𝓑rookline Quinn walked her heavy self to the Qudditch Stadium, her blue eyes down at the ground, the toe of her boot scuffing the dusty ground. Her dull eyes had water peeking through, her red-rimmed ears and cheeks were a large getaway that she was not doing well, and even though, time after time, she insisted she was fine

She was definitely fine. Definitely.

She sighed, and padded her lonely self to the bleachers.

She knew she wasn't alone; she had a huge tent of teammates in her tent, and a few of them were dear to her, yet she was lonely.

Lonely.

Sounds lovely.

Ha! Like it was lovely. Nothing's lovely anymore. Brookline's vision was clouded, her head in the clouds; her head was fog and mist; her short frame slumped in her boots; her hair was a messy tangled mass atop of her skul; her fingernails was short, bitten and ugly; her eyes were a ocean on their own, the tears were waterfalls and crashing waves; her skin pale as snow; the warm light brown, fall-like, knit cable sweater she had pulled over her head was filthy and oversized, and the white top underneath was so grubby and grimy it looked almost cream, yet, she didn't care.

The girl became too numb to even notice it. It was almost as if someone had drowned her in laughing gas or Ibuprofen.

Too numb.

Too much, yet not enough.

Too careless.

She didn't care. She didn't care. Her father didn't, so why should she?

Tears started to track down Brookline's sketcal, white cheeks, a stark contrast to the wet, saltly tears. She didn't even try to wipe them away. All she knew was that pain was eternal, and it'll never ever go away. At least, that's what the torture, the tears, the voices, everything told her.

She wasn't even going to care. If her ding dang father wasn't gonna to give two freaking hoots, so why should she? So she wasn't. She wasn't going to care. She was going to be numb.

Too numb to feel, even so, all she ever desired to do was to rake her fingers down her face, and down into the ground. Sometimes she wondered like it would be like if she was never born.

Poof! No more Numb Brookline. No more Too Much, Yet Not Enough Brookline. No more Brookline.

That would be simple, wouldn't it?

Brookline's crude, lifeless eyes travled to the grass, her tattered boots, holding her useless feet, although who cared about that?

No-one does, not even you. Not even your father.

A loud sob erupted in her swollen throat, whatever hope she had left trying to safe herself.

Pitiful. Little shards of hope. I can just pick up the dainty dust pan and broom, sweep those little, pitiful shards up, toss the bits in the garbage and that's it! I almost feel sorry. Wait, no, I don't. High-pitched laughter shook Brookline.

All the little fragments and splinters of hope bursted and disappeared.

Why can't that be me? Why can't I be little scraps and thrown away? Instead I'm a freaking human being with genuine feelings and the universe thinks its funny to throw me around like a stupid rag doll. Brookline's tears never stopped, and broken sobs bubbled from her throat.

A few moments later, Brookline had slowed her tears and her breathing, and almost looked normal. Although, she knew she was definitely not normal. Right now, all she wished for was some darn company.

Perhaps company will encourage her to get over this numb stage.

Perhaps it won't, however, Brookline desperately clung to that hope, her fingers crossed.

occ note:

Emiline wished her tent mates would arrive quicker so as only two had arrived she slipped out and grabbed some muggle chips, the greasiness and smell of them just seemed to comfort her. As she wandered the crowds while eating, her feet slowly brought her further away from the crowds to give her a moment of quiet. She stood there on the straw-like patches of grass and munched on her chips. A chip bounced off her floral skirt into the dusty ground. Ha, that's sad, a yummy chip going to waste due to my carelessness, great. just great. Maybe a bird will enjoy it. She thought bitterly.

She slowly walked away from her dropped chip towards the bleachers, why? Who knows, she just found herself walking that way. Lost in thought her mind drifted to her fight with her father, she rubbed her self-bandaged arm. Why did he come back. Mom clearly told him to badger off! "UGH!"

Then, some sobbing broke her out off her rumination. She walked slowly towards it, as if not to frighten whoever is crying. Emiline then freezes when high-pitched laughter echoed around her, chilling her to the bone, despite it being summer. This wasn't happy laughter. This was broken, despairing laughter.
Peering around the some bleachers carefully, she saw a girl, her body wracked with sobs. Her hair was messy and unkempt, and her brown knit cable sweater looked more like an afterthought so she wouldn't get cold.

Hesitantly, Emiline stepped out from her spot from the bleachers. Towards the miserable girl. "Um.....Hey....Do you want some muggle chips?" She offered the food as the girl might not want to talk to her instantly as they hadn't met before; and it was a bonding thing. Sometimes, it could help. She walked closer, about two metres apart, enough to be close, but not too close that it got weird. "Do you........need to talk about it?........I'm a good listener..." Emiline offered.
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𝓑rookline glanced up from her rimmed eyes, drops of salt slicking her long lashes. Fat tears shielded her dark blue, ocean eyes as if she was glancing through a rare Invisibility Cloak, seeing everything, yet everyone seeing right through her. The flutters of her midnight indigo irises made skin of underneath her eyes itch, like a baby finch’s feathers might ruffle on the first flight.

Unwelcome, horrible whispers carried themselves through her ears, and brain, as if a creepy crawler like a spider or a cockroach, was tip-toeing past her ear drum, in it’s mission trying to affect her and her brain. As if her brain had enough poison to grant her and force and threat her to consume. Brookline wanted to scream, wishing for a pure amity or a sincere and whole-hearted father. She sighed, her tears silently slowing and ceasing as she fiddled with the stupid and long hang nails on her fingers. She didn’t have that type of friendship nor did she have that kind of relationship with her horrible father. She didn’t want to feel this way. She didn’t even ask for crying out loud!

The maniacal, shrieking laugher echoed all around her as the salt runs down her cheeks and seeping into the light-blue Jean material of her trousers. Unaware, of her hidden nature, Brookline shivered, her eyes a beacon to the dismay all around her, and she gripped her brunette hair, pulling on it, in another way to root herself. Her already damaged hair did nothing about it yet as her scalp screamed, and she inhaled heavily, sharp as a high-flying eagle’s talons. Sometimes she wished she was an eagle, everything would be so easy and if she did want life to end early, she can just wing over to the hunting grounds and have herself found for fluffy feathers for a wealthy lady or queen’s rest, keratinous talons for old women’s jewellery, and her intelligent skull for a gruelsome hunter’s prized trophy. And, the Ravenclaw wouldn’t even be surprised if that hunter was her own father. He never apologized for causing Brookline to turn into this creature full of crude thoughts, so why should she apologize?

The Welsh girl sobbed as she blinked, the dark cilium finding more reasons to be wet as more water trailed down her flaring cheeks, making paths like a broken, ancient map. Brookline wrapped her arms around her knees, a firm, grounding barrier, she had thought, as she sat on the London Quidditch Stadium’s bleachers. Eyes on her midnight boots, she stared in wonder at literally nothing in the horizon as her tears seemed to cease. No more sobs racking her chest, and she turned to find a slight yet taller girl with tumbling dark locks and rose-gold cheeks around her age approach her. As she got closer, Brookline noticed the ocean-like blue of the newcomer’s eyes. She was about to greet the other, to be kind and state that she was fine and she didn’t need anything to be as nice as she could, when the girl offered a bag of something that looked quite weird. And for another odd reason, the bag wrinkled with the other witch moved the bag toward her.

“Chips? I--”

Brookline didn’t know what to say. For once she had been speechless, only because a young person who was probably in her year to advance over to her and asked if she wanted something... Muggle. Which she had no idea what it was. She was confused because why would someone offer her something? Brookline Isabella Quinn was a dangerous creature!! A small, lovely, bubbly girl who unfortunately swapped places with a horrid, disgusting creature. She knew it. Her father knew it. Her friends knew it. She was alone in the whole green-and-blue world. Perhaps the Ravenclaw witch can find herself in a babbling brook, to suffocate under the shallow water. Better by her own name-sake.

“I - er? What is-- that?” Brookline blurted most likely full of vex, and then slapped her hands around her mouth, knowing she had just spoke something more offensive to the other, whom had a great chance of having Muggle blood run through her veins, due to the “Muggle chips” whatever they really are (food?). The Welsh girl regained her thoughts, and apologized, “Oh my Merlin! I’m sorry, I’m -- uh. I’m a pure-blood and I don’t know whatever you have in your hands. Yet! They look delicious!” Trying to refresh her first impression, the Ravenclaw grimaced as the witch asked her if she would like to speak about it. At first, the pure-blood shrugged, her collarbone weak and protruding like a stray pup who hadn’t ate scraps for a fortnight. It was true. Brookline eat quite much, due to her constant anxiety about the universe, her father, and everything else in the world. She wasn’t scared, per see, more worried.

Brookline begun to speak with the uncertainty of a shy student who might ask a giant, important professor or headmaster for a quill or yellowed parchment. “Um, well. I don’t really want to make this all about me... but... Er. Sorry. I’ve just had a hard second year and a hard summer. I guess...I’m just wishing for something that can’t happen. Sorry for burdening this all on you.”

Brookline hung her head as brunette curls fell into her face, and she brushed the hair away, hoping she could just disappear. Even though she did have what she wished for.

Hope and company.

Perhaps she can keep it this way. Perhaps hope can turn the darkest night into the brightest day, transforming back into her own self, Brooklime skipping through valleys of flowers, and yapping excitingly with her friends whom had been left in the dark due to her sudden dislike of human interaction. Or, the black, evil, twisting branches of falsehood and terminological inexactitudes bind her up tighter than the hate and remorse of her father.

Hopefully the first option, Brookline thought as she wrung her palms together in her fabulous nerves doing their unfortunate work. She sighed, and turned back to the other girl by her side. “I suppose it’s time for introductions,” Brookline chuckled. “I’m Brookline. Brooklin Quinn. You?”

occ note: so sorry for a quite late response!!

Emiline smiled encouragely as the girl looked up. Did the other girl not know what chips were? She thought, her smile dropping for a second. But as they girl explained that she was a pureblood and had no clue what the chips were, Emiline grinned. "Chips? No way you don't know what chips are..... They are delicious. How do I put this simply? Basically they are potatoes cut into rectangles, fried for a bit to make the edges slightly crispy while still keeping the insides soft. Like this"
Emiline took a chip and broke it in half to show the soft flour-like texture inside. "In America they call these fries, but fries are skinnier to be honest. Am I confusing you? Anyways...." Em trails off . The older brunette smiles and offers the chips again, her paper bag rustling. Then as the girl starts answering her 'do you want to talk about it' question, she schooled her expression, to be more open and listener-like.

Emiline waited patiently as the girl explained, having a hard year and a hard summer? She could relate, with everything going on with her dad, mum and anger her days were busy, but Ms Hunter always gave time to others, if she could help it. "Oh no, you couldn't be a burden, I asked if you wanted to talk about it and you only took me up on my offer"
Emiline's eyebrows knitted in concern as the girl opposite lowered her head. Her tone soft, "Hey.... look at me....." Emiline waited till the girl looked up. "Its all going to turn out well in the end. We all have bad patches, and sometimes it takes longer to recover from them. You're enough okay?"

As the girl introduced herself with a chuckle, Emi wondered if she was masking or supressing her emotions down, but she left it alone for now. "I'm Emiline Hunter. "
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