Sad, or Just Hungry? Scientists Can't Tell fin.

Across the dark and bluish-green grass, there seemed to be travelling a small red dot... Scott had been studying the ground below with a sort of fading enthusiasm before he noticed it, and was therefor more than happy to instead follow this new speck of colour, as it struggled its way up the stands and towards him through the otherwise desaturated winter world.

Red's a pretty colour too, Scott reminded himself importantly. Lately he'd felt it necessary to make sure and remember those things.

As it came closer to him, the dot (or what had once only been one to him), brilliantly revealed itself as nothing less than a vibrant head of red hair, belonging to a girl. What was even better, Scott soon realised, was that this particular head of hair belonged to somebody he knew! This, he felt, was very fortunate, because there was nothing Scott wanted to do more at the moment than completely disregard his growing suspicion that his subconscious might have brought him there in the means of solitude and contemplation... Because he wasn't going to fall for it.

"Oh, hey Scott,"

"Good morning!"

Scott beamed over at her as the girl reached his row, and recognised him. It was quite obvious that she hadn't spotted him before, when she'd been making her way against the wind, so Scott naturally excused her somewhy troubled expression, and moved his legs to the side so she could pass him.

The girl was Marla Quinlan: a small, freckled, Quidditch-playing Scot in her second year. That was all Scott flattered himself by claiming he knew, because other than the occasional times he'd see her in their common room, he could only really remember Marla from the prefect duty they both shared a while back... Why had she come here? He'd hoped, before, for some quidditch players to arrive and play, but she didn't seem to be planning on it. He supposed he couldn't blame her, anyway... didn't even want to imagine what flying in February cold was like. He readjusted his cap and rubbed his hands together at the mere thought.

"Sorry, I skipped breakfast. Hopefully that was the worst of it,"

As she'd passed him to occupy a space farther away on the bench, Marla's stomach had growled- and now she was apologising for it. Scott felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a discreet grin before he answered her.

"Oh, you and me both. The breakfast, I mean. Don't ask me how, because I don't know, but I managed to forget all about it! Found myself making my way out here without as much as a piece of toast in my stomach.... That doesn't happen. I feel I must've been possessed, or something similar, in my sleep, by an adventurous spirit! Though I suppose most of our sensible teachers would disagree with me.

Well, I say adventurous. I've only really ended up here, haven't I? Enjoying the view, currently. And your company."

Scott smiled and tipped his head towards his surroundings, the sky in particular. He couldn't possibly be the only one to appreciate it, could he? Even though the question of wether or not he was only using it as means to distract himself was still gnawing at him... She didn't have to know that though, Scott felt, because he wasn't lying. The sky was pretty that morning. That was true.

"What about you, then? I know you play Quidditch," Scott gestured towards the court. "Does your team know you're not having your eight meals a day? Or whatever it is you're supposed to have now..." Scott was recalling how Silas would need to eat almost twice as much as his two brothers when he still lived at home. "Or are you one of those players that train on an empty stomach for motivation? Because I think that sounds like torture."

"So, why do you care about quidditch stuff? I thought people like you only cared about when the next dumb magic hair gel was coming out... Or whatever,"

Now what was all this?

Leaving the sky with his eyes briefly, Scott looked confusedly over to Marla again where she was sitting an awkward way away. He was probably being very silly, but Scott couldn't help but feel like the shivering girl to his right had just said something quite snide to him.

Perhaps she really was hungry. People could behave like that, he knew, when they were... Still. Magic hair gel? Scott didn't even know if that was a thing. And he felt like he would.

"Oh, uh... no." He tried, chuckling nervously and looking back to the sky above. Scott admitted to not really knowing his housemate that well, but it still wasn't very easy to hide his surprise at how she was sounding. Ironic and annoyed. Two quite uncomfortable attitudes, in Scott's experience... He'd need to change that. "No magic hair gel for me. This," he quickly swung his head forwards and back to make it swoop dramatically away from his face (admittedly making it look very messy and much less nice than before, but pantomime is pantomime). "-is all natural."

Immediately grimacing a bit to himself at the sound of it, Scott hoped that Marla would realise he was joking. But at the same time, he didn't quite want to turn and see for himself- afraid he'd be met only with another unamused glare. ...Was something the matter? She had said before that quidditch was the only thing she had going for her. When people said that, it didn't usually mean much good.

Turning carefully again, Scott gave her a crooked smile as this thought occurred to him.

"As for the quidditch, I may surprise you by revealing that I am, in fact, a fan. In spite of what my hair might tell you. Perhaps not as invested in our dear school tournaments as I'd like to be, but the sport itself has played a significant role in my life. Not that I play, I'm not very good... The Ballycastle Bats, that's our team! My family's, I mean. If you wish to criticise them, you're probably better off doing it now and in front of me rather than any of the rest of us. I'm no fanatic, but my father and brothers certainly are. Insult Finbar Quigley and they'll have your head for it, that sort of thing..."

Laughing now, he added: "One of them's a player. Silas.", because in all honesty, that was the biggest reason as to why Scott was interested in quidditch. Which is what she had asked. Though he tended to mention it a lot less frequently nowadays, seeing as how annoyed people got when Ben used to do it every other minute.

Not shying away from looking at Marla this time, Scott tilted his head curiously to the side. She was looking down, towards the wood of the stands, and shivering slightly about her arms and hands. He hadn't exactly been able to lie so well to himself as to say he was having a terrific morning himself, but Marla most certainly wasn't. ...It couldn't be because of him, could it? No. She'd walked to the Quidditch Training Pitch on a Saturday morning without any breakfast, and Scott knew better than anyone that this was a sign of rooted upset.

Maybe, though this is not to say he wouldn't try, Scott couldn't help with that. He could do other stuff!

"Are you cold?"

Scott quickly removed his own gloves, black leather with yellow thread around the wrists, and held them over for her with an outstretched arm. It was a wild shot with anyone. Even Ami would pass on the offer every other time he made it (though this was admittedly because it depended on wether she remembered being vegan that day)... But in the end, Marla was cold and Scott wasn't. Surely this couldn't be anything but simple.

"You can borrow them. They're very comfortable! Maybe a little too big for you but..."

Scott couldn't help but feel a slight sense of achievement as the girl next to him began to soften up. Quidditch, apparently, had been the right thread to pick up on his part. She loved the sport, it seemed, though that much was to be expected from someone who played it... And her opinions seemed to him well-informed. While it of course wouldn't have made a single difference to him, what team she'd said she supported, it amused him to be reminded of his brothers and father by the way she reasoned. He'd usually sit quiet and listen while a conversation like that would spark over the dinner table... and throw his mother some sparing looks as she tried to follow a single word that was being said.

"Catriona McCormack? No, I don't blame you. She's a legend to anyone. Silas used to have these really old posters of her on his walls when he still lived at home, even though he didn't support her team. She was the only Scot allowed up there..."

Scott chuckled quietly, and added: "Dad had one too, but Mother made him take it down."

Then, as if in order to only amplify his sense of success, Marla had taken up on his offer. After admitting that she was indeed as cold as she looked, the girl had snatched the gloves straight out of his hand and put them on demonstratively- waving her hands in his face as if every cell in her body was trying to prove a million points.

"They fit! See?! They fit– they fit perfectly. I'm not small. See?"

"Aye. I see..."

Scott chuckled and shook his head at her. There didn't seem to be a way of foreseeing her reactions to just about anything, in the end... And now she was looking a bit embarrassed. He wondered why she'd been so keen on asserting some kind of independence. He couldn't possibly flatter himself enough to believe that she was intimidated, because that would've been ridiculous...

There was something else.

"They fit you perfect." He was trying not to sound sarcastic. "And they suit you." He managed it.

Marla thanked him, eventually, and settled her hands in her lap again. She was shaking significantly less now, and Scott was glad- because he greatly suspected her previous snide to have been due to the cold at least in part. He knew she was hungry, too, but surely there'd be a difference.

"So, are you like... a millionaire or something?"

Oh.

Scott shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, and gave the air around him an embarrassed smile as he listened to the rest of Marla's reasoning. He never liked that question, never been able to answer it properly. To be fair to Marla, though, no one had asked it quite so bluntly before... But it still rang difficult bells.

Scott started scratching the back of his head with his now bare fingers, and waited for her to finish by mentioning the weather. Was she giving him an out? That, he thought, was very kind of her. But it would've felt painfully obvious and awkward to take her up on it.

"Well..."

You don't talk about wealth, do you?

"My mother bought them, while she was in Egypt."

At least you're not supposed to. His mother had taught him that, though quite hypocritically so since she'd done it wearing a double-stranded pearl necklace. Apparently, showing it wasn't a sin... In fact it was encouraged. As could be told by the clothes she bought them all.

"-A couple of years ago. They were originally for Ben but he didn't want them, so they became mine. They only fit me now, though. Used to be too big.

We're not millionaires."

Suddenly he felt like he shouldn't have added that last part, which he'd done embarrassingly fast, because the truth was: he had no idea of whether or not it was true... How could he know? You don't talk about wealth. Only of percentages, estates and land that should or should not belong to whom or whom... That's all he could overhear sometimes, in heated arguments through fires or letters read aloud, and so far it meant nothing to him. He preferred it that way, too, since he had more than a slight suspicion that the understanding of money would only make his current familiar situation appear even darker to him.

Scott cleared his throat and removed his hand from his head, looking back at her with a sheepish grin.

"Besides, books aren't a bad thing to spend your money on! Not at all! I'm sure both my parents would prefer them to be a priority of mine... in fact, they say so.

What I mean is, gloves keep you warm, is all."

"Oh... I guess your whole family inherited the giant hand gene, then?"

Scott could barely hear a word that his housemate was saying due to her mumbling (and, admittedly, her accent), which was most likely done in sympathy with his reaction. But as he gratefully took it all as a sign she'd allowed for him to change the subject he rejoiced in her words anyway, ignoring the way she'd dismissed his compliment only a few seconds earlier. What did it matter.

"Well! You know what they say about big hands," He laughed in relief and made a little bow towards her, happy to hear he'd been of assistance. "-big hearts!" Some people probably say that.

Scott had greatly needed to straighten his back then, and to make sure none of his silliness could be spotted anymore from her part... It wasn't her fault, was it, that it had been an awkward question? No, it was his- because even though he'd watched members of his family handle it over and over and with a lot of grace growing up (Silas and his mother were the most proficient at this), he'd never learned how to do it himself.

He'd really need to, though, didn't he? And soon. Maybe he could write down a joke to use every time.

Marla had then also, bless her heart, mercifully steered the conversation into yet another direction. She'd gone on to talk about, with admittedly some lack of enthusiasm, how boring their school must be in the eyes of students who are used to their easy access entertainment.
Scott could somehow sense that maybe Marla was getting bored herself, and sincerely hoped he wasn't contributing to it. Could he be? After all: without him, there'd only be an empty training pitch for her to stare at, and he couldn't deprecate himself enough to imagine that that would be much more fun for her.

"I'd have to disagree with you about that, actually! I can take a walk across these grounds and consider my day completely made! But I mean... it may very well have something to do with my not ever having had a TV, like you say. If I'd had one, then maybe I'd miss it every hour of every day! And this is not to mention-"

But at the same time, he had at this stage also begun to realise that some people just weren't like him: they really did want to be left alone.

"Never mind, actually. Maybe you're right. Maybe this place can be quite dull... Dull and intrusive. That's never nice! No, not a nice thing to be. Honestly, if you ever find yourself being dull or intrusive you should just stop, right? Stop and walk away."

Scott laughed nervously again, and dropped his palms to his knees. He couldn't help but curse himself slightly, for having done this again. People weren't always keen on conversation, he needed to remember that. People weren't always keen on him, either. And that wasn't their fault. Was it his? Well, that was a question for another time.

Standing up, Scott made a show of patting his stomach once or twice.

"You know what? Your delightful company swept my mind away, and almost had me forgetting how hungry I was! Or rather, it did make me forget, but now it's too great a pain to ignore. I think I'll head back to the castle, myself. They might still be serving breakfast, or else I'll have something in the dormitory. Yes! This sounds like a plan."

Smiling Marla goodbye, Scott made a hesitant little turn on his heel before he left her in the stands.

"I, uh... I hope I didn't bother you. Have a great rest of your morning! Enjoy the sky!"

Scott leaves the thread. The thread ends.