Finished Colours in Flux PV Novalie Moon

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ABANDONED TOILETS
2024-10-14
@Novalie Moon

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Standing perfectly still as Novalie's fingers worked through his hair, Mamori found himself actually impressed by her technique. "You're surprisingly good at this," he admitted, though immediately regretted the slip of honesty. But then she started... singing? Was that even singing? The rhythm kept lurching around like a drunk hippogriff, yet somehow she seemed completely oblivious to her own musical chaos. "Lovely," he chirped with practiced politeness, if only to fill the silence that wasn't exactly his preferred ambiance. He found himself absently tapping his foot along to what he assumed was supposed to be music — free entertainment was free entertainment, after all. That is, until her rhythm decided to take an unexpected vacation to who-knows-where, and he gave up trying to follow along. "You better lose yourself, the moment you own it —" He was just starting to appreciate her enthusiastic performance when her next words hit him like a Stunning Spell. "I'll call you Gold Digger!" His brain short-circuited. Hold up. What? The nickname he'd given her — Ms. Color-Shift — had somehow spawned this monstrosity in return? Way to go, past-Mamori, you absolute idiot. Oh and there was that cursedly genuine smile of hers, beaming at him like she'd just bestowed the greatest honor imaginable, completely unaware that she'd essentially branded him with social dynamite. Of all the Muggle terms that had to make it into his limited vocabulary, why did it have to be this one? He knew exactly what that phrase meant, and it wasn't the compliment she seemed to think it was. Great, just great. Was this karma for all those times he'd swindled his fellow first-years out of their chocolate frogs? Mamori's mental stability meter was dropping faster than a lead broomstick. If he had to quantify it, he was running on about 30% of his usual composure — dangerously close to completely losing it. Focus. He couldn't let himself get swept away in her pace. What was he even here for? Right. Hair dye. Which was currently being applied, check. And then there was that brilliant plan about befriending her so she could be his personal, free hair-color-changer in the future. Except... she couldn't even turn her own hair completely pink. Great. Was this friendship really worth pursuing? Well, yes — six-ish more years at Hogwarts was a long time to dodge someone in the corridors. Besides, his intuition screamed that getting angry at her would be just as pointless as trying to reason with her — both about as effective as casting Lumos in broad daylight. But that nickname? If she started yelling "Gold Digger!" across the Great Hall............NO. This needed immediate damage control. At the very least, he deserved a nickname worthy of his... considerable charms. And dealing with someone who operated on pure chaos energy meant... fighting fire with fire? Or in this case, matching her energy with... Oh Merlin's beard, was he really about to do this? "Gold digger...?" Mamori's voice cracked in what he desperately hoped sounded genuine, his eyes going wide and watery. "Why would you use such a horrible name? I'm so heartbroken... do you hate me that much?" He sniffled dramatically, channeling his inner Quidditch-obsessed first-year who'd spent their entire life savings and begged five different relatives for additional birthday money just to buy a Silver Arrow, only to snap it in half during their very first flying lesson. "And here I thought we were having such a nice time... becoming friends..." He dabbed at his eyes with his sleeve (carefully avoiding the freshly dyed areas), managing to squeeze out a few strategic tears while mentally apologizing to his dignity. "I can't believe you'd say something so cruel..."

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Lovely?
That single word confirmed everything for Novalie: her rap skills were skyrocketing!
She’d definitely have to tell her brothers about this monumental achievement - impressing another student with her lyrical prowess and all. Maybe she should rap more often? Who knows, perhaps one day, the girl could become a famous rapper!
Well, in addition to her ultimate dream of joining the circus, of course.

But just as Novalie was basking in her glory, proud of the brilliant nickname she’d just given him, Gold Digger’s turquoise eyes suddenly widened, and - wait - was.. was he crying?!
The Ravenclaw froze in place, staring at him as if she’d just witnessed something truly shocking. Like a clown falling off a unicycle during a big top performance or worse, the popcorn stand running out before intermission!
Her mind scrambled as she quickly blinked, trying to grasp the situation.
Without missing a beat, Novalie gently but firmly grabbed his hands - ignoring the pink dye now smearing onto his skin - and turned him toward her, looking him directly in the eyes.
“No, no, no, wait!”

This was unfamiliar territory for her. When was the last time Novalie had made someone cry? Everyone around her was usually smiling, laughing - or maybe a little angry sometimes .. but never sad! And the worst part? She had no clue what had upset him so much.
“I don’t hate you!”, she blurted out, tilting her head, a gesture she always made when she was confused, “Gold Digger isn’t a bad word, I promise! There are, like, songs and everything about it! Famous people use it all the time, it’s something nice!”
The girl nodded vigorously, as if her words needed extra affirmation to sink in.
Releasing his hands, she immediately cupped his cheeks instead, her thumbs softly brushing away the tears and, inadvertently, smearing more pink dye beneath his eyes.

“But hey, if you don’t like it, we can totally find something else to call you, okay?”, she suggested, her tone brightening as her mind raced to come up with alternatives. Something that wouldn’t make him sad. But what?
Uhm… uh… Ah!
“What about Uncle Scrooge? That’s better, right?”, she asked, flashing her most comforting smile
Uncle Scrooge was great! He was, like, the richest duck ever, wasn’t he? Plus, calling this boy 'Uncle' gave the nickname an air of respect. Novalie was pretty sure he’d like that.

Her fingers lingered gently on his cheeks, spreading more dye across his skin in soft strokes. That’s when she noticed the pink rings forming around his eyes and she couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle.
“Hehe..”, Novalie giggled, “Or maybe Bamboo. That’s what pandas eat, right? You look just as cute as they do!”
Her smile widened as her eyes sparkled with amusement, clearly pleased with herself for finding not just one, but two new nicknames for her newfound friend.

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ABANDONED TOILETS
2024-10-14
@Novalie Moon

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Mamori could hardly believe it — his theatrical display had actually worked. The waterworks gambit had hit its mark with stunning precision, and for a brief, glorious moment, he savored this small victory. That is, until Novalie's hands suddenly clasped his, smearing pink dye across his skin. Two more tears slid down his cheeks, and at this point, he wasn't entirely sure if they were still part of the act or a genuine response to watching hair dye migrate onto his face. Probably a healthy mixture of both. But no matter — the plan was working! Press on! Victory was within reach! Besides, worst case scenario, he could always fake illness and dash to the hospital wing before class, begging Nurse Sabo to remove the dye. The mental image of explaining how he'd ended up with pink rings around his eyes like some exotic raccoon was... well, that was a problem for future-Mamori. Novalie's earnest insistence that 'Gold Digger' was actually a compliment, complete with references to apparent celebrity endorsements, made Mamori wonder if Muggles had somehow managed to completely reconstruct the meaning of words while he wasn't looking. Then again, this was Novalie Moon making these claims, so he mentally slashed the credibility rating by half and filed it under "things to strategically ignore." And then — oh, what's this? "We can totally find something else to call you"? Did you hear that? WE. Which meant he actually had a say in this nickname business! Suppressing the victorious grin threatening to break through his tearful facade, he seized his chance. "Back in my home country, that's actually considered really offensive," he sniffled, privately thinking it was probably considered offensive in most countries on Earth. Not that he'd ever actually lived anywhere but Britain — having half his blood from his father hardly counted, but it made for a convenient excuse when needed. When she eagerly suggested "Uncle Scrooge" as an alternative, Mamori's theatrical sob caught in his throat. "I'm eleven. I don't need a nickname that ages me by half a century." He blinked away fresh tears, the character reference completely lost on him. "Pandas are animals from my home country's neighbor's neighbor country. I don't see how their diet has anything to do with me." He was starting to suspect her brain operated on some sort of magical roulette wheel that spun between "vaguely offensive terms," "random elderly," and "whatever crossed her mind in the last three seconds." Right. Better steer this conversation away from exotic animals and elderly characters before she came up with something worse. He took a shuddering breath, shoulders trembling just enough to be noticeable as he steadied himself against the sink — might as well commit to the performance if he'd gotten this far. Now then, his turn. His mind was already drafting alternatives that would actually sound decent — maybe 'Ace' would work, he did have a certain flair for getting out of tight spots. 'Fortune' had a nice ring to it too, it just sounded... cool, honestly. Or even just 'M.A.' — short, clean, and just mysterious enough... Wait. Why was he getting dragged into the nickname debate at all? "Well," he managed between hiccuping breaths, fighting the urge to wipe his eyes with his still-clean sleeves, "if you really want something special, you could call me 'The Illustrious and Most Magnificent Bearer of Prosperity and Fortune'..." He paused for dramatic effect, before adding softly, "Or you could just call me by my name? It's Mamori." Surely even Novalie would choose the shorter option when faced with having to say that mouthful every time. If this failed, well... he'd discovered tears were surprisingly effective. Blimey, he really should have tried crying his way out of situations earlier.

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Novalie’s brows furrowed in genuine confusion as she tried to process how Gold Digger - which to her was clearly a fabulous, aspirational nickname - could be considered offensive anywhere.
Where in the world did this boy come from? And why would anyone frown upon such a nice compliment? It boggled her mind.
As she let go of his cheeks, disappointment flickered across her face.
None of her nicknames seemed to land. Not even Bamboo. What did these people from neighboring countries have to do with this anyway?

Still, Novalie didn’t have much time to stew on it. Before she could dive into her mental archive of sick nicknames - and trust, it was vast - the boy surprised her by coming up with suggestions of his own. The girl listened intently, her head tilted yet again in thought, as her blonde hair shifted back to its natural red without her even realizing. She was too distracted to concentrate on her appearance anymore.
The first nickname he offered was... a mouthful.
The Illustrious and Most Magnificent Bearer of Prosperity and Fortune.
Novalie blinked, utterly charmed by how extra it sounded, but also a bit stumped. Didn’t nicknames need to be, like, a little bit shorter?

Her gaze drifted upward as she worked it through in her head.
Illustrious. Magnificent. Prosperity. Fortune. Hmm. If she took the first letters of those key words, she would get..
“Impf.”
A cheeky grin spread across her face as inspiration struck, “Or we can just make it Imp! Like those cute little mischievous creatures. Hehe!”
Then again, he’d also mentioned his real name - Mamori.
Novalie nodded thoughtfully, adding, “We can do your name too if you want.”

But Mamori still looked so sad to her and Novalie’s heart clenched. She didn’t like seeing him like this. Comforting people wasn’t exactly her area of expertise, but she had a solid go-to solution for situations like these: hugs.
Without a second thought, the redhead stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around him, her hands smearing even more pink dye across his clothes as she squeezed.
“So don’t be sad anymore, okay?”, she asked, her voice soft and encouraging.
The girl paused for a moment, then added, “I promise to call you Imp. Or-”
Her mind wandered back to his name. Mamori.
How could she shorten that? Mamo.. Mam...
“Mama.”, she declared and tightened her hug, not letting go.

Taking a deep breath, Novalie continued, “Mama, listen. Life’s way too short to cry about names. You’ve gotta cheer up and, like… focus on the really important stuff. For example, figuring out how to sneak into other houses’ dormitories without getting caught. And speaking of that-”
She pulled back just enough to look directly into his bright eyes,
“Do you think you could sneak me into your dorm?”

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ABANDONED TOILETS
2024-10-14
@Novalie Moon

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Life had a funny way of proving that Mamori excelled at digging himself into deeper holes. As if on cue, Novalie had produced not one, but two new monikers, each worse than the last. Of course — this genius seemed constitutionally incapable of using anyone's actual name without first bestowing some sort of nickname. The first one — 'Imp' — earned an immediate and vigorous "no" from him, his head shaking like a wobbling drum. The second one, 'Mama,' somehow managed to grant him instant motherhood at age eleven. What an achievement to marvel at. The situation had evolved into what could only be described as a pink-dyed prison of his own making as Novalie's hug threatened to squeeze the remaining dignity out of him. The dye was everywhere — his face, his uniform, probably seeping into his very soul at this point. He had half a mind to wipe his nose on her robes out of spite. But no, that would be petty. (Though tempting. So very tempting.) After a moment of symbolic struggling that accomplished absolutely nothing, Mamori gave up. "Sure," he exhaled, surrendering to 'Mama' as his new reality. It was leagues better than 'Gold Digger' or 'Imp', at least this one wasn't derogatory — calling this a draw, or perhaps even a small victory, didn't seem too far-fetched. Between the emotional toll of fake crying and the pink dye catastrophe, he'd already resigned himself to spending the rest of the day hiding in the hospital wing before making a dash back to his dormitory to bury his shame. But then Novalie, true to form, launched straight into her next chaotic scheme — sneaking first into another house's common room, then somehow making it all the way to a dormitory meant for the opposite gender. Because why stop at breaking one or two school rules when you could go for the full set? This was practically expulsion speedrun. Truth be told, Mamori wasn't exactly a stickler for rules himself. As long as the benefits outweighed the consequences and no one's life was at risk, he was usually game for anything. But this proposal? Besides giving Novalie her desired adrenaline rush, what possible advantage could there be? His supposedly inferior intellect just couldn't seem to compute. Then again... if someone was determined to dive headfirst into trouble, the least they could do was make it worth his while. "Let me get this straight," he began, all traces of earlier distress vanishing from his pink-stained face as he finally extracted himself from the hug. "You want to somehow sneak past approximately ten professors, twenty annoyingly observant Badgers who have nothing better to do than patrol their own corridors, and Merlin knows how many prefects hunting for an easy quota? With your metamorphic abilities that, no offense, aren't exactly reliable yet?" He raised an eyebrow, pink dye dripping dramatically for effect. "Either give me one practical reason why I should risk my academic career for this adventure, or..." A familiar gleam entered his eyes. "We can discuss payment terms." He held up his fingers, counting off: "One Galleon for the common room password. Two Galleons for lookout services. Another two for a borrowed Hufflepuff uniform if you're planning the full disguise route." Not wanting to scare off a potential customer, he continued with his most accommodating expression, "I accept installment plans! Or collateral — you know, leave something precious with me until you can pay the five Galleons to get it back. I'm reasonable like that."

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Aha!
Novalie grinned triumphantly. She knew one of her nicknames would stick with Mamori and who would’ve guessed it’d be 'Mama'? She still thought 'Gold Digger' had a certain flair - very chic - but respecting her new friend’s preferences was all part of building a strong friendship.
As Mamori extracted himself from the hug, Novalie stepped back, watching him with an eager smile as she waited for his verdict on her brilliant suggestion to sneak into the Hufflepuff dormitories.

"Let me get this straight", he began and the redhead nodded enthusiastically, fully prepared to hear his simplified version of her idea.
"You want to somehow sneak past approximately ten professors, twenty annoyingly observant Badgers who have nothing better to do than..."
Had the abandoned toilets always had this strange charm? It was only now that Novalie actually noticed. The cracked tiles, the eerie echo and the occasional draft of wind all gave the place a sense of... yeah, mystery. It almost reminded her of some horror movie.. but not in a scary way.
While Mamori rambled about risks, careers and something about Merlin, her eyes fell on a tiny black spider crawling underneath the sink.
"Aww..", she whispered to herself, bending down slightly.
The spider’s delicate legs were just adorable! Naturally, she let it crawl onto her hand.

"We can discuss payment terms.", Mamori’s words broke through her daydream, snapping her focus back to him.
"Payment terms?", the girl echoed.
The Ravenclaw listened as he began outlining some pricing structure, detailing how much each risk and action would cost. Novalie’s brows furrowed slightly, then softened as she broke into a laugh.
"You have, like, a really weird way of making friends.", she said, shaking her head amused, "Do you always charge people for fun adventures?"
Money was clearly not in her wheelhouse, but Novalie shrugged it off.
"I really don’t have any money.", she repeated, glancing down at the spider now crawling across her palm.
Then, a thought struck her.

Collateral, he’d said. Something precious.
Her grin widened as the redhead lifted the animal slightly, admiring its tiny frame.
"I can get you Caviar.", she declared, "Like, right now if you want. Or whenever you’re free to sneak me into your dorm."

Unbeknownst to most, 'Caviar' was her affectionate name for her little spider friend, her reliable companion since August. While some might scoff at the notion of a spider being anything more than a pest, Novalie was certain it was always him she encountered near the castle walls. Yeah, there was no way she ever confused him with all the identical looking spiders out there. Right??
But as she watched the current spider crawl along her hand, Novalie wondered.
Did Caviar ..have a brother?
She squinted at the animal in her palm, her lips quirking in amusement.
Maybe this one could be Caviar’s long-lost brother... Ravioli!
"So?", Novalie looked back at the Hufflepuff boy, "Would Caviar make you happy?"

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ABANDONED TOILETS
2024-10-14
@Novalie Moon

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"Do you always charge people for fun adventures?" The question hung in the air, and Mamori couldn't help but marvel at how Ms. Color-Shift seemed to think friendship should automatically override his perfectly reasonable business model. Whether intentional or not, the moral leverage wasn't going to work on him. He might be new to this whole business thing, but even he knew better than to give away services for free just because someone asked nicely. If there was no profit to be made, there was simply no deal to be struck. "Ms. Color-Shift, I run a service, not a charity. Fun is subjective — my version of fun usually involves flying, watching stuck-up prats face-plant into their own hubris, or turning a profit," he said, attempting to sound professional despite his decidedly unprofessional jab at his peers. "I'm afraid I can't escort you on your thrilling escapade into expulsion territory without proper compensation. Perhaps you'd like to try your luck solo? I hear the prefects are particularly understanding this year." It was only then that Mamori noticed the spider perched on her hand — though he couldn't pinpoint exactly when it had appeared. He regarded it with mild disinterest, chalking it up to yet another resident of this less-than-pristine bathroom, probably drawn to investigate the color-shifting spectacle who looked like a walking feast to any passing insect. Whatever — as long as it wasn't planning to join their hair-dyeing session, he couldn't care less. But then — "I can get you Caviar," Novalie declared. "Finally!" The word escaped before Mamori could stop it, relief flooding his voice at the prospect of something actually valuable entering the conversation. While he wasn't particularly fond of caviar himself, he knew exactly who would be — namely the absurd number of blonde Slytherin pure-bloods who somehow managed to monopolize half their year's population. Those homesick heirs who'd never admit to missing their pampered lifestyles but would definitely pay good money for a taste of home. The right caviar in front of the right trust fund baby? Now that was an opportunity worth pursuing. His mental ledger was already counting the Galleons. Given Novalie's current financial state (and what he strongly suspected was a chronic inability to keep money in her pocket for longer than five minutes), this was less collateral and more of an outright trade. Perfect. Still, best to clarify the details. "What grade and size of Caviar are we talking about here? Specifications, portions?" he asked, working to mask his eagerness even as his mind raced through calculations of potential serving sizes and market value per gram. Seemingly satisfied with whatever answer she'd give (or perhaps just eager to close the deal before she changed her mind), Mamori cleared his throat and adjusted his now pink-spotted tie. "Next Wednesday it is, then. Mid-week's perfect — everyone's too exhausted from classes to pay attention, even the prefects lose their edge. Meet me at the Cellar level. Bring your goods, and we'll make the exchange — Caviar for services rendered." He extended his hand, then remembered the pink dye and awkwardly pulled it back. "Do we have a deal?"

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Novalie's face lit up as if someone had just handed her an entire box of Chocolate Frogs.
'Finally!' he had said, and heck yeah - finally, he was radiating the same kind of vibe Novalie carried with her almost all the time!
Mama seemed more than happy about meeting her little spider friend and she hadn’t even mentioned his soft fur yet! Oh, the boy was going to be head over heels for Caviar - he already seemed so eager.
However, when he asked about specifications and... portions? Novalie blinked, unsure what exactly he meant by that.
Who asked about in what portions a spider came? It was just one, obviously. Or did he perhaps.. want to know the color and the number of legs?
Well, Mama was a little weird - she’d already figured that out. It didn’t surprise her that he’d started talking in a strange way now. After all, who was completely normal in their head anyway? With that thought, the Metamorphmagus decided to answer casually,
"So, we're talking big and black. And eight portions."
Wait - should she also count the two little mouthy bits? What were they even called?
"You know what? Let’s just say ten!"
Yes, that sounded good enough. Eight legs plus the little things at the front. Black fur and about the size of her hand.
Novalie was confident she’d given Mama the perfect description of the collateral she planned to provide.

When the boy suggested next Wednesday for their sneaky Hufflepuff dorm adventure, Novalie listened attentively as he explained the strategic timing - students too tired from classes to notice and prefects equally exhausted.
"Wow...", she gasped, thoroughly impressed, "You're, like, really smart!"
Honestly, the redhead hadn't even thought about things like that!
Had she stumbled upon not only a door-to-door merchant but also a master of stealth? Oh, what a jackpot! The girl could learn so much from him in the future! Now that they became really good friends and all.

"Yes! Cellar level next Wednesday evening!", she agreed enthusiastically, adding 'evening' for, in her eyes, obvious reasons.
Even though Mama started to pull his hand away, Novalie grabbed it quickly and gave it a vigorous handshake, her joy evident as she beamed at him. The handshake went on for way too long, but the Ravenclaw didn’t notice. When she finally released him, she glanced down at the little spider in her other palm.
With a wide grin, Novalie placed the spider on his shoulder.
"You can keep it.", she announced generously, stepping past him toward the door.
Considering how thrilled Mama reacted after hearing about Caviar, he clearly loved spiders. Also, why else would he have chosen this abandoned bathroom for his important hair-dyeing ritual? It was probably full with little critters and Novalie was sure Mamori couldn’t wait to have them crawling all over him. Yeah, she had him figured out - his personality definitely seemed like the type to enjoy something like that. She didn't judge.

"I’ll meet you next Wednesday then!"
Just as she reached the door, something caught her eye. A faint strand of blonde peeked out from the side of his head - a section Novalie must have missed while applying the dye. Oh, oops.
"Uh, like, there’s still a bit of blonde left there.", she said, pointing to her own right side to show him exactly where.
He'd be able to fix it himself, right?
Then, in her ever-present happy mood, Novalie grabbed the door handle with her hot-pink-stained hand, leaving behind a smudge of color on it.
"Bye then!", she chirped, waving cheerfully as she disappeared through the door.