And The Rest Is History PV Esme Hestridge

date 29/09/25

word count 648

outfit ⁺₊ ☀︎ ⁺₊

speech #8C2626

mentions @Esme Hestridge

notes xxx

Lucille noticed Esme enter, and her serene focus, if you could call it serene, seemed to disappear. She looked up when Esme spoke, quick to give her her full attention. Esme was smiling, which gave her a little encouragement, although she seemed just as composed as she did in their class.

"No, no, not at all," Lucille said when the girl apologized, shaking her head vigorously. Her boundless energy seemed to return, even as she kept her voice as quiet as possible. She wasn't too worried about speaking, since they were surrounded by other students discussing work and their own projects in hushed tones. She figured as long as she kept her voice low, everything would be fine.

"I got a head start already, and I think I've gathered up all the books we need, see?" She pushed the stack of books towards Esme. She beamed up at her, the expression similar to a child showing their parent an interesting stick they may have found in the garden.

She finally took a minute to examine Esme properly. She had only ever seen the girl from afar, and from that distance all she had noticed about her was how tall she was. Now that she was closer, she could see Esme's eyes, and they were a deep, captivating, blue-ish gray. Lucille seemed to be staring for a second, but she spoke promptly, leaning forward a little so she could speak quietly. "Your eyes look like the sea. Have you ever been there during a thunderstorm? When the waves are crashing everywhere and everything looks dark and gray? That's what they look like." She finished her sentence almost proudly, sure she had nailed the description.

With that, Lucille leaned back in her chair again, eyes on the open book in front of her. Her hands seemed to work separately from her mind, continuing to take notes of the information she needed, while her thoughts drifted away. It was a talent Lucille had honed and developed for a long time; the restless child would often be able to write down what her teacher was saying, but her mind wouldn't comprehend it until she sat down hours later and pored over it. At Hogwarts, she had felt that mainly in astronomy, with sleep in her eyes but her hand scribbling quick as ever. And nary a mistake, too, although sometimes her handwriting in her astronomy notes was illegible, or she had odd ramblings written in the margins.

"You know, I never really liked the sea. We've only been there a few times, but it felt like I spent the next 3 days scrubbing salt and sand off of me. It was so incredibly frustrating, but I suppose the scenery made up for it." The girl's eyes remained trained on her books, and it seemed she was talking to herself now. She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, and placed her hand on her lap after, tucked in close, as if she were hugging herself. Her other hand, of course, continued it's endless journey on the parchment, lifting only when her head turned to look at the book.

She had already been quite happy with how her research had been going, and she knew it had only been a little while since she'd started the project, but she had been enjoying herself so far. And, hopefully, Esme wouldn't mind it much either. Lucille enjoyed having someone to talk to as she worked, even though it seemed Esme wouldn't be doing much talking. Still, she figured she could provide enough entertainment for the both of them. Besides, there was something about Esme that made her want to keep talking; it reminded her of a boy she'd met a while ago, who had the same strange allure. Lucille couldn't quite place what exactly was intriguing, but she knew she wished to speak.

date 29/09/25

word count 930

outfit ⁺₊ ☀︎ ⁺₊

speech #8C2626

mentions @Esme Hestridge

notes xxx

Lucille felt Esme's stare more than she saw it. The girl's eyes were trained on her as she talked and, although Lucille could only see it through her peripherals, she felt her pupils boring into her. That wasn't what had been most noticeable to Lucille, though, although it was certainly the least subtle thing about Esme's expression. No, the most noticeable thing had been how, for a fraction of a second when she had begun talking, Esme's expression had seemed... strained? Tired? Disturbed? It had been gone far too quickly for Lucille to be able to identify it correctly, but Esme's smile seemed slightly more uneasy than it had two seconds ago.

Lucille dialed it back quickly. The last thing she wanted was for Esme to feel disrupted, not just out of the goodness of her heart, of course, but rather Esme seemed to have a decent work ethic, at least at first glance, and Lucille did not wish to change that. The pair were united in their desire for a good grade, she figured, and so she figured they would get along, if only for the project.

Esme was fonder of the sea than Lucille was, but seemed much less eager to speak. After talking of her own experience with the sea, she abruptly changed the subject back to the project. It was certainly best to get that out of the way first, and so, Lucille nodded, still enthusiastic but her movements a bit diluted, as if she was trying not to spook a nervous animal.

"Yes, right, the project," she said, smiling brightly at Esme, trying to ease her mind a little. "I'm nearing the end of the first chapter, so I think what you suggested works. You can start on chapter 5." Lucille's voice was confident, assertive, her tone a bit calmer now. It seemed she wouldn't offer any idle conversation any longer.

For a while, it seemed to be true. Lucille returned to her reading and notes, completely silent. She was trying to give Esme some time to get her bearings without the added stimulation of a conversation. Right when it seemed perhaps she would be able to spend the rest of their time together in silence, she spoke again.

"I wonder what it would be like to have lived through one of these events. To be honest, I don't even think I could survive a horror movie. Throw me into one of these revolutions and I would probably be one of the first people killed." She looked up at Esme again and it seemed she would ask what Esme thought. At the last second, though, Lucille changed her mind, offering her own opinion instead. "You'd be fine, I think. I think whoever tried would have a moment of hesitation, and that's when you defend yourself. What do you think?" Lucille wondered if these were odd words to say to someone you just met, but truly, what else were you supposed to talk about if the books in front of you were depicting and speaking of such terrible things? It was the natural point for the conversation to go toward.

"Perhaps a strange thing to think about, but I suppose it does really put things into perspective. I don't know about you, but I love history, mainly because it reads like a collection of stories, and I love stories. But I think a lot of people tend to ignore that these things actually happened. Just because they happened a long time ago doesn't make them any less real." Lucille had spoken not to interrupt the silence, but because she wasn't quite sure if it was uncomfortable. She didn't mind sitting quietly, contrary to popular belief, but she had the bad habit of thinking her companion would assume all silence to be awkward, uncomfortable silence. And so, Lucille tended to fill the silence if it stretched longer than 10 or 15 minutes, as if she was testing the waters, checking if her friend would like conversation now.

Esme had been easy enough to point out as someone who wished to get started on their work before they had any idle talk. Lucille hoped this had been enough time for her to get her bearings in history, and perhaps she would be more welcome to a conversation now. Although Lucille's head was still tilted towards her book, her hand was hovering, quill poised in midair, a drop of ink threatening to drip. She was observing Esme, not as blatantly as before, but still clear enough, trying to see the girl's reaction to her attempt at conversation.

Perhaps something that was affecting her was the thought of being disliked. Lucille did not wish to be disliked by anyone, and the idea filled her with dread. And so, the girl would often approach with excitement and enthusiasm, trying her best to charm people, to show that she was simply harmless, and wished no ill upon them. She would hope her sincerity would shine, and even those who disliked her would soften. That had tended to be the recurring pattern with people who were annoyed by her at first. Eventually, people would realize that she simply had a lot of energy, and nothing more. Lucille was aware that she was not everyone's cup of tea, and the girl was unapologetically herself, unwilling to water herself down to be liked. However, she did not wish to be disliked, and so she would keep trying, over and over again, adding on more eager enthusiasm most often to those who wished to avoid it.

date 29/09/25

word count 688

outfit ⁺₊ ☀︎ ⁺₊

speech #8C2626

mentions @Esme Hestridge

notes xxx

“forgive me, but I must ask — is the chatter a… compulsion, of sorts, for you? Does it… help you focus?” There was a chill in Esme's tone that made Lucille's hand freeze. She looked up at Esme, bravely attempting to meet her gaze, although it seemed the stony quality in her voice had struck Lucille. Esme was no longer smiling; at least, Lucille wouldn't call it a smile. It seemed quite like someone who had just bitten into a lemon by accident, and was trying to pretend they were alright.

Lucille nodded slowly, although what she was replying to, she wasn't sure. The gesture seemed to say oh, I understand now. She looked down at her hands, letting her eyes travel across the few veins that stood out, as if scanning the path of them, if only to have something to do. The silence stretched, longer than Lucille typically would let it during a conversation.

Finally, she swallowed, and looked up at Esme again, forcing a bright smile on her face. Her expression was well practiced, but there was almost a bit of fear in her eyes. She hated upsetting people, disappointing them, or, quite frankly, any negative reactions. Then she shook her head, trying to muster the same vigour she had had before. "Point taken!" she announced, her voice more high pitched than usual in her attempt to seem alright.

Despite her feigned enthusiasm, the cracks in Lucille's facade remained. The girl was accustomed to wearing her heart on her sleeve, and having to hide it wasn't exactly her strong suit, and she couldn't keep it up for long. She let her eyes fall back on the page, the corners of her mouth beginning to turn down, lower lip quivering slightly, and found herself reading the same line over and over, unable to process it. Her right hand remained still, her lack of focus preventing the recording of any new information. She bent lower over the book, as if trying to hide her face by any means necessary.

And now, a little safely hidden, Lucille thought back on their conversation, trying to see where she had gone wrong. Esme had been surprised before, hadn't she? Or had she taken her annoyance to be surprise and nervousness? She must have, for Esme had quite clearly expressed that she would like Lucille to stay silent. Well, maybe not clearly, but it had felt clear enough. Lucille shivered again, recalling how icy Esme had sounded. She certainly seemed like someone Lucille shouldn't have gotten on the bad side of, yet here she was.

As Lucille's thoughts occupied her mind, pulling it away from any thought of rebellions, her hand dropped down lower and lower, until it reached the parchment with her notes, and, unnoticed, a circle of ink began spreading from her quill. Finally clearing her head, she decided that by the end of this project, Esme must not think of her negatively anymore. All she had to do was keep her head down and work, and Lucille could certainly do that. Perhaps that would be redemption?

Straightening, Lucille turned to the parchment to see where she had been before. Her face dropped, seeing the mess on the page. Oh no. It had been away from her notes, at least most of them, only really blocking the last couple lines. Lucille glanced at Esme, noting how neat and organized her paper looked, and turned back to her page, where the circle of ink stared at her like a threat. Frantically, but determined to keep her silence, Lucille began to dab at the ink with her sleeve, as quietly and subtly as she could, which, of course, was not very subtle. Thankfully, the black of her sleeve hid the stain of the ink that was transferring to it, although it seemed to shine a little until the ink began to dry.

The page was salvageable, but she would just have to work around the spot, and likely rewrite this page later on. That was alright. She hoped. Lucille stole another glance at Esme, embarrassment beginning to creep up within her.

date 29/09/25

word count 809

outfit ⁺₊ ☀︎ ⁺₊

speech #8C2626

mentions @Esme Hestridge

notes xxx

Lucille could feel Esme staring at her once more as she frantically dabbed at the ink. Her movements grew stiffer, uneasy, as the queasy feeling in her stomach amplified. She didn't often feel discomfort when someone stared at her; after all, she was guilty of doing the same thing on many an occasion. But, right now, it was increasing her panic, with Esme's every movement feeling like scrutiny.

She looked away, and Lucille relaxed. Even she could recognize that the silence was tense, but it seemed Esme did not wish to speak further. That was alright; she would go along and hope that by the end, Esme might have a better opinion of her. The little bit of hope was comforting, as she finally gave up, flipping to another page of parchment and beginning to write once more, now slower and unfocused. Whereas before she had felt she understood the information as she went along, now she felt as if her mind had switched off, and refused to provide any insightful comments on the content.

All of a sudden, Esme's voice cut through the silence, and Lucille's eyes snapped up, her movements freezing. It seemed she had been wrong; Esme had more to say. But the reprimand or argument she had feared did not come. Instead, Esme apologized, which somehow made her feel simultaneously better and worse. On one hand, Esme was extending an olive branch, which meant she might not view Lucille as harshly as she thought. On the other, Lucille wondered if it was an attempt to make herself feel better and, if it was, she felt terrible for first angering Esme, and then making her feel... guilt? Disappointment? She tried to find the answer in her expression, but her only hint was in the way Esme's voice caught as she spoke. It seemed as if the words were difficult for her to say, and that could mean anything.

The apology was short, but genuine, Lucille thought. She bit her bottom lip for a second, nervous, before finally speaking. Her words came out slowly, as if she was carefully trying to figure out the correct thing to say, like being called on in class when you didn't know the answer. Her eyes darted about the room, avoiding Esme's. In her newfound silence, the loudest sound had seemed to be her heartbeat, which quickened now as she felt she was walking on eggshells. Despite that, she spoke, her voice soft and careful. "That's alright. We all have bad days, don't we? And I suppose I wasn't really getting the hint." She offered a soft smile, a brave gesture, trying to fix the situation with a little humor. The energetic tone that typically filled her voice was gone completely, as if she was speaking to a nervous animal. It was softer than one might expect from her and, for once, Lucille had struggled to speak instead of struggling to stay quiet.

She took a deep breath, shifting her gaze back to her book. Everything is alright. If she had a problem, she wouldn't have apologized, right? Everything is okay. The words filled her mind, repeating in her head over and over again, reasoning with herself to relax. Besides, Esme had looked quite guilty, hadn't she? That probably meant she didn't like how she had handled the situation, and her words supported that.

Despite the signs that pointed her to relax and move on, the discomfort in her gut remained. Every movement was slower, careful, almost silenced, as every thought was second-guessed. She felt terrible for pushing Esme so far, even if she hadn't realized it. That, accompanied with the fact that Esme had spoken harshly to her, which had looked like something she hadn't enjoyed. Esme must think her to be an insufferable, emotional mess, someone who couldn't take the least bit of criticism. Lucille winced at the thought, hating the idea. She desperately wanted to prove herself, but she was far too nervous now to take initiative. Better to be disliked and remain that way, than to try to improve her position, only to be hated.

Still, she wondered if she should offer to do their work separately, but her tongue seemed glued to the roof of her mouth. It was as if she had lost the ability to speak, and the decently sized lump in her throat wasn't helping either. She looked up at Esme and, for a second, it seemed as if she might speak, but the idea had passed just as quickly as it had arrived. Instead, she looked down once more and continued working, now seeming much more focused than before. She just wanted all of this to be over so she could recall it in private, and not cause a scene in front of Esme, although maybe it was too late for that.