Carving Companionship
ReducioDate: May 9th
WC: 1894
Mentions: @Maximilianus Kenneally Vidler
Cirrus liked the sound wood made before she found out what she could turn it into.
Not the obvious sounds, like creaking doors or branches splintering beneath careless steps, but the more amiable things. Like when she'd tap her fingers against the body of her guitar between strums, to the simple pleasure of thick-soled shoes rhythmically thudding against floorboards with each step. And as of late, the faint muted rasp of parchment-thin shavings of wood curling beneath the momentum of a blade.
But dissonant noise existed everywhere, overwhelmingly countering the pleasant melodies of life. It could be found in every corridor in Hogwarts. They were loud in ways that others rarely noticed, tides of chatter washing away any chance of her soundwave interconnecting with the masses. While Cirrus enjoyed her solitude, sometimes she couldn't help but feel this desolate ache in her chest. She could only be herself so long as she was alone, but one can have too much of a good thing. No one ever told her she'd get tired of herself, playing discordant days on repeat until they looked like harmony. At home, music had been a way for her to disappear into something larger than herself and combat such feelings when they pestered her. Piano in her mother's old studio, violin on the front porch to tickle the petals of the flowers in their yard, guitar beside her brother's offbeat drumming to create a broken melody that was only whole to them.
But, unlike the sanctum of her room at home, the magical air at Hogwarts had the cheeky tendency to carry sounds where they were not meant to be heard. And someone always heard. Music, that was incredibly personal to Cirrus, was impossible for the most part, unless she'd like to add another forgettable name to her list of awkward encounters. In her experience, playing music at Hogwarts in any sense was like being perceived. And there was nothing more horrifying than to have someone look within for fear of what they might find. As such, her instrument remained in its dusty case underneath her bed in her dormitory for most of the school year, only occasionally being brought into light when she was sure no one would be around for her to practice, or to perform maintenance more out of guilt than anything. She intended not to bring it the next year. Such an instrument laying idle without the song of life was deeply saddening to her.
Instead, Cirrus began reading. She read a lot before - Dovstoevsky, Kafka, other such authors - but she was sure she wouldn't be able to find her regular muggle titles in the Hogwarts library. She'd have to do something she hated most; trying new things. Eyes glazing over the indefinite rows of literature available in the vast library, she'd picked up an old book with scuffed yellowing pages and scribbled notes from other students long graduated. Wandlore. It began innocently enough, simply her wanting to know more about her own wand and what it meant as an extension of her person, somewhat parallel to how muggles would read up on their horoscope for fun. Only, this wasn't nearly as superficial, and she believed more in the extent of magic than such illogical things that could probably leave you dangerously delusional and a few quid poorer. The more she read, the more she found herself fascinated less by the magic and more by the idea itself that each wood type seemed to have its own temperament. Hawthorn was profoundly paradoxical. Willow was precise and adept. Cedar was startlingly convicted. Her own wand wood, beech wood, was apparently associated with youthful wisdom and such things. She could kind of see it.
That's when Cirrus began to pay particular attention to the trees she'd pass when she'd take her routine afternoon walks throughout the grounds. She'd come to recognise what type of trees they were based on appearance and liked to familiarise herself with how the bark felt beneath her fingertips or how the leaves smelt when she'd crush them in her palm. It was her instruments in their rawest form. She'd also begun collecting fallen branches - twigs, mostly - bringing them back to her dormitory after her walk, carefully wrapped in her scarf or nestled between the pages of a book. Her side of the dorm smelled faintly of sap when her collection began to grow. Although, the entire Hufflepuff common room was more plant than furniture at this point, she doubted anyone cared.
The first thing Cirrus carved wasn't on purpose. She only wanted to closer examine a chunk of wood beneath the bark, closer study the fibres and memorise the patterns of nature's intention. She'd pinched a small knife from potions class; one they'd supplied for the students to cut their ingredients. There were some perks to being quiet and relatively unknown to the vast majority. She was sure no one noticed when she'd slipped it into her pocket, and that no one would look in her direction when choosing who would suffer the blame, should it even be important enough to berate someone over. She was, in her own way, ecstatic to have brought it back to her space, unveiled the chunk of wood once again, and brought the blade to its surface. She liked the sound it made. She'd done so with other woods, seeing if each type had a different sound when she cut them. It became her new thing, something to calm her busy mind when schoolwork got too much. Then, the cuts transcended their methodical intent into something more fluid and instinctual.
Cirrus reached for knowledge and instead discovered a new form expression.
Cuts became patterns and patterns became shapes. Before she really knew what she was doing, a small janky whale sat in her palm, swimming in the ocean of the wood shavings that were shed from its form. Objectively, it was ugly. The proportions were all off, one fin on the tail was larger than the other, its body was crooked and rough. But the more she stared at it, the more it seemed strangely alive, as though its call of clicks would reach out to her through the silence. Her ears were deft enough that just maybe she'd imagined hearing it. Cirrus placed it on her nightstand and pretended to never think about it again.
Over time, the carvings had silently multiplied, refined. She'd first emulate what she saw; a pair of birds galivanting on the breeze, an interesting magical device she'd found in a textbook, or what she'd imagined the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest looked like should she ever see one. She carved while reading, while thinking, while listening to rain strike the castle's windows. Much like when she was first learning guitar when she could only toddle around with barely-there motor skills and the comically large instrument was thrust into her little arms, her hands found their natural rhythm again. The shaving of wood sounding almost like a metronome with each pause and slice. It became the new sustenance for her imagination, satiating her unbridled creative drive.
Music demanded witness, this did not. While Cirrus loved music more than anything - she'd probably bleed in chords and notes if she were ever wounded - she often times found that it was unjustifiably critical as much as it had the capacity to be meaningful. There was too much of 'don't listen to that' or 'what I listen to is better', no one was allowed to like what they liked. Be yourself but not yourself. Whittling didn’t do that.
Her new little hobby belonged entirely to herself and her inner world. At least, initially. The first carving she'd left behind was accidental; an unfinished owl left at a desk in the library when her attention was suddenly demanded elsewhere, simply forgotten amongst its shavings and loose notes that fell from her notebook. She'd only realised hours later when she rummaged through empty pockets with intentions of completing the piece that she'd forgotten it in her hurry. She considered returning to retrieve it but imagined a stranger's critical gaze falling upon it and feeling nothing at all. The thought strangely embarrassed her, much like her feelings of wanting to disappear upon being perceived. She never went back for it.
But much like the name of her favourite band - The Butterfly Effect - one thing always leads to another. One forgotten carving became two, then two became ten, and ten became habit. Sometimes, she simply disliked carrying them, finding it easier to leave them behind in all sorts of places around the castle than to hold onto them. A fox by the greenhouse window to watch over the magical plants, a frog left on a stone overlooking the lake, a little bear on the railing at the foot of a flight of stairs as if willing students to trip on their final step down, distracted from looking at it.
Other times, Cirrus left behind remnants of herself, her thoughts and feelings, as a mark on the world. She'd once witnessed a falling out between friends in one of the corridors, so horribly dramatic and trivial, as were typically the cause of these things. It was probably something not meant for the ears of others, but what do rampant emotions care for others? Anger is a strong emotion that doesn't leave much room for compassion, and the pair of students parted ways having saying things they'd likely regret in the future. Later that night, Cirrus felt strangely invoked with some sort of emotion. She wouldn't place it as sympathy, but it was equally as powerful. She'd taken the blade to a chunk of willow and found that a raven took shape from the wood. She returned to the exact corridor the next day and placed it upon the sill of the stained window that bore witness to the tragedy that had occurred right before it the previous day. The raven stood as symbol of the grief she knows they must have felt for each other knowing there were too many wrongs to right.
She felt like a sort of Banksy the more she did this. Not because she thought herself infamous or that she sought recognition in any way, but simply because she made sure no one ever saw her when she placed her carvings around the castle, anonymity inseparable from her pieces. They'd become scarcer when schoolwork got busy as if a reminder that the artist was a student and not an enigma or myth.
This day, Cirrus found herself in the courtyard on a fine spring aftern0on. The weather was essentially perfect to match her purpose. The previous day, she'd watched a baby bird fly from its nest for the first time from this very spot in the courtyard. And she'd carved that very bird into a chunk of pine, wishing it a long and fortuitous life, that she intended to place at the base of the tree the nest was built in. Once she knew none of the few people present were watching her, caught up in the story of their own lives, she crouched down as if to tie her shoelace, and nestled the little bird carving between a few leaves. She'd greatly improved her whittle work, she thought.
orders.
Carving Companionship
Banner by Julia Evans
Interacting with: Date: Date:————————— Words:
Missing funny moments was a big reason why he hesitated to pull back as well. One never knew when or where they could happen. So as a result he was overstimulated and hyperactive constantly. It was tiresome, even he had to admit that. It was then that he had the smart idea to look out for what he could do for others. The possibility that others didn’t want the help of a overwhelmed and hyperactive twelve year old didn’t cross his mind. So he did the best he could, and felt better for it.
The first term flew by, and before he knew it Christmas had arrived and gone. He had loved going home, he really had. Enjoyed the simple life they led, the quiet and peaceful moments, stories around the campfire. All of it. But still, something had changed. He loved his family, he truly did. Bot now every day seemed too quiet. The moments he used to spend just sitting and breathing now seemed too empty. Where were all the noise, the people? It didn’t make sense. His family hadn’t changed that much in four months. Neither had he, right?
Returning to the castle felt like a breath of fresh air. Returning to his friends and their adventures came not a moment too soon. Still, a thought started churning in the back of his mind. If it was this hard to be home for just a couple of weeks, what in Merlins name was going to happen this summer when he had two whole months? It concerned him. But if he had been the one to change, he could always change back, right? He just had to set his mind to it.
It was easier said than done. He hadn’t even noticed that he changed, much less how. Ho how could he attempt to undo it? Not fully confident, but committed nonetheless, he picked up again a few of his habits and hobbies from home. Spending time in the greenhouse, taking walks outside, finding small moments to just be, and most of all focus in on the details of his surroundings.
That was probably why he spotted it, a day in mid January. A small snail, carved from some wood he could never name, sat majestically atop a low branch at the edge of the forbidden forest. The sight had been so odd he had halted in his tracks. Not really knowing if it was okay to move or touch it, he after a while bent down to inspect it closer. It was carved. Chunks of wood had been cut out to give it shape. It wasn’t refined much, would be far from smooth to the touch. Still, that only intrigued him more. Who had left it there? Why here? And who had made it? He considered for a moment to pocket it, but quickly decided against it. If just one other person happened upon it and was as intrigued as him, he would gladly pass up the chance to collect it. When he returned to the castle he made a mental note of checking back if it was still there in a few days. Lucky he did remember, because the little snail sat undisturbed for almost a month before he found the branch without its steady companion.
The next figure he discovered because he sat down right next to it on a cold day in February. He was tired, and it had been a long day. Why did the castle have to have so many stairs?!? He sat down with a bit of an oumph on the lowest step. That’s when he saw it. A small bear sat atop the railing. It blended in so well, he almost missed it. Yet there it was, watching the stairs. He hesitated a moment before reaching out and picking it up. Just like the snail, it was carved from wood. But this one seemed more refined somehow. Not quite as rough, and more smoothed out. He let a finger glide over its snout. It was sort of charming, and he couldn’t help but smile while admiring it. With a small sigh he got to his feet. He weighed the bear in his hand for a moment before placing it back. Two days later it was gone.
He started looking for them after that. They showed up all over the place. A fox sat outside the greenhouse window for almost a month before it disappeared. A frog next to the lake he never got the chance to take a closer look at, as it was snatched right in front of him. A part of him wanted to object, to tell the student to let it be. But he didn’t. The creature started its life watching over the lake, and would hopefully continue its watching in some dorm somewhere in the castle. A small owl with feathers in the owlery was the one he found next, followed by a unicorn in the great hall. They grew to numerous to list them all. Though he saved the memory of each one and treasured them.
Spring came, and May followed. Seeing nature awake from its cold nap and blossom once again were always his favorite time of year. Taking strolls around the grounds, watching the trees covering themselves in sprouting green. He loved it. It became harder once more to pay attention in class, his mind was always elsewhere, outside. So this afternoon he settled for spending some time in the courtyard. Breathing fresh air, and maybe there would be a person or two around to talk to as well.
He came from one of the corridors and out into the open space. Pausing a bit by the fountain in the middle, he surveyed. A Hufflepuff sat, busy as a bee, focusing on something in her hands. A few others were also scattered around. He took a few deep breaths. He was so glad pollen was not something that bothered him. If he felt like dying when he stepped outside in this time of year, he wouldn’t know what to do. Thankfully not a problem he would have to face any time soon.
Looking about once more, he crossed the space to the girl in yellow. He stopped a pace or two away, just looking at her working for a moment. He tilted his head trying to get a better view of what she was doing. A piece of wood. He furrowed his brow. That was rather strange. That was when he spotted the knife, expertly carving, and everything clicked. His eyes went wide, and before he knew it he was speaking. «You! It’s you, isn’t it?!?» In his excitement he didn’t utter another word at first, just staring as if mesmerized at her and the figurine taking shape in her hands. «You’re the one leaving those animal figurines everywhere!» A triumphant smile spread across his face as he closed the remaining distance and sat down next to her. «I’ve been wondering for so long, you have no idea! When did you start making them? Have you been leaving them around ever since we started school? What are you making now?» A whole bunch of questions poured out in the excitement. Finally he were to be given answers!
PC: Maximilianus Kenneally Vidler—————————"Life is short; make it weird and slightly chaotic."
iNPC: Harvey Dunn—————————————————————Roadhouse Radio
Carving Companionship
ReducioDate: May 9th
WC: 1498
Mentions: @Maximilianus Kenneally Vidler
Cirrus heard him long before he reached her.
Not necessarily because he was loud, but some people just had a different sound to others. Something she'd noticed at Hogwarts is that students move together in herds; orchestras of noise of which she could scarcely isolate any distinct sounds that wouldn't get swallowed whole by the endless ambience of the rest of the castle. An unbearable, incessant symphony. Kind of like her brother's playlist, she thought. Painfully obnoxious. But some people's sound was different, they could cut clean through the static and stand out. This boy was one of those people.
His footsteps possessed a sort of syncopated rhythm, quick and light. Such sounds are subtle and easy to overlook unless you know how to search for them. And that she did. Much akin to how ghost notes hid beneath the backbone of her favourite songs, her deft ears knew the shape of mundane everyday cadence. And there was a sort of energy to him that preceded his steps, as though the world around him barely had time to adjust to his presence, unable to brace itself against the velocity of his person. It partly reminded her of her brother, always leaping towards the next big thing before he even finished what he was leaving behind. All the more reason why when Cirrus heard those footsteps across the courtyard, she hoped they'd continue on their path.
Not out of disdain, she couldn't hold such a value to a stranger, but because people never approached with quiet intentions. And she was at a particularly intricate stage during the carving process; the details of the feathers. She should have finished it last night, but no, she'd gotten a little excited. She wanted to add the little the details on site, believing it'd maybe hold more meaning. She got cocky. It wasn't a quality that best suited her, such a coat didn't belong in her wardrobe. But something about running around the castle like a masked fiend had her feeling invincible. However, her wood was not invincible, it was in fact very delicate. Just a point of pressure out of place and the little bird would be a wing short. Birds can't fly with only one wing. She wanted this bird to fly and fly high it will. So she halted her ministrations and honed her ears. The footsteps were slowing, stopped. Blast. Maybe if she ignored it hard enough then-
"You!" His voice struck her like how her guitar would after she'd forgotten to restring it right before playing her progressive pieces. A sharp pulse of panic coursed through her veins as she'd instinctively hidden the bird with its tool in her pocket as if concealing them would somehow undo all of her actions from the past few months of her life. That "You!" could mean any number of things and Cirrus, according to her brother, was a worry wart. Her mind was already racing with every negative outcome she could think of; It was you that stole that knife, thief! You're the one making all those weird creatures! Why would you even want to do that? You know you're kinda littering in a way, right? She wasn't sure to be relieved or horrified when none of those words came out. Her anxieties were instead crushed by a wave of confusion at the excitement in his voice.
Cirrus looked at him, really looked. He was all wide-eyed in the way people get when they finally read the resolute ending to an ambiguous mystery story they'd been reading. There was no critical glare in his eye, nor the detached politeness that people are told they should wear when they privately found something to be strange. He was genuinely delighted and no matter how socially inept she could be, she could recognise that. And it destabilised her far worse than any amount of ridicule could have.
His words landed strangely in her chest... wondering. And he sat beside her before she could formulate any plan for escape, questions spewing from him faster than she could really register. At first, she wanted to tell him to keep his voice down, not wanting to alert any other students around them who may have spotted her works around the school and pondered her identity. She simply stared; mind and heart caught in the crossfire of bewilderment and alarm. She could not remember the last time anyone other than her mother had spoken about something she made with such an earnest enthusiasm. Even when she'd just composed an entire instrumental piece, her own brother would give nothing more than a short 'cool' before continuing on with his video games. Her other brother was much too young to understand, and her father, well... she wouldn't show him any of her work to begin with. Not unless she wanted to be met with the stone cold wall of indifference. And even her mother occasionally fell into that lane where appreciation always invited critique. She was never harsh to Cirrus, but like all people who'd been exposed to the inner framework of the music industry, 'that's good!' is always accompanied by the critical suggestions of what could turn just 'good' into great. But Cirrus didn't want to be great. She just wanted to be herself. And through her carvings, she could achieve that. They were for herself, existing only in the quiet corners of the castle, free from the burden of expectation.
And still, someone noticed. Of course someone would, she doesn't know why she thought otherwise.
An airy breeze blew across the courtyard, stirring the loose strands of dark curls that fell over her forehead and the leaves at her shoes where she would have placed the bird a few moments from now should this boy not have intruded. And her voice escaped her, quieter than his by several lifetimes.
"You saw the bear on the stairs." She didn't phrase it like a question, but more like she'd suddenly unearthed the universe's secrets and was relaying them to herself to make it all make sense. She would rarely return to the sites she'd leave her carvings for fear someone would connect the dots. No killer lingers around the crime scene. But she'd conveniently needed to take that very staircase a few days following to get to class and watched expectantly for the bear she'd placed on the railing. But it had vanished. She remembers feeling an air of disappointment at the strange emptiness that she knew she had filled not long ago. She briefly wonders if this boy who now sat next to her was to blame, although she thought it was unlikely. If he was anything like her brother, then he was akin to a terrier. Yaps a lot but never does anything about it.
That didn't prevent the fact that other people's artwork wasn't meant to be touched. But you can't teach common courtesy to the intrinsically impolite, and Hogwarts seemed to be full of those sorts of people. Cirrus didn't want to keep them for herself but also didn't want other people to have them, like her innermost feelings. But perhaps her bear could watch over some student and their struggles from their nightstand, a silent protector from an unknown hailing. Her gaze flicked back towards the boy with that same subtle awareness she'd reserved for the once unfamiliar trees from all those months ago.
"You've seen the fox too. And the frog, the owl, the snail... all of them..." A pause. "Haven't you?"
She felt oddly vulnerable during this conversation, as though he were holding torn pages from her journal before her. Only, she didn't have a journal. Instead, she left behind pieces of herself for the whole student body to see and reveled in the shadows. But what goes up has got to fall, for anonymity never stands firm against the cold winds of time.
"I didn't think anyone was paying that much attention." Her hand dug back into her pocket to slip the bird back into her palm. She no longer had the will to complete the small fine details, as though being discovered had destroyed her interest in it. While she didn't want to entirely absorb herself in secrecy - she wanted to stand in the shadows, not be consumed by them - she felt that it this thing she had, whatever it was, lacked all of its meaning now that someone could put a face to the act.
Cirrus moved to nestle the mostly complete bird back in with the fallen leaves at the root of the tree, where it belonged. And, hopefully, where it would stay.
orders.
Carving Companionship
Banner by Julia Evans
Interacting with: Date: Date:————————— Words:
The figurines weren’t placed there for him, he knew that. But each of them felt like they carried a story of their own, and any chance he could get to be even a small part of that made him so happy. Like he was contributing to something much larger than himself. It reminded him of his parents saying things like «It costs nothing to be kind, but it could mean the world to someone having a hard day». He lived by that as often as he could. Granted he had done nothing in these carvings story, but it was a reminder nonetheless.
He kept a genuine and huge smile on his face as the girl slowly reacted. He nodded along with a small sense of pride as she listed one after the other that he had found. The hope that she would reveal some he hadn’t seen burned bright. He just wanted to talk about it all so badly!
Somehow along the way he got the sense that the Hufflepuff wasn’t praising him after all. Granted, he wasn’t the best at picking up on social cues. But that was definitely hurt and just a bit of blame. The revelation baffled him more than he could ever have put into words. First of all, why did she seem hurt? What she had done was fantastic! Both the carvings themselves, as well as the stories she created by leaving them behind. Second, why should he feel guilty?He had simply stumbled over them! Had she expected one person to collect them all, and keep them on hand to dump in her lap? Her last words made it seem unlikely.
He looked down at his feet as he shuffled them a bit. Now he wished he had remained standing. It made it easier to be awkward and uncomfortable. He looked up as she moved to tuck the most recent carving among the leaves. As much as he wanted to pull it back out immediately to take a closer look, it hit him that she might just walk off. He couldn’t take that. Having so much he wanted to say, and little to no time to say it, he blurted as only he could. «But I did pay attention! Every day I looked for them, searching just about everywhere. Sometimes it would take weeks for another to show up, but it was always just so… perfect!»
He paused there. Not because he had said everything he wanted to, far from it! But running out of breath would force a pause from anyone. Taking a few deep gulps of air, he picked up again a bit slower. «Each of them seemed so intentional, it was like I walked in in them in the middle of their story being told. I really liked that. I knew that I wouldn’t find out where they came from, or where they would go further. I would know nothing of their stories at all really. I just… I recognized that I walked in on it, and became a small part of it somehow. You know?» It was a relief to get it all out. The figurines had seemed so special to him, that he had only dared to share small parts of it with friends. Now he so wished to have a long conversation about it, but he was terrified the girl would just leave. So despite the slowed tempo, he kept talking. Not daring to give her time to dart off, he hent on and on. Was he perhaps more emotionally open than he had planned? Definitely. But he didn’t dare stop.
«They didn’t often show up when I looked for them though. It was more… they found me when I needed them.» He felt content with that. The dark haired girl could run off, and he wouldn’t stop her. He had at the very least attempted to share how special the figures were to him. Having gone silent, it gave him a moment to think. So he was quick to add what he believed to be a final word. «And if you wanted me to collect them, I’m sorry I didn’t. Their story just seemed so much bigger than just me, and I didn’t want it to end before it was time. If you wanted me to collect them in future… I’ll try.» That was the best he could offer. It could perhaps seem like a foolish thing to not agree to, but he honestly didn’t know if he had the heart for it.
But there was yet another thing he wished to say. His voice had gone quiet through the speaking, and it took him a moment to get the sound out. «And thank you. Not just for carving them, but for leaving them for people to find» It was a truly special thing the girl had done, and he would be forever grateful for having played a small and inconsequential part in it all.
PC: Maximilianus Kenneally Vidler—————————"Life is short; make it weird and slightly chaotic."
iNPC: Harvey Dunn—————————————————————Roadhouse Radio
Carving Companionship
ReducioDate: May 9th
WC: 851
Mentions: @Maximilianus Kenneally Vidler
The boy's thanks landed with all the grace of a flat stone skipping across a still lake before abruptly sinking. And Cirrus watched the ripples disperse. Not physically, of course, the courtyard was still unchanged. But she wasn't wholly certain what to do with the uninvited gratitude. Usually, in her experience, such a virtue was treated like currency. People spent it freely and expected something in return. They gave thanks to performers, to teachers, their parents maybe. Someone who intentionally gave something away, something worth spending their thanks on. Cirrus had never carved these things for anyone, and she certainly didn't think it was worth the purchase of any thanks. In a way, it felt somewhat selfish when she thought about how private she'd been about her activities. But his thanks were different and she found it strange that he was using it so sincerely before even knowing her name. Or stopping so he could think to ask. His excitement was so sincere, in fact, that it made her habitual cynicism feel embarrassing, like there was no real reason to distrust people to begin with. Regardless, her brows still creased together.
"You make it sound like I did it on purpose. I didn't." Her gaze drifted back to the bird in the leaves. It seemed so small now. Exposed. She found herself unable to look at it with the same satisfaction as before.
"The finding them when you needed them part, I mean. I never put too much thought into who found them. I actually kinda hoped no one would..." That was partly a lie, she thought about it all the time. She'd just never thought about it in a specific way, with anyone in particular in mind. She always imagined a faceless figure, a passing student, maybe even a professor, who knew. She'd imagined they'd glance at her carvings for a second, maybe two, before simply getting on with their day. She'd imagined curiosity, maybe amusement. Never this. Never someone wondering, and certainly not searching.
"You looked for them everyday?" She thought back to the raven in the corridor where those two students tore each other apart, the greenhouse fox, the railing bear, the owl, the frog, all of them. There were too many for her to remember now. But none of them had been messages. Just reactions, tangible thoughts and feelings. Something to keep her hands busy so her mind wouldn't be. Or at least she thought so. The idea that another person found comfort in them was almost absurd. As if she'd discovered that someone had built a home from some stones she threw into a river. "That is strange." She meant that genuinely, not harshly nor cruelly, not with any intentions to wound. She truly found that strange.
Cirrus paused, long enough that the fountain in the center of the courtyard could fill the silence, complimented by the occasional sound of someone turning the page of their book in the background. Long enough for her to debate simply leaving the conversation here and disappearing. He'd be the type to follow her, she thinks. But curiosity had always been her greatest weakness. Not the loud adventure-seeking kind that propelled people into imminent danger. Hers was quieter, more invasive. The kind that willed her to read just one more chapter long after she vowed that she would go to sleep. The kind that urged her to dismantle something just to decipher how it functioned. The kind that took her from mere wandlore to carving creatures from wood. And now, unfortunately for her, to this very talkative boy. "You are strange."
Cirrus tilted her head at him the next time she looked at him and studied him for a moment, something she'd done very little of thus far. Most of her attention had gone into managing her discomfort at being perceived and how overwhelmed she was under the barrage of his questions. But there was nothing of deceit nor harm in his wide-eyed wonder that she could identify. No exaggerated politeness, no hidden joke waiting for the right moment to reveal itself. Just wholehearted and unfiltered earnestness. An almost reckless level of sincerity. Her twin brother possessed such a quality too. It often found him in trouble. The observation, however, eased something in her chest. "Most people don't notice anything." Cirrus somewhat regretted saying that because it made her sound horribly cynical. And she was, but she didn't believe that people were incapable of anything. Just that they rarely slowed down to try. Perhaps that's why this interaction felt so disorientating, because this boy had. Somehow.
Then, without really thinking too much about it, she picked the bird back up and extended it towards him. "I was going to leave it here, but... apparently, you've been following their stories longer than I have. So maybe you should write the ending for this one." The moment she made that offer, she instantly wished she could withdraw it. Not because she wanted the bird back - she didn't - but because it sounded dangerously close to trust, or something equally as horrifying.
orders.
Carving Companionship
Banner by Julia Evans
Interacting with: Date: Date:————————— Words:
«Thanks you» technically had the same exact meaning, but yet it was different. It was the extra thought put into a long letter from home, or a friend taking the time for a visit in the hospital wing. It was meant for big events. What were the appropriate words for something that had meant so much to him? He had none. So he took the closest he could think of to word his gratitude.
He didn’t really know how to respond to her. Not that he thought the carvings had been placed around to fit his mood or need, he could see that was a happy coincidence. But had she really hoped no one would find them? It was both unbelievable and an undeniable truth at the same time. The figurines hadn’t been placed for just anyone to stumble over. Not all of them had been so well hidden, but most had blended in with their surroundings. Just a forever silent observer to situations through time. But they had been placed there. Precision in both craft and placement, a little piece of art just waiting to be seen.
He nodded at her question. It hadn’t been exactly every day, but in periods it had been just about so or even more than even that. Did it make him strange? He pondered it for a moment. People could find lots of things strange. Some thought the way he and his family lived was weird. He himself couldn’t fathom why anyone went to the library when they didn’t have to. A few had mentioned him looking for leaves was weird. But taste was relative, and far be it for him to judge.
It was maybe an unusual way to spend ones time. Many would say his time was much better spent elsewhere. He looked her over for a moment. She didn’t look like the type of person to lecture others about how doing homework was important. And yet, strange was what she called him. He could always comment on how her carving figurines was strange too, but he didn’t have the heart to. As silly as they might seem to some, they had come to mean a great deal to him. Like the shadow-puppets Drew and him did next to the campfire to make each other laugh. Like taking the time to look around for a cool leaf or pine cone, just because it could make someone else laugh. «I notice. I try to at least…» His tone was quiet, not much more than a whisper.
He didn’t quite know what to say. He sat still and watched as she stood and moved. He had technically said most of what he wanted to, so if the girl really wanted to go he wasn’t about to stop her. Watching as she picked up the bird she had placed down just moments before. He suddenly got the feeling that she was going to throw it away, and it made his stomach drop. Not that he should have anything to say in the matter, the carving wasn’t his. Still, the thought of its life coming short was more sad than he could put into words.
When it was handed to him, he accepted it out of pure automatic reflexes. Taking it in one hand, and letting his thumb glide over it with the other. He looked down at it. It wasn’t quite as polished as the latest few he had found, it bore the signs of not being finished. His eyes traced it over, feeling the buildup of dread. A moment passed in silence, then another. Then he looked up. Biting at his lower lip, he shook his head as he placed the bird down beside him. «I don’t think I can do that. Not… not right now at least»
He finally moved his head to look at her. «Its story has barely started, and it’d be pretty sad for it to waste it living in the Gryffindor dorms» Slowly he climbed to his feet, taking a short look at the bird once more before straightening. «I really hope you do end up making more of them. But I guess I’d get it if you didn’t.» He shrugged a bit. What more was there to say? He had discovered her, she had been found out.
PC: Maximilianus Kenneally Vidler—————————"Life is short; make it weird and slightly chaotic."
iNPC: Harvey Dunn—————————————————————Roadhouse Radio
Carving Companionship
ReducioDate: May 9th
WC: 655
Mentions: @Maximilianus Kenneally Vidler
For a long moment, Cirrus didn't say anything, she just watched him stand with the same quiet attention she'd given him since he first sat beside her. There was something incredibly strange about watching someone leave after wondering for so long what you'd do if you were ever found out. Many times, had she imagined ridicule, indifference, just maybe curiosity. She had not imagined this.
After her offer, she expected him to exhibit at least the slightest bit of self-absorption, taken the carving with those casual thanks of his, then went about his day. He almost did. But his refusal completely shattered the plot she fabricated in her mind. He hadn't taken the bird and gone about his day and told everyone where and who he got it from like she'd imagined would happen.
It shouldn't have surprised her; he had already told her he wouldn't take any of her carvings. But perhaps some small part inside her expected him to accept her offer simply because it had been made. Because humans were funny like that, they took and took when the other was willing to give, and they continued taking until there was nothing left. And Cirrus expected that him accepting the carving would somehow absolve her responsibility of deciding what happened to it next, where it would go, what it would become. Instead, he placed the story back in her hands.
Cirrus glanced down to where he'd placed the bird back down, sitting crookedly against the leaves, one wing still bearing the faint roughness in the grain from her blade. It was unfinished. Its story has barely started.
"You don't have to collect them..." The words left her before she decided she would say them, but she didn't want him to leave yet without explicitly telling him to wait. He hadn't yet stepped far away enough for her to need to raise her voice, just a quiet mumble that she almost hoped he wouldn't have heard. Misunderstandings were easier to cover up than the accusation of caring. She could blame it on the wind, the fountain, the other students talking amongst each other elsewhere in the courtyard. She frowned slightly as though she'd offended herself, yet she continued. "...I just thought you'd rather have it than leave it here. Everyone does, apparently, 'cause they keep disappearing."
Silence ensued for a moment before Cirrus exhaled quietly.
"I think you were right, though... about its story being unfinished." She reached down to pick the bird back up, not to offer it back to him, he'd already declined and she wasn't about to try and shove it down his throat. But she simply inspected all the cuts she'd made thus far and imagined the ones she wouldn't make to finish it off. She placed it back down and her hand retracted. "I suppose I don't know what happens next. But then again, who does?"
It was an odd admission coming from her. She wasn't particularly fond of admitting she didn't know things. Knowledge was safe and the knowledge she didn't have never made itself known. And it never surprised her when she gave it enough attention. Stories, however, were different to knowledge. They were both sprouts from the same seed but grew differently in the sun. Knowledge was absorbed and shared. Stories changed when you weren't looking, often wild and uncontrollably. And her curiosity in another's mental processes finally overcame her instinct to retreat, and she looked up towards him.
"You said you look for them when you need them, yes?" She paused, tilted her head slightly. "Well... if you find more, look for Cirrus. That's me. And you can tell me what you think its story is."
Cirrus looked away almost immediately after she'd said it. Perhaps, that was the closest thing to an invitation to her inner world she had given anyone since her brother. And it was as terrifying as it was exhilarating.
orders.