck to your hands in the worst way possible. He didn't know how bakers did it. "And I'm not sure what else. I try not to get annoyed by everything, though there are probably a million things that tick me off even if I can't think of them right now." He would have said his parents in response to her question, but he didn't feel like dragging Marla into his personal problems at this point in their friendship. He probably never would if he could help it.

"Maybe I'll have to read eggroll literature sometime." Emile said, his mouth curling into a slight grin. Talking about eggrolls with Marla made him feel at ease in some weird way. He felt like they were actually becoming friends, and though they had just met, Emile was very happy about this. Marla was the type of person Emile thought everyone would want to be friends with, how lucky was he that he met her after she fell into toilet water? If they were still friends when they were older, that would be quite the story to tell about how they met. Emile knew he was getting ahead of himself a bit, but he still could dream. It was nice to dream. It kept him going sometimes.

"I could say the same for you." Marla said, in regards to his statement about her being his favorite favorite person, and this just made his thoughts from earlier even more optimistic. What if they really were able to become good friends? Emile also smiled like a goofball and tried to hide his face y reaching upwards with his arm and looking like he was painting. He got some blue paint and drew some flowers onto the top of the tree he had painted earlier. There were flowers on some trees right? They might not be blue, but he had the imagination to imagine blue flowers on trees, so why not?

Emile was thinking the exact same thing about the parchment talk. "Well, I guess the grass is always greener on the other side. I'm sure if we switched, we would be thinking what the other is thinking now." Emile said, chuckling a bit. In reality, though, Emile did feel somewhat jealous of others for various reasons. He wondered if anyone was jealous of him, and even though it sounded crazy while he was thinking it, he thought it could be a possibility..He decided to stop thinking like that. He didn't want to get selfish or something. Being selfish was the very last thing Emile wanted to do at this point in his life. He was only eleven, for god's sake!

Emile was pleasantly surprised to hear that Marla also enjoyed Herbology. "Herbology is great too. My favorite lesson has to be when we learned the fire making spell. So many kids had to go to the hospital wing that day though..." She had said. Emile nodded almost immediately, and let out a small laugh about kids getting sent to the hospital. This wasn't really funny, but he imagined the students burning their hair or little things like that. He would never laugh at bad burns though..."Yes! Incendio will probably prove to be very useful. I'd like to use it in a story if I could..maybe during a campfire? I'm not sure. Maybe a torch lighting scene? A cult!" Emile said, starting to descend into one of his thinking states. "Sorry." He said, snapping out of it. 

"Hey, so you know I want to write stories. What do you want to be when you graduate?" He asked, wondering what the painter of abandoned toilets would do with her life. If Emile was being asked what he thought Marla would do with her life, he would say that he thinks she can do anything. Someone who falls into a toilet then starts painting flowers was extremely impressive to Emile. He would have ran to shower immediately.</sub>

<sub>In Emile's case he didn't really have anyone that could really miss. Sure, he had his grandfather and his grandmother..and maybe her cat, Miso. In his life, most of it was spent with his notebook and his family members, and one of those wasn't a real thing, and the other was someone who had either left him to go adventure or someone who was going to die soon. Since becoming a werewolf, he also had felt even more detached from the world, not really knowing where a young werewolf would even be able to fit into a society full of humans and people unaccepting of other races. He had always wanted a sibling, though his parents definitely weren't going to have another kid. This was something he was sure of. Why would they have another kid if they couldn't even take care of the first one? Though if he had had a sibling how might his life have been different? Someone to share some of his worry and sadness with? He decided not to think about it too much. He didn't feel like getting sad about that too.

"Eugh. Never thought of that but now that you brought it up? Kind of gross..." Marla agreed, seeming to get goosebumps. Emile also was developing goosebumps. He just couldn't fathom how awful he thought the feeling was. It, like, stuck to your skin in kind of this weird way, and when you rubbed your hands together with it on it was the feeling of nails on a chalkboard. It was just awful. "Yes. It is most definitely one of my least favorite things on this planet." He had first felt the feeling when baking with his grandmother, and after that he never wanted to feel it again. For some reason, it never really bothered his grandmother, who was an avid baker and cook, but to him..well, you already know what he thinks about it. Marla seemed to agree with Emile last statement about him not knowing exactly what ticked him off from the look on her face during the conversation.  

"That's definitely on my bucket list. Art thou thy eggroll?" Marla said, the last part seeming to be gibberish, if Emile was putting it in the right words. He squinted his eyes a bit, furrowing his brow and staring at her. Art thou thy eggroll? "Am I my eggroll? Where did that even come from?" He questioned and let out a small laugh, trying his best to translate whatever she had just said. He nodded slightly to himself, quickly stopping drawing his rose and taking out his notebook to write yet another thing down in it. This time it was about a new type of language using certain words from the old English alphabet. 

"I don't think you'd be jealous of me. I'd switch with you any day." Marla said, and Emile tilted his head a bit in disagreement. His face said absolutely not. He didn't know anyone who would want to basically be told they weren't enough for their parents and then have to go live with a sickly grandfather. It wasn't that he wasn't thankful. In fact, he always tried to appreciate what he had, but he was still young and growing up with a family as...unique as his was not the best for a developing mind. "Marla, I don't think you'd want to. Really." Emile said in all seriousness. He wondered if her family was not in a good situation either. Did he have the right to ask yet? 

Emile took some brown paint and tried to draw a squirrel, which ended up looking kind of like a brown blob and not really the shape of a squirrels body. He still needed to add eyes and other details though, so he hoped for the best.

"Why are you sorry? A cult sounds cool. If you wrote a book about one I'd be the first to read it." The redhead beside him said, and Emile felt a lot better. He didn't really know why he said sorry so often. Maybe it was because he felt guilty about something else, and this was his mind's way of coping with it, or something? He wasn't quite sure, but it was kind of a bad habit at this point. "I..I'm not sure why I'm sorry. Sorry for saying sorry. I mean, not sorry! Sorry. I mean sor...never mind. You know what I mean." Emile said, seeming exasperated. "And thank you, maybe if I write something you can read over it for me?" He asked, thinking Marla would be a good person to give him some sort of pointer to how he could make ti better. She seemed to be a very creative person, so.

"I honestly have no idea. It's kind of scary thinking about growing up. But uh, I know it's kind of basic, I think I wanna be an Auror." Said Marla in response to his question about what she wants to be when she grows up. Emile hadn't met anyone who wanted to be an Auror yet, so it wasn't basic for him, but maybe there were a ton of others who did too. Emile nodded as she spoke, showing he was listening. "An Auror! That's so cool!" He said, excited. "And yeah..I mean I know what I want to be, but it's still definitely scary, I won't disagree with that." What would happen to Emile when he grew up was something he wondered about daily. He absolutely did not want to turn out like his parents, but he still did want to impress them and become an author, so he was a bit at odds with himself. When he grew up, would he be able to find love? To get a family? Would he even grow up? What if he choked on his spit and died at this very moment? There were many things that went on in Emile's mind concerning the fact of growing up and become an adult. One thing Emile knew for sure is that he wanted to write something. Whether it be fantasy or horror, he would publish a book.</sub> 

It seemed that Emile didn't appreciate Marla's attempt at eggroll literature. Well, didn't appreciate wasn't the right word– didn't understand, that's it. But she didn't either. What the hell is eggroll literature, anyway?

"Am I my eggroll? Where did that even come from?" The boy questioned, followed by a confused laugh. The girl was honestly wondering that too. Old English was so confusing... And quite awful... Even Marla didn't know what she was saying. Geez.
"You tell me, Emile. Eggroll literature is a complicated subject." She remarked sarcastically and glanced down to see him begin to write in his notebook again. Maybe she should get a notebook too? It was cool how he wrote down so many things. If Marla started doing that, she might learn some cool stuff..

Marla was a bit shocked to see Emile so opposed to her wanting to switch family lives. Well, when put like that, it seemed weird. But Emile seemed like the type of person to have a peaceful home life. He was quite timid, creative, and kind, all pointing to a nice upbringing. "Marla, I don't think you'd want to. Really." He said, dead serious. What could be wrong with his family? Marla had the urge to ask, but didn't think it was very appropriate. They had only just met today, after all.
"And I'm most definitely sure you wouldn't want to switch with me. My family is kind of a big turd." She said bluntly and went quiet right afterward. Did she just say that out loud? Not like it wasn't true. Her family was a dumpster fire. First off, she was literally the result of two people cheating on their significant others, wow. A good start here. Then her mother goes missing when she's one, and theeen the rest of her family blames it on Marla. Then the redhead ran away and... There's more, but you get the picture. The Quinlan family sure was something. Not something great, but at least made themselves known.
"Did I just say that out loud?" She joked, sharply inhaling through her teeth, and went back to painting on the walls a bit. It was quite embarrassing, she didn't want to make it known to Emile that her family sucked. What if he saw her as weak? What if he didn't like her anymore and saw her as a freak? She looked down, nervous, and began to fidget with her golden necklace. Something she had always reverted to doing when she was worried or bored, and it was the latter.

"I..I'm not sure why I'm sorry. Sorry for saying sorry. I mean, not sorry! Sorry. I mean sor...never mind. You know what I mean." Emile had said in response to Marla's ideas on the cult. She didn't understand how he could (or want to) apologize so much. Yes, the girl thought Emile was a fun person to be around. Smart, a good laugh, and overall really nice. But not extremely headstrong. Not that it was a bad thing though! She just wished he didn't feel obligated to feel sorry for something that wasn't wrong. Or maybe it was a habit.
"Y'know, if you say sorry too much it won't mean anything anymore." She told him, which was partially true. The more you use a word, the less of an impact it has. Same with moods. If you're sad all the time and get sad, people won't think its as big of a deal compared to someone that's happy almost all the time and then gets sad.
And thank you, maybe if I write something you can read over it for me?" Marla's eyes immediately lit up as he said the words, she would honestly love to do that. Although she hadn't read any of Emile's works, he definitely was a talented writer. If she had the opportunity to read over a book for him? Marla would take it in a heartbeat. Especially because of how much she loved reading. Curling up by the fire and imagining a story in her mind, an escape from her surroundings... It was her own little paradise in a way, and there was nothing she'd love to do more.

And speaking of things that Marla did that she loved, Emile had asked what Marla wanted to do with her life, which definitely took the girl aback. She hadn't thought about what she wanted to be very thoroughly, but spat out that she wanted to be an Auror at the question. It was a logical choice of a career, she was courageous and would die for (most) causes that she believed in. Not to mention, she was a metamorphagus which would do her some good with becoming an Auror. Especially the disguise part. She was having a bit of trouble transforming and whatnot (Marla was only twelve, after all) right now, but in the future? She would most likely be able to imitate anyone, and the plus was that she wouldn't have to stomach a polyjuice potion. Marla never tried one, nor even read much about them, but from what she knew? They were nasty. Apparently, they tasted like butt. Magic did come at a price sometimes. In this situation, it was burning off your taste buds.

"An Auror! That's so cool!" Emile exclaimed, which made Marla feel much more at ease about her choice of words. A lot of students in the school were planning on being Aurors, especially because Harry Potter was one. And who wouldn't want to meet Harry Potter? But Emile seemed excited about her choice, not bored. She was on the verge of beaming with happiness, completely relieved that Emile didn't think that she was dumb, or something.
"And yeah..I mean I know what I want to be, but it's still definitely scary, I won't disagree with that." She nodded to what he said, completely agreeing. Marla had a lot of time to figure out who she was and what she wanted to be, but that didn't make growing up any less terrifying. What if she studied so many years and worked so hard for one job, and found out that she hated it? There was so much that could go wrong, and it all jumbled in the girl's head to make one big worrying mess.
"Yeah, I know.. We still have so long to figure it out but I can't help but worry about it sometimes." She mentioned feebly, evidently a bit nervous about what was to come in the future.

Although this was random, Marla all of a sudden got extremely grossed out by the wet clothes that were sticking to her body. Which wasn't surprising. The shocking part was that she wasn't disgusted by being covered in toilet water earlier. Her face scrunched up and she looked at Emile. Should she leave? They were having such a fun time... And if a teacher found her in the hallway skipping class, it'd be a death sentence. Honestly? Marla decided that she would take the risk. Especially because she was covered in dung water. Ugh.

"Hey Emile? Not to be a jerk or anything, but I should probably go. I gotta clean up and wash my robes.. And do some homework. But I'm sure we'll see each other again soon, maybe we could paint again sometime?" She asked, getting up and smudging the paint on her hands and arms onto her pants. She went to the corner of the bathroom where she picked up the robes that she had dropped earlier and walked back towards the boy.

"This was so much fun by the way. And I really, really appreciate you not ratting me out to the teacher and actually being a nice person." She joked with a sincere smile, playing with her necklace.
"Anyway, I'm like, filthy right now and if I don't wash these I'm going to either freeze to death or scream, so I should probably head out. But it was great meeting you... And you can keep the paint if you want. See ya." She did a little wave to Emile before walking out the door, and smiled like an idiot all the way to her common room.