an aria in amends.
| E | ✧  ✧location. the rehearsal room. date. 6th of november; late afternoon. mentions. @Violence Bloodthorn.  To Esme, routines oscillated exactly at the border between sacred and scientific. Sacred, because there really were few things Esme cared more about than her daily schedule. Every minute and time stamp lined up perfectly, right angles and sharp edges that did not demand, but rather allowed for perfection. Esme dedicated herself to the organisation of her days with true fervor and utmost seriousness. An organised schedule was the first step to achieving an organised mind, she believed — one where nothing was out of place and not a single piece of litter could be found. She treated her schedule the same way she treated her room at home, then; with dedication and determination. There was no activity unaccounted for, no minutes of leisure littering an otherwise perfectly optimised day. Similarly, her attitude veered scientific. Esme’s routines came from a place of experimentation, trial and error, the scientific method. Though as a child, her days were managed mostly by her parents and whatever they deemed best for her at any given moment, she was now in Hogwarts — alone. With the years of tutoring and events behind her, she knew how she wanted things to go. She had an idea of what worked best for her, and therefore could craft her daily agenda with precision that was rarely demanded by anyone but herself. Her own were the only standards Esme cared for reaching. Unfortunately for Esme, Hogwarts seemed to have a way of disrupting the things she took as a given. First was the house she was sorted into, then in October, it was her own peace of mind as she was locked in a room with some of the most annoying people she’d ever met, bar Maisie; that, and later in the month, being appointed prefect. Though she was happy Norwood, the blight on the hallowed halls of Hogwarts he was, was no longer prefect, she was suddenly handed a position she had no interest in. With it, came thirty different duties she had zero care for — she just wanted Silas to not be prefect anymore. She had no interest in becoming one herself. Still, it wasn’t like Esme would have denied the opportunity when presented with one; and so, she became prefect of Slytherin. The joy she could all but feel in every letter she got from her parents since almost made the whole ordeal worth it. Of course, with the position came plenty of responsibilities that Esme, as much as she wanted to, could not flaunt — professor Sauber was intimidating enough in regular conversation, she did not need to see how bad it could get if he was actually angry with her. Whilst answering questions and running errands she did not mind, there was one of her new duties that Esme did take issue with, and that was patrolling. Although it was done in shifts, and when the work total was split amongst all the different prefects of each house, the individual part turned out not to be too much, it still caused a shift in Esme’s routines. A block of time unaccounted for, suddenly trying to slot itself into her schedule, disrupting the neatly organized rows on her timetable. She redrafted it 3 times the first week of her tenure, and was still left with a poor imitation of the previously perfect order she so strictly maintained. She pushed repeating appointments, moved sleep later and wake times earlier, and had to restrict her extracurriculars and free time. Though the temporary solutions she found were fine and did their job, helping her do hers, they fell far too short of the standard she had set for herself. This could not stand. Esme was left with one choice, and that was a complete, top to bottom restructuring. She was nothing if not obsessive about her routines, after all, and had therefore dedicated the past two weeks to, once again, trial and error. The scientific method. Pushing and pulling at the different blocks that made up her schedule, attempting a myriad of new orders and set-ups to ensure each fit perfectly. One of the activities that had been disregarded in her scramble to keep up with her new abilities was her vocal lessons. Esme was classically trained — her mother had introduced her to opera at a very young age, and she had been tutored in singing since she could properly enunciate. Now, she shuddered at what her tutor back at home would think: she hadn’t visited the rehearsal room in almost two weeks. Today, that would change. For this week, Esme decided she would finally prioritise her vocals, and had organised her time around it. It was later than usual; afternoon on the precipice of turning to evening. Usually, she would have preferred an earlier time slot, but even when doing her best, this was the best she could find to accommodate her classes, homework, all her prefect duties and all the social commitments she had to juggle. It didn’t seem to be too much of an issue, fortunately — there was still plenty of space. Most people had other things to do during their afternoons than come here, especially since exeat weekend would be starting tomorrow. Esme’s trunk was already packed, of course, so she had plenty of time to focus on the important things: and currently, vocal warm-ups were at the forefront of her mind. As she set her bookbag down, Esme’s attention was caught by the sound of the door opening. She glanced at the newcomer, and was found with a face she recognised, surprisingly enough. Though it took her a second to recall it, it was one far too characteristic for Esme to ever forget — Violence Bloodthorn. A second year, and a Ravenclaw, if her memory served. They met during the fall ball, in that wretched room; though, to give Violence her credit, she was probably one of the better people Esme had found herself stuck with, only below Esme. She was decidedly far more pleasant company than the dazed and rather unimpressive boy, Percival, and she had acted with far more decorum than Cecilia and her little lackey, M-whatever-her-name-was, trying, along with Maisie, to control all the rather unfortunate behavior that transpired. Esme considered Violence for a moment, staring her down as she stepped inside the room. Perhaps an apology, or at least some sort of outreach would be in order — her own conduct in that room was less than polite. And though Esme maintained it was perfectly justified, considering miss Merrick’s… well, everything, it had still, even if only partially, caused Maisie to snap at them. She had spoken with her parents since the ball, and her father mentioned the Bloodthorns would soon be in attendance at the annual gala her family hosted — supposedly, one of them was also in the potion business. Whatever the case may be, if they were notable enough to be invited, it would most likely be best to attempt some semblance of amends. “Miss Bloodthorn,” Esme finally said, blinking for the first time since Violence entered the room. Her tone was bright, clear, voice gentle and measured, even friendly; a lot more than it would have been during the ball last month, anyway. “Violence, right?”  wc. 1213 notes. none. ✧✦✧ |
H |
thales amaro. second year castelobruxo quidditch. |
katherine townsend. professor of charms, former thunderbird. |
an aria in amends.
| 001. | FEMME FATALE ; AN ARIA IN AMENDS. |
| xxxxxxx | xxxxxxxxx𝓐 month and two days. Azzure had told her they would catch up a day or two after the ball, and Violence had heard nothing from her since then. Violence’s mind was poisoned, the same thoughts ran through her mind, until she could recite them in her sleep, 'Classic Azzure… Coming to me when she needs me, then leaving. Always. Leaving.' Violence had not forgotten the way Azzure had grounded her that day. But that could have only been because she felt guilty. But judging by the way she left again, Azzure did not even care to feel that. Violence could see the past repeating. She cursed herself. How could she have been such a fool? To even think that Azzure would look twice at her, after leaving her hanging for over three months? Violence had done everything for Azzure, gone out of her comfort zone in a way she would have done for only Sébastien, perhaps. She had lied to her parents about being in Diagon Alley with Avina, just so she could visit Azzure in the hospital. Just so she could be with her, support her, give her reassurance that everything would be fine. Vi had made Avina lie to her parents as well, made her stay in Diagon Alley alone for an entire week. And Azzure had been aware of all of this, and still decided that Violence was not important enough to be updated of if she was even alive. No explanations as to how she ended up in the hospital, no explanations as to why she disappeared. The first week, Violence held onto hope, she might meet Azzure somewhere. Run into her in one of their classes maybe? But the crowd always made it so difficult for Violence to spot her. By the second week, the hope was starting to fade away. But Violence’s eyes still searched the crowd for a speck of white hair between the sea of heads bobbing up and down the corridors. By the third week, Violence had started having nightmares about the day of the ball. Somehow, each one of her dreams had fire in it. She felt like she was going insane. There had been no major incidents at the ball, nobody on fire, no place catching fire. Then why did the flames plague her nightmares? At the end of the fourth week, Violence had given up completely, accepting that Azzure had left again. Maybe she would show up at the next ball. Maybe, just maybe, Violence would get to hear her there again. But for now, she was gone, with no signs of coming back. Now, Violence had decided to do things she normally wouldn’t. Distraction was the only remedy for Vi’s illness. If one could call it an illness, that is. There had been flyers of an unofficial broom race, and Violence had decided to sign up. The race would be on the 20th, which gave her time to practice. Violence was fine on a broom, she would even go as far as to call herself skilled. It was the spells that needed practice. Spells would be important for the race. She would need to practice those. But maybe after the exeat weekend, she would grant herself three days of rest from spells before beginning again. Violence decided maybe it was time to let new skills be kept aside and hone the ones she already had control over. So in the morning, she fished out a large, blue envelope, and pulled out the sheets of music from it. She looked through the pieces she had, before settling on Für Elise. It was a rather short composition; difficult, yes, but short. It had been one of the first pieces Violence had learned after mastering the basics. So once the classes were over, she headed over to the Rehearsal Room on the fourth floor, praying to Merlin it would be empty. She had no intention of sharing with the students that she played the piano. Currently, the number of people who knew this about her were exactly two, Avina and Damon. Unfortunately for her, the room was occupied by someone. Violence took a moment to look at the girl- pale skin, pale blonde hair and blue-ish grey eyes. Her mind flashed back to that doomed escape room activity that the staff had organized. The greenish hue in the room made the girl look different but Violence could swear that she was the same girl. The same girl that had been bickering with Cecilia, as if they were two four-year old siblings, fighting over who their mom loved more. It had been no less than an increasingly ragebaiting comedic bit. Was this how the girl behaved at home as well, whining and cribbing all the time if anybody even dared to speak against her? And it was not as if the girl looked the sort to be mischievous. She had a rather flawless posture and her body language in the room had been quite decent as well. Maybe it was just Cecilia who annoyed her. This was an even worse situation. Cecilia and her had been friends since before she had even started Hogwarts. But then again, she seemed changed in Hogwarts. In fact, it was Cecilia and the other girl, Milk something, who seemed to be the sort of people who would cause trouble for no good reason. Still, Esme had taken part in the banter and that made her look no better in Violence’s eyes. She had half a mind to turn back around, she could not be bothered to have the same sort of whining drilling into her ears today. That would also come off as rude, but Violence really did not care about seeming rude to people who had no shame in engaging in banter in public. Just as she turned around, however, the girl called out. A bit too friendly, for Violence’s liking, yet now she had no choice but to acknowledge the girl. Violence’s shoulders might have visibly dropped, but she was raised with far too much etiquette to not be polite, at the least. She turned around again, quickly plastering a slight small which, to Violence, indicated, ‘I have acknowledged you, now let me go.’ To anybody looking at her though, it would just seem that Violence had a polite smile, for someone she did not fully know yet. “Miss Hestridge.” Her tone was firm, the full stop in her voice evident. “Yes, that would be correct. Fancy running into you here, of all places. And that too today, of all days.” The last part was spoken through her teeth. Esme had responded to Violence’s plea for silence in the escape room well. So, Violence had no choice but to indulge in conversation. | xxxxxxx |
| x | x |
xx | ─── STA ◦ 6 | EVA ◦ 9 | STR ◦ 2 | WIS ◦ 7 | ARC ◦ 2 | ACC◦ 9
☽ code and graphic made by elena clark ☾  PRODIGAL POTION LEANER ◦ CHARMER ◦ ABILITY ───
| xxxxxxx |
an aria in amends.
| E | ✧ ✧mentions. @Violence Bloodthorn. Violence stood in front of Esme like a bird caught in front of a speeding broom. A high class dove, to be sure — though the girl was wearing casual denim, a sin against proper etiquette if Esme had ever seen one, her posture was refined and her voice confident. Still, a bird is a bird, no matter how straight it tries to keep its back, and even though the birdsong came off self-assured, it also came off tight. Clipped like a pair of wings. Violence’s smile was polite, as was her tone, but bitten out through clenched teeth, and her shoulders visibly dropped and then raised as if she were trying to grow wings and fly away. Esme was, admittedly, a bit surprised by this. She had no intent of scaring the girl so — frankly, she doubted she was capable of it. Violence was, if she recalled correctly, older than her. Could she not stand against a poor first year? In casual conversation? Was the prefect badge that Esme held for a little over two weeks so intimidating that it stopped the young miss Bloodthorn in her tracks? Surely not. Did Violence have some other reason for being so… apprehensive? Esme pondered the question. She gave an appraising look at Violence once more, trying to find a hint of what could be happening to make her so cagey and mistrustful. Her clothes were well pressed, fitted; her hair was in order, and overall, it didn’t look as if some great misfortune had befallen her. Was this still about the ball, and that abominable escape room, then? It wasn’t impossible, Esme supposed, once again brought back to that tiny room and its sickly greenish glow, the hypnotic song that played on loop, though beautiful, now an unfortunate reminder of Cecilia Merrick and her little meddling friends. She had no way of knowing if Violence was one of them, of course. Perhaps she took offense to Esme’s comment on Cecilia’s rather unique disposition and M-who-cares’ intellect — or lack thereof, if Esme was to be honest with herself. She thought, rather unhelpfully, that she didn’t know how Violence survived spending any time with Cecilia; Esme’s aspersion of Merrick and the untrained dogs whom she called friends was rather mild, after all. How did Violence deal with the uncouth vitriol of Cecilia herself? Still, Esme stopped herself from saying it out loud. The room was rather quiet, in fact; empty bar for Violence and Esme herself. She didn’t feel the need to say anything for a while, simply allowing herself to try and gauge the tension between the two. The late afternoon sun was setting, going to rest behind the horizon of hills and mountains, and with it, pouring golden light in through the windows. Dust particles floated through the air lazily, unbothered, and with a final look over at Violence, Esme turned away. No need to ruin such a lovely evening with hostility, she decided. “Today, of all days?” Esme repeated, trying to keep her tone measured. She dialed down the friendliness; clearly, Violence was not having it. Instead, Esme was just calm. Polite. If Violence wanted distance, she would allow it, yes, but she was not going to remove herself from the space just because it made Violence uncomfortable. This was neutral ground; they both could be here if they wanted, regardless of mistrust or bad first impressions. “Is there something special about today?” Esme inquired. Her tone bore little curiosity, the words falling past her lips like lines rehearsed. The script Esme was following would not change regardless of Violence’s answer; perhaps adjust only slightly. Whilst she waited for miss Bloodthorn to respond, Esme’s thoughts wandered back to her book bag and her vocal warm ups. She opened the leather satchel, searching for only a moment — thanks to immaculate organisation, of course — for a few papers’ worth of sheet music. As much as she wanted to get to proper training immediately, she knew that rushing into it would mean being sloppy. Far from the perfection she expected of herself. So, to a very gentle pang in her ambitious heart, she picked out something simpler. A subtle smile came across her face as she saw the title of this particular warm up. “Ah, poor bird.” Childish, perhaps, but nothing better than a folk song just to get her voice ready for something actually challenging; and something actually worth her time. She could always use the extra experience with vowel placement, and at such a little cost of her effort, it was only going to be to her benefit. The rehearsal room was well-equipped with plenty stands, so Esme picked one close to the window and got her sheet music ready. She glanced up at Violence once more, though this time not staring, trying to be discreet. Poor bird indeed. wc. 812 notes. none. ✧✦✧ |
H |
thales amaro. second year castelobruxo quidditch. |
katherine townsend. professor of charms, former thunderbird. |