Exasperating Edits
| xxxxx | If she couldn't be in Slytherin (yet...), at least Kahira Valerian could find some places that were appreciative of her talents. She had been recruited to the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, for instance, and she had also managed to land a coveted writers' lead position on the Hogwarts Headliner, despite her young age. It made sense - the curly-haired redhead had been writing scalding letters in to fashion magazines since her lowercase e's had been backwards and she hadn't been able to properly distinguish between a d and a b. Being able to write her own fashion articles, and technically be the boss of plenty of writers who were much elder than she was, helped her feel like Hogwarts was... more deserving of her presence, at least. Not quite "home" yet. Only the comforting, dark dungeons of the Slytherin commons could have really given her that feeling. On a Sunday morning a few weeks into the school year, just before her first article was to be published in the Headliner, Kahira wandered into the newspaper's offices with a list of notes to drop off at her desk. There had been a certain clearing-off and cleaning-up needed when she had moved into the staunch wooden table at the beginning of the school year after having been appointed to her post; there was so much silver cat hair all over the place that Kahira had felt genuinely nauseous, not to mention several Muggle inventions that had gone straight into the trash. Now, her desk was very much more her, complete with some crystals and the occasional bit of burning sage to cleanse the Mudblood energy from the area. (Because surely, whoever had previously been the writers' team lead could not have been a pureblood - not with their fondness for Muggle décor and shedding pets.) She had already written up her first "Fit or Quit" article, a recurring theme that she was sure to continue throughout her seven years here. Kahira had found that most of her classmates' attempts at fashion tended more towards the quit column than the fit one, but that was what she was for - to save these poor, unpure youths from their own terrible taste. And yet, in the few days since she had turned in her article to be edited and designed by some of the other members of the Headliner team, the redhead had already discovered plenty of other fashion don'ts being proudly worn by her peerage - simply more things to add to her next article. Among them, loud patterns and clunky boots... but she couldn't spoil all of the advices for her next feature, now, could she? Anyhow, Kahira wandered over to her desk and opened the topmost drawer with her long nails, laying the parchment of her notes down into its empty bin. She cast a bored glance around the office, which was mostly empty, other than a boy her age in the other corner; a bit of a closer peer revealed that he had her article laying next to him, for Kahira would recognise her emerald ink and loopy, perfect penmanship anywhere. Normally, Kahira would have ignored the boy. Owen something, he was called - a Hufflepuff who was in all of her classes, with an Irish accent and wavy brown hair. He was a bit of a wallflower, or perhaps it was just that the redhead never really paid him any attention; he had neither earned her notice nor her disfavour, except for the fact that her first article's dig at youths who always wore their uniform instead of showcasing their personal fashion may have been referring to him. Still, now that he had her content in his hands, her attention focused squarely unto him, and Kahira strolled over to him, twirling a lock of her scarlet hair around one manicured finger. Leaning over the desk to peer at what he was doing, she raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. "I do hope you are treating my article with the respect it deserves," she said, squinting dark eyes at his shuffle of papers. "What are you doing to it, anyway?" |
xxxxx |
|
xx |  | xx |
|
| kahira valerian second gen | _____________________ | shop | ___________________ |