Reopened 10.9 Dreadful Start pv pam

Speech -- Thoughts

Staying up in the Astronomy Tower yesterday night was a bad idea.

Pamela Graham was currently trying to stop her face from crash-landing into the plate of food in front of her. Going up to the Astronomy Tower after dinner had become one of her favorite activities since she had started out at school. However, what that did affect was her sleep schedule. So most mornings her roommate would have to drag her off the bed. She was lucky that Ira Thornfield had been willing to do that much for her.

Stifling a yawn, Pam stuffed herself with more food, hoping it would help to wake her up. What I need is some chilli. Pam's spice tolerance levels were pretty non-existent, so spicy food more than solved the purpose of banishing all her sleep. Today though, the food was less spicier than normal. Or maybe I'm finally getting used to the spice level. Oh wait, that's not a good thing.

She sighed, leaning her head on her hand, Ugh, I'm so tired. I'm going to sleep for atleast eight hours tonight. Of course, the way her past two weeks were going, she would find herself saying that every alternate day, and running to Astronomy Tower every night. Or in some cases, the Library. As Pam had realised, she would willingly live in the library if she was allowed to do so.

She was, in fact, not allowed to do so.

A sudden sound from behind her, caused Pam to jump, breaking her out of the daze and the fork in her hand cluttered noisily onto the table. She turned around, coming face-to-face with a girl, who seemed to have fallen down. She did not seem to be hurt specifically, but her satchel had opened, and her books and stationary were scattered across the floor.

Glad for the sudden excuse to get out of the table, Pam picked up two books closest to her, and approached the girl, handing her the books and asking, "Are you alright?""

ℬrookline grabbed the two nearest quills she saw, and shoving them into her satchel, she sighed. Everything was so stupid, why did life has to be this way!! The Ravenclaw snorted, It’s always me. Even people in this Great Hall don’t have anything troubling them. It’s me with the horrid life.

Now she knew that wasn’t true. She just needed something to blame. Tears pricked her eyes, and, not paying any attention, she hurriedly wiped them away with slender fingers. The black mark touched a eyelash, and she revolted. Brookline grabbed another book - with the hand with the mark - the volume trembled in her shivering hands, and dumped it in the satchel. As she did that, she covered her hand with her sleeve. She didn’t want to see it.

A voice, louder than all the rest, sent shivers down the Ravenclaw’s spine, Rash actions, I see. What did I tell you, dear?

Oh boy, better not look mad. They’ll never believe you.

Stop shivering. Calm down.

All the voices agitated her, making her itchy hair fall in her face. She could barely hear the soft, gentle female voice that belonged to a girl who handed her two of her books. Brookline flicked her gaze up, and her dull blue eyes found a pair of turquoise irises.

“Are you alright?”

There was something about this girl that made Brookline think of her mother. She nodded fervently, taking the books and placed them into her satchel.

“Urm. What?” Brookline glanced at her fingernails, and then nodded once again. “Oh! Yeah. I just tripped over my chair.” She gave a weak, nervous laugh, and a little, trembling smile that didn’t reach up to her eyes. Grabbing the rest of the parchment, she scooped them inside the satchel, and stood up, to face the girl.

inventory: Enchanted Satchel, wand, homework, books, parchment, and quills.

Speech -- Thoughts

Pam tilted her head, watching the girl gather up her remaining books into her satchel, a Ravenclaw, she noted from the girl's black and blue uniform. The girl's empty reply did not fool her, even more so the laugh she gave out a second later— empty, trembling— like she was trying teo hard to pretend to be okay.

Pam's eyebrows furrowed, feeling a bit worried for the girl as her eyes flickered to the sleeve the Ravenclaw pulled down to cover her...what exactly did she cover? Her eyes were wild, cornered, and Pam pushed down the wave of anxiety that rose like bile to her throat. She knew that look, she had seen it in the mirror— on her worst days.

Pam was never one to poke at a wound though.

"Must've been a nasty trip, then." She said, keeping her voice carefully neutral, "Are you hurt?" As she asked the question though, she gave the girl a quick once-over, mentally noting that she did not seem to be hurt.

The girl had stood up to face her, and Pam found herself at a loss for words, unsure of what exactly she should say now, "I'm Pam." She offered, hesitantly, "Would you like to sit down?"

ℳiss Brookline Quinn covered her mark, and her ocean-coloured eyes only caught up to the tranquil girl. The girl's thin eyebrows knitted together as she saw Brookline shove her sleeve over the mark.

Brookline flinced, and froze, a new, freezing cold wave of anxiety flushed over her as she hoped this underclassmen wouldn't think twice about it.

The taunting whispers would only enter Brookline's ears, and would not come on out. You might as well stick a Muggle doctor's tools in her ears. Those stupid voices will not come on out.

Brookline cursed as her itchy mass of hair swung in her face, and she practically thrust her hair out of her face, her eyes welling up with burning tears.

She rubbed her eyes, desperately hoping those dreadful tears wouldn't come slipping down her cheeks and neck. For the strong reason that Brookline knew, if she started sobbing, she would absolutely never stop.

They didn't come down. Thank the Lord.

The girl's kept her voice awfully impartial, and Brookline did all she could to not respond in sharp sarcasm. She was going to be nice. She was going to be cool. She was going to be the older role model. Not the stupid girl who flinched at taunting voices, and the words of her freaking drinker of a father.

"I'm okay. I'm fine." Her whisper was slow and quiet at first, but she nodded, her words became louder. Not quite loud, just loud enough for, like, a professor hearing a student about a question.

Brookline tilted her head as the calm underclassmen introduced herself, and with a little wavering, the girl asked if Brookline wanted to sit down. The Welsh Ravenclaw almost snorted with scorn, as she took a palm to tuck a matted strand of hair behind her ear. However, it would be wrong for her to snort, as the muscles in her legs, with absolutely always shrieked endlessly their pain, were screaming at her to sit. Literally sit anywhere.

Yet, as Brookline fake-smiled, a dull sparkle filtering in her drowning sea of those eyes, she shrugged, "Oh, um. No, not really." She stepped over to the table, her words not quite matching with her actions. She stopped just a hair behind the chair, when she spun around to meet Pam's blue eyes.

They looked startling familiar, as if she had met this girl before but she definitely knew she had never seen Pamela's face before.

Brookline started, her words cautious, as she gazed at Pam, "Pam? Like a nickname?"

Then she introduced herself, her speech slow and careful. "I guess I should present myself, ha. I'm Brookline. Brookline Quinn." She let her lips twist into a soft smile. She liked meeting new people but today, today was not a good day.

Dreadful.

inventory: Enchanted Satchel, wand, homework, books, parchment, and quills.

Speech -- Thoughts

She looks like she's going to cry, or punch someone, or both.

The girl's eyes were watery, even though her control over them was almost impressive—an ability Pam secretly envied. It would be useful for a girl like her, she was always so sensitive. I should learn that from her. The girl had frozen as had noticed Pam's eyes flickering to her arm, an undercurrent of fear in those dull ---colored irises, raw and fleeting, but enough to make Pam's chest tighten with guilt. She cursed herself for being so breathtakingly obvious, even as she pushed in the desire to question the girl about her actions. It wasn't her place.

Her eyes. They were literal pools of emotion— swimming with sadness, pain and exhaustion— all smothered beneath a practiced mask of detachment. A haunted glint lingered there, and Pam felt it pierce her, cold and sharp. Pam had no clue what on earth was going on with her, but she felt a distinct surge of pity, wishing she could say something, anything, might ease the weight pressing down on her

"I'm okay. I'm fine." She was, clearly, not okay. The girl did not do a very good job of hiding her pain. Anyone who looked a little closely would know. The way her voice faltered at the edges, the way her body stilled too sharply, too quickly, like someone holding themselves together with sheer force of will. Pam knew those tells. Pam had seen her father hide his pain after Pam's mother had died. He still did. A pain Pam would never have even guessed her father had gone through if she had not seen him wide awake in the darkness of the night, staring aimlessly into space.

Pam had been too young to understand the implications back then.

The Hufflepuff blinked as she realised she had subconsciously introduced herself by her nickname. It was a bit weird. Pam often grappled between her given name and the name some of her friends had taken to after coming here. 'Pam' had a personal touch to it, which she liked; it was softer, warmer. More hers.

"Right, that's my nickname," she nodded, "My name is Pamela Graham."

𝒜nxiety had to be a stupid, horrible, dreadful thing. She could not live like this. How could she? The tears that had just disappeared from crashing blue waves, came right back to Brookline, and she could have screamed. Screamed, and plunged a knife somewhere.

Of course she didn't. She would keep her cool, stop the freaking storm in her eyes, and in her core. Her insides were literally swordfighting, and everything hurt today.

Brookline needed to sit down. Better yet, survive this miserable, cold, soul-crushing battle that her stupid father planted a tiny seed in her head. She wished, oh how much she did, that everything would slow and stop. This freaking torture made her feel as though she was from the 1700s and the stupid, alcoholic rulers had ordered her to hang, to die a cruel death. For doing what?

For doing nothing, that's what!

She fumed. The crashing waves in her eyes bloomed into icy flames right before Pam's very eyes. Rage boiled within her, and she let go of her sadness, letting her anger show in her muscles.

Then, after a satisfying moment, Brookline turned to Pamela. She had forgotten she was here in the Great Hall, and she was in the company of a first year.

Of course, she rolled her eyes and she turned to Pam just as she introduced her given name, not just her nickname. Brookline didn't mind, she liked both her given name and nicknames. Sometimes she would introduce herself as her nicknames yet lately, "Brooke" was just too familiar and weird to be caught on her tongue. Her father used her full name so is that what he liked better? If he rather use her birth name, perhaps that is what he would rather call her and that is what Brookline would use.

Brookline nodded. She liked it. Pamela was such a lovely name. Such a lovely name.

"I like it. Pamela is such a pretty name, you know. I almost envy you." Suddenly her tongue tied up, and she fully realized that she probably looked like a pale maniac who just tripped over their own chair.

Wait. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. "Uh, well. Shall we forget what has happened here?" She implied and gestured around her, to show she meant her little fall. No way she could forget this kind, calm girl who had memorable, familiar eyes.

No way.

inventory: Enchanted Satchel, wand, homework, books, parchment, and quills.

Speech -- Thoughts

To say that Pam had absolutely no idea what she was meant to do now was an understatement.

Pain is an unforgiving, merciless teacher, often with the cruelest sense of timing. It never asks for permission, but always leaves behind something raw and real — the understanding that healing isn’t about forgetting, but learning to move again, even when it still hurts.

Anger and sorrow: two different responses to the same wound, two conflicting emotions in the same pair of eyes, only a few minutes apart. Icy flames shimmered in the dark irises, which had earlier seemed like they would break. Break and break in such a way that they would never be whole again. Now they held a fiery promise, a promise of a fight, of survival. She looked fierce, dangerous, beautiful.

The younger girl watched, waiting for the former to address her, even as the desire to learn, to comfort, to hold was almost consuming. It was interesting, how pain could actually make someone more luminous, alive in a way that felt almost dead.

Admittedly, the older girl seemed to have forgotten that the other was there for a while. Silence stretched between them, tense but not really uncomfortable, wrapping around them like fog rolling off a lke— until the girl turned towards her. Eyes softened as dark blue eyes met turquoise ones, hovering between anger and indifference.

Was her name really pretty? This was the first time she was hearing something like that. Pam had mixed feelings about it; it was too common, too ordinary, when you read books and found the name Pamela in every third one, it stopped being special after a while. Yet somehow, it still fit her. Almost perfectly.

Still, it didn't feel anything too special. "Thank you,"[/color] she said anyway, blinking up at the girl. The words came out quieter than she had intended, a shy edge to her voice that actually surprised her.

Forget what had happened? Yeah no, Pam didn't think that would happen so easily. She had herself not dealt with a lot of people who seemed like their world was collapsing on their heads, and Brookline wore those emotions on her face, with an intensity that truly terrified Pam and left her in awe at the same time. All the same, she could still humor her. That was often what friendship meant. And maybe, this could also be the start of some kind of friendship.

So Pam smiled her best smile, offering the girl her hand, "Alright then, Brookline. Shall we start over? It's nice to meet you."