Help!
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It was either this or admitting to her mom she hadn't listened to her, Mila reminded herself as she forced herself to stay behind after her class. Mila knew her mother wouldn’t be surprised, yet she refused to admit her mistake. It would have been excusable if her mom had only explained once how to take care of her hair, but the lecturer was given multiple times. Her mother had wanted to make sure that Mila knew how to deal with her curly hair before she left for Hogwarts, knowing how hard it can be to take care of curls. Her daughter, on the other hand, had underestimated how much time and effort it took to take care of her hair.
The first week her hair had looked great, not requiring a lot of attention. However, halfway through the second week, Mila decided that brushing her curls while dry was a great plan. Her roommate brushed her hair that way often enough and didn't have any problems with it. Sleep-deprived Mila hadn't considered their different hairstyles before she aggressively started brushing her hair, in the hopes of making it look better. Her attempt had the complete opposite effect, something the young girl only realized once she had brushed half of her hair. It seemed like half of her hair had exploded, extremely fizzy and twice its original size. While staring at her reflection in disbelief, the words of her mom played themselves on repeat in her mind. Never brush your hair while it is dry, don't forget to moisturize your hair, only detang- At that point, she broke down crying. Luckily her roommate had been nice enough to comfort her, or at least try to. After that Mila had washed her hair, making it look semi-decent.
That had been almost a week ago. After that Mila had avoided touching her hair at all costs, terrified she would ruin it again. It became clear to the young girl she couldn't continue that way and, regardless of how much she hated it, needed to ask for help. Too stubborn to go to her mom for advice, she had to turn to someone else. Luckily for her, the professor of one of her favourite classes had similar hair. Mila wasn't sure if they had the exact same hair, but she still hoped the professor could help her. That way she could avoid confession to her mom she never actively listened to the long lectures, or even paid attention while her mom was taking care of her hair.
When the class was over, her classmates started packing their stuff and leaving the room. Instead of following her friends, Mila told them they could leave her as she would catch up with them later. To buy herself some extra time before speaking with the professor, she slowly packed her bag. It was a stark contrast with her usual habit of tossing everything in her bag as fast as possible in order to leave class as fast as possible. Once most students had left, Mila had finally gathered the courage to approach Sarai. There weren't a lot of things that she feared, but admitting she needed help was one of the few things that Mila hated. Nervously playing with the straps of her bag, the young girl made her way over to the professor. Mila had noticed that the professor always seemed to pay a lot of attention to her outfits, something the young girl admired. Despite the casual and simple style, the outfits were often paired with complimentary jewellery.
"Hi," Mila said with a soft smile. "I had a question, is it okay if I ask it now?" she asked nervously, not really knowing if it was a good time. "It's not about this class," she added hesitetly. "But yeah," her voice trailed off. Maybe she should wait until she got a reply.
INPC: Milo Sakurai
Help!
I will hunt you down if you steal my code or images. You do not have permission to use or replicate it.[/i]
Owl me to reopen
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date. [ /// ] ----- word count. [ /// ] ----- tags. [ @Mila Woodland ] | ---- | ---- |
Owl me to reopen
I always knew the wind would blow you back to me one day.
Help!
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The young student felt her cheeks warming up, a blush forming, as the professor kindly greeted her. The soft smile made her relax a bit. "I don't really know how to take care of my hair," she spurted out. Better to rip the band-aid off straight away; no beating around the bush. She wanted to get this over with as fast as possible. "My mom tried to teach me!" she quickly added, not wanting the professor to think her mother didn't care. "But I didn't really listen," she admitted. "It just took so long, so I didn't pay attention the whole time." In class, she wasn't the best student either, especially when the lecturers were long and she had nothing to do. Listening wasn't her strong suit. Mila assumed the older witch had noticed that during the classes. All her previous teachers did. They always said it seemed like she was in her own world.
"You are one of the few people here who has similar hair," she explained. In the past, it had never really bothered the young girl that her hair was different from those around her. Outside of the unasked touching of her hair, Mila had never really experienced any negativity around it. Her mother knew how to take care of her curly hair and had shielded her daughter from any other negative experiences. However, now it meant there were very few people Mila could turn to for help. It was clear that Sarai had a different hair type than her, as Mila's curls were less tight than Sarai's. However, this was still her best bet. "And your hair looks nice," definitly nicer than mine, the young girl added in her thoughts. "I was wondering if you could help," she asked, her brown eyes filled with innocence and confusion. The lack of products, making her curls dry and frizzy, was a clear sign the girl had no clue what she was doing.
"There are just so many products and things my mom talked about. I don't even remember half," she added, her voice drained with desperation. "She said something about not brushing it when it's dry and something about detangling, and she used to braid my hair, but I was too impatient to sit still and learn," she rambled on. If her mom had written down the steps, it would have been so much easier. Now it was too late to ask her mom, she didn't want to owl her mother home about it and admit she hadn't paid attention. She was too proud for that. The panic in her voice grew clearer as her eyes started to get watery. Why was it so complicated?
INPC: Milo Sakurai
Help!
date. september, 2024 ── location. herbology classroom, hogwarts ── word count. #
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▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬A sympathetic smile had crossed the lines of the Haitian witch's face upon hearing the frantic retellings from Mila, nodding along silently and understandingly while withholding a reminiscent chuckle. Sarai saw herself in Mila Woodland, as if the numinous witch was transported back in time when she was a young girl enduring similar circumstances. How mortifying the experience had been in her first year of Castelobruxo, and it seared itself in memory, but luckily her former Headmaster had taken pity and tended to the unkept coils back then.
These days, the woman could more easily use glamour charms to alter the style and color, but even so, there was a certain pride Sarai took upon tending to her hair—her crown, as the woman called it—by hand as her mother, tias, and Headmaster had all once taught her. Time was at a cost for magic's convenience, but there was an ancestral art to maintaining hair by hand in the woman's mind. It would take some time to properly educate and tame the extremely tangled and fizzy curls, but the woman would pass on these lessons to Mila, only if the young girl didn't mind lingering awhile.
Crossing the threshold of the classroom, the woman quickly washed and scrubbed her soil-dusted hands thoroughly at a nearby washstation before inquiring a quick and polite "May I?"
Once the permission had been granted, Sarai examined Mila's curls by running her slender fingers through different sections gently. "Don't worry, we've all gone through this once or twice, maybe three times if you're anything like I used to be," the Toussaint woman said with a kindhearted smile and laugh in an attempt to console and normalize the experience, "Your hair is very beautiful, by the way. I always wished I had a daughter so that I could style hair that's not my own."
Retreating to grab a stool for Mila to sit, Sarai scoured and searched the classroom to retrieve some towels, an empty spray bottle, and her purse from the mahogany desk where her mini-sized hair products remained for the occasional day that the greenhouse's humidity made her own locs an askewed mess. It wasn't often, but the Haitian woman would remain prepared nonetheless.
"What are you thinking? Braids? Twists? Or just taming the curls today?" Sarai gestured to a makeshift station before adding, "I'll write you a note for your next class's professor. Should cover any tardiness, just in case. Let's get you all fixed up, hm?"
These days, the woman could more easily use glamour charms to alter the style and color, but even so, there was a certain pride Sarai took upon tending to her hair—her crown, as the woman called it—by hand as her mother, tias, and Headmaster had all once taught her. Time was at a cost for magic's convenience, but there was an ancestral art to maintaining hair by hand in the woman's mind. It would take some time to properly educate and tame the extremely tangled and fizzy curls, but the woman would pass on these lessons to Mila, only if the young girl didn't mind lingering awhile.
Crossing the threshold of the classroom, the woman quickly washed and scrubbed her soil-dusted hands thoroughly at a nearby washstation before inquiring a quick and polite "May I?"
Once the permission had been granted, Sarai examined Mila's curls by running her slender fingers through different sections gently. "Don't worry, we've all gone through this once or twice, maybe three times if you're anything like I used to be," the Toussaint woman said with a kindhearted smile and laugh in an attempt to console and normalize the experience, "Your hair is very beautiful, by the way. I always wished I had a daughter so that I could style hair that's not my own."
Retreating to grab a stool for Mila to sit, Sarai scoured and searched the classroom to retrieve some towels, an empty spray bottle, and her purse from the mahogany desk where her mini-sized hair products remained for the occasional day that the greenhouse's humidity made her own locs an askewed mess. It wasn't often, but the Haitian woman would remain prepared nonetheless.
"What are you thinking? Braids? Twists? Or just taming the curls today?" Sarai gestured to a makeshift station before adding, "I'll write you a note for your next class's professor. Should cover any tardiness, just in case. Let's get you all fixed up, hm?"
——mentions. @Mila Woodland
——notes.
——notes.
I always knew the wind would blow you back to me one day.