Gossamer Bonds pv Lestrange Finished

Stopped Santario dead in her tracks as she looked at him not even trying to hide how visibly taken aback, she was by his statement. She stood there searching his eyes trying to find the sincerity behind his words, and it wouldn’t be until his eyes met hers once more and his affirmation that she wasn’t wrong about him did another turn of the Rubik’s cube click into place about the boy in front of her. “Good.” Was all she managed to say as they continued to hang the last of the negatives together.

“I don’t’ either.” San commented, knowing precisely what he meant. It had been made perfectly clear before that he had never developed photos before when Thomas asked her if he was winding the reels properly, so it didn’t take intelligence to realize that he meant the deal that she had laid out on the table for them. As he continued to speak, she carefully patted dry the negatives, not something she would typically do as air drying was often the way to go, but in this instance, that took too much time, so she took a short cut. She looked at the fourth set of negatives that hung sardonically as only half of the set had exposures. That was the point in time during the ball that he had called her over to him and marked the disasters' start.

She listened to him and nodded where appropriate trying to show him that even if she wasn’t looking at him, he did, in fact, have her attention, but if he wanted her to start developing photos, she would have to divide it at least a little. She took his statement of not believing him even if he told her why he was trying to befriend the Raven as he didn’t want to talk about it, so she respected that and didn’t ask. Someday he would tell her, but she could wait for that day. Then he asked her the question she didn’t exactly expect him to ask, but that wouldn’t have been giving him enough credit, but the answer would say more about her than it did him, and she knew it. However, it would cause her to look away from his face as she reached past him for the scissors on the table, perhaps, just for a moment being in his personal space while still floating around actually touching him. It would seem physical touch was something she was very good at avoiding. “I own you another answer first, which is to state, yes, I am comfortable.” He had redeemed himself enough to gain the answer to a question he had asked her a while ago, but she would not give him much of a pause before answering his second question.

“At first, it was very much about your appearance that night.” She snipped the unexposed negatives off the fourth reel and let them flutter to the floor… Wasted moments. “I recall you originally showing up in your robes, and something told me a better picture would happen later. I was not disappointed.” She silently counted up the negatives, and when she got to five, she carefully severed between the exposures. She would continue to do this with all the negatives as she spoke, collecting them in order in her hand.

“An all-black ensemble with just a white rim around the bottom of your sneakers made it look for just a moment, or anytime you stood still like you were floating. As if you had floated right out of a portrait.” She spoke about him like he were a precious piece of art. *Snip* “The air around you crackled with energy and confidence you weren’t there to play you had an agenda.” She saw what most others couldn’t. *snip* “The Grim Reaper is often misrepresented, misunderstood, and misjudged. Every time he is mentioned, people think his objection is to take away your life or is somehow the causation to the end of your life, but that simply just isn’t true." *Snip* "The Grim Reaper comes only after life has already been taken or where your life is deemed unsavable. What does the Grim Reaper do? He does not harm you; instead, he offers you his skeletal hand to accompany you to the afterlife. He is there for you, making sure that you don’t have to endure the walk alone.” She dared a glance at him before looking back at her work with another *snip*. “There is more to you than meets the eye, but others often judge you on their first glance of you. You are misjudged, and dare I say misunderstood, just like the Reaper. Let them judge you. Let them misunderstand you. Let them gossip about you. Their opinions aren't your problem, nor should they be. At the end of the day, you know your truth, and you know who you are.”

From what Santario knew, he was just as observant as she was, and he would no doubt pick up the between the lines answer to his nickname, what she was trying to do, what she was reaching for. So at the very end, she wanted to spin it back to him and about how others saw him hoping it would be enough of a distraction. Afterall, she promised no lies not no diversions. "And if it makes you feel better this whole deal of ours isn't just for today. We don't have a twenty-four hour timeline to spill our guts. As far as I am concerned it is somewhat of a bond if only a tenative one." For now.
@Thomas Lestrange

Irreversible damage was averted as Thomas cast aside his cross examination to reveal the guarded truth: Santario piqued his interest, and he did not intend to upset her. Merely employing a defense mechanism to keep her at bay whilst he considered what he wanted from this interaction. Initially, the boy envisioned a handful of photos he would intend to walk away with, assuming what he was searched for was captured by her camera that night. Though that pursuit would dissipate, another born from the momentary distress between them that Thomas extinguished. The focus now less about the photos and his own pursuits, and more about...her.

“I own you another answer first, which is to state, yes, I am comfortable.”

After Thomas said his piece, agreeing to engage her on the many topics of interest, Santario first clarified her comfort with his presence. The boy’s shoulders relaxed, his guard eased from the sentiment. Thomas’ hand flinched as she reached into his space to retrieve the scissors, but halted his movement to allow her reach. A reflection of his mindset that anyone could attack him at any time. Of course his preparedness would depend on the company he kept, regardless he was always ready.

What was it about Santario? She stated she was comfortable, but the boy was not. He did not know what this was, nor what it had the potential to be. The consistency of the pair’s mindset did not guarantee positive association. Or, dare we consider the possibility of friendship. Letting someone in rarely yielded positive results. He would always be hesitant to give unfiltered access to what he was thinking, or how he was feeling. So Thomas would offer a slight nod that may lead her to imply he was comfortable, but he would not clarify past that.

Thomas continued to assist her as best he could, drying the remainder of negatives that hung before she snipped. A wry smile formed at her mention of his appearance when he entered the ball. “Those excessive gowns aren’t my style.” Thomas stopped all movement, tilting his head and eyeing Santario with an incisive tone. “And I missed the memo where we abandon a discrete entrance?” Thomas shook his head dismissively with a scoff. Not that the professors are always observant, but leaving the castle for the grounds dressed like Cinderella must have drawn suspicions.

Then Santario went on to describe him in a way no one has, with the exception of his mother. The essence of admiration as opposed to disdain. Thomas was only human, the cold nature that has come to define him was not a fixed state. It was penetrable, it’s just nobody has bothered to express a shred of care for him besides a prefect girl. Though the two haven’t spoken much this year, leading to an empty void. It fueled his negative disposition, leading him to rejection of others. But Santario’s words cut through this facade effortlessly as she appeared to speak from the heart, and in a fond manner. It was something Thomas desperately needed, even if he did not care to admit it.

I don’t want to hear those vile trumpets anymore.

His movements halted, left transfixed on Santario as she went on to describe the meaning behind the name of Reaper before delivering a refreshing message. The boy was left with an empty expression, sourced from her private understanding. Seemingly locating what caused his inner turmoil over a short period. Knots formed in his stomach, fingers tapping and lips parting, but his icy blue eyes remained squarely on her while she intermittently glanced his way in between snipping the reels. “I did.” Thomas admitted he had an agenda in a muted tone, as only to confirm and not interrupt. The accuracy of her evaluation was frightening. Specifically the dance with Victor that happened only moments before the boy was sprawled along the pitch’s surface, doused in flames. It was as if Thomas provided a moment of ease, the precursor before he was on the cusp of death. Guiding him to his fate like the grim reaper would.

"At the end of the day, you know your truth, and you know who you are.”

The line that stuck with him the most was the last before she stopped, leaving the boy in silent contemplation. It was the only part she had horribly wrong. Thomas had lost his truth in the desperate search for another’s, a person that he needed to let go, but refused to--his father. The manipulation from a trio of crones had augmented this desperation to know what no longer mattered. Delaying his acceptance that the man was gone and he was not coming back.

She’s just trying to reach you.

Yet Sanatrio had still earned more from him, continuing to separate herself from the many. “That’s where you're wrong.” He claimed, eyes peeling off to the empty tables throughout the classroom. “I’m not in control...I don’t feel I am.” Was this the long awaited therapy session beginning? “I do what they tell me.” His lower lip curled in, two front teeth sinking in. A visual habit that indicated an anxious topic. Something he would only discuss with Erin[And Howard, but technically he has not resurfaced yet] and let’s just say Santario did not look at him the way Erin did. To no fault of Erin’s, but what’s done is done. Thomas believed two are never to be friends again.

Thomas would not reveal who they were unless the right questions were asked, or Santario proved to have insight to be valuable regarding the crones. So Thomas would swiftly pivot and reveal the source of his problems. “My father died 5 years ago. I don’t know how, or why. They say he was a... deatheater.” Thomas shook his head softly, jaw clenching. He was disappointed to part with information so dear after knowing the girl for such a short time. But she has found a way in, and now that she was here, there was comfort to be found in having another that’s available to hear him out without judgement. So he would put it to the test in hopes she would not shut him out like others have. “I’m afraid what you may learn in twenty-four hours.”

“Apparently, we both missed that memo.” Santario had in no way been dressed fancy in fact, the outfit she had worn to the ball was something people had seen her wear around the castle before. She had not bothered to dress up for the occasion in the least. If it hadn’t been for the request of her photos, she would never have been there at all.

“We’re children. We don’t have control; we will always be told what to do by someone. I speak of knowing your own truth. Only you know who you are at the end of the day. Regardless of who they are. Some day you will evaluate whether they are worth more than you. Not that you’ve asked for my opinion, but I wouldn’t say they are.” She did not ask for further clarification on wp they were, it was not currently relevant to her, and if he really wanted to tell her, he would. She continued her work until he brought up his father her right hand instinctually moved to touch the locket concealed beneath the cotton of her shirt.

She looked at him, and just for one fleeting moment, raw and honest emotion shone through the carefully held façade. If he was looking at her for that moment, he would see deep sorrow and compassion. Deep down, Santario was a very caring girl, when people got close enough, but to know what it was like to lose a parent was something she related it and that touched her emotionally. Were her eyes glassy? Perhaps, too hard to tell in the dim red lighting of the room. “My parents were murdered on Christmas Eve.” She looked away from him after the words left her mouth. She never used the word murdered out loud before. She tilted her head, so a curtain of her hair fell between them sufficiently hiding her face from him as she blinked back tears rapidly. Crying in front of him was a non-option, period, end of discussion. When she spoke next, it was softer than she had spoken before. As if she didn’t trust her voice at its normal volume “The people I told basically abandoned me—found people who weren’t broken orphans to be friends with. Everyone always leaves. There is no other truth. If I’ve cut you out, it was done with the blade you lodged in my back.” She swallowed hard and shook her head. That was far more than she had ever intended to tell him.

It was more than she had ever intended to tell anyone, let alone this boy. What the hell was wrong with her. “As per our agreement, I’ll only learn what you wish me to learn. I will not try to force anything more. I’m not the type to walk away; unlike everyone else in this place, I understand the concept of loyalty.” She took a deep breath and then another gaining her composure. “Let’s save the rest of this conversation for when we’re done. If we keep distracting each other, we are bound to be in this room for the rest of the year trying to get these done.”

Not that she’d complain about the company, but she at least wanted to get her task done. If Thomas agreed, she would walk him through the process. She would put a negative in the enlarger and Lumos light through it to imprint the photo onto the paper. San would then put the paper into the first bucket, each bucket could hold 4 pictures. After a few minutes, he would need to transfer those photos to the second bucket, where she would begin filling the first again. After another few minutes, he would move the pictures into the third bin of water for a quick rinse and then hang them up with the wooden clothespins to dry where they could look at them properly.

If this is what he agreed to, she would work in silence, only offering him direction when he asked for it or seemed to need it, but otherwise, she would work as a little machine until the last photos were hung up. “We can take the red screen down now if you want and look at them in a proper light.” Or they could prop open the door, but that was not an option she would favor.

@Thomas Lestrange

The noirette continued the trend of making a whole lot of sense. Providing a perspective that removed the fog from the cracked lens of his mind’s eyes. She did not know that they were a trio of vile old ladies, but she did not have to--- her point held up on its own. The day was coming that Thomas would again think for himself and separate from those that did not have his best interests in mind. Even if this supposed parting would prove costly and possibly quite painful. Though nothing would change until the boy accepted what he could not change, taking that first step forward to escape his father’s shadow. Was Santario the catalyst of this process?

“You’re right.” Thomas conceded, eyes finding the wooden textures of their work table. “In my mind, it’s not me...vs. them.” Thomas reasoned, though his empty stare may show Santario’s words spurred a one way conversation where the boy would justify his actions to himself. “They have something I need. I will do what they ask until I get it.” Thomas would put it simply, but this simplicity waned as the tasks assigned to him did not stop. When would he realize it was not a fair trade?

The conversation shifted to the touchy topic of his father’s death, there were visible changes in Santario’s demeanor. As if this development struck a nerve, or familiar tune of her own troubles. Then came the release, the girl subsequently looked away from Thomas when disclosing her losses. Black strands of hair shrouded those sapphire eyes, though Thomas did not need to see anything to pick up on the arriving poignance. The emotional shift could be denoted in the change of tone. Thomas pressed his lips together with a soft shake of his head, he knew all too well of the difficulty to discuss the loved that are lost.

So it goes. Offering the words I’m sorry was the equivalent of raking water uphill. There was not a band-aid in the market for the inconspicuous scars.Nor supplementary words to fill the void. It would smolder until the person decides to confront this pain, and to accept it for what it was. Thomas was stuck, trapped in the confusion of what was not clear. Though when Santario revealed what was likely her largest source of despair, Thomas took solace when contemplating the death of his father. To know he was not alone in experiencing this degree of grief was a comforting thought indeed.

The room was still in this revelation, the task faded into the background. It was just Santario and Thomas left to ponder what was no longer there, and what they could not change. No, there is nothing tangible that mends the damage done, only distractions, or subterfuge to sway the mind away from grief. That was all Thomas knew, there was no alternative way to cope. Not until now that is. The hole may take on a different shape, but it was a hole all the same.

There was nothing to be said that couldn’t be conveyed with the grimace of familiarity. She would pivot once more, to reinforce their agreement and proposed loyalty. But the fresh mentions of murder, abdonment, and betrayal remained at the forefront of the boy’s mind. So Thomas would utter her name, assuming the girl still did not look his way. “Santario…”



Thomas bit his lip tilting his head in acceptance to let things sit and refocus on the reason they were in this classroom to begin with. It was appropriate, the pair sharing a solemn moment of silence for those that have fallen close to them. As he had done the entire afternoon, Thomas emulated what Santario did to accelerate the process. Following her hand motions until every last photo was hanging on a clothespin to dry.

Thomas removed the red screen, allowing the natural light from the subdued candles to illuminate the room once more[correct me if that’s wrong]. The boy would go down the collection of photos slowly until he came across the photo he was looking for. The photo of Vladimir Anthanaos. He would not readily offer the reason he wanted the older Raven’s photo, but if Santario requested answers in exchange she would receive them. “This one.” He paused, turning to Santario. His pointer finger grazed the bottom of the photo. “I’d like to keep it, if I can.” Of course, Thomas recognized the peculiar request to keep a photo of another boy. He did not care for the implications that may arrive.

“They are hags.” Thomas offered, icy blue eyes still locked onto the photo of Vladimir. The boy took a few steps down until he found a pre-cooked Victor with Marion in another photo. “A coven of three, they reside in the forest.” The typical dead tone had subtle notes of fear underlining the words that left his lips. “They know my father...his story.” A false manifestation that retained the boy’s loyalty. “They’re helping me.” Thomas pleaded, as if Santario had objected. But she hadn’t, it was just the boy’s subconscious that provided doubt his best interests were in mind.

“I should leave.” Even after Santario has shown no signs of judgement, Thomas did not part with this fear so easily. With or without the photo, he would turn towards the door. Allowing the girl to have the last words before taking his leave.

Santario heard the utterance of her name but directed away from it to get the task at hand done. She didn’t want his condolences, she didn’t wish to his understanding, and she didn’t want the hollow words of everything gets better, because it wouldn’t. Those kinds of words would open a flood gate neither of them would be prepared for, and there would be no going back from the girl becoming an emotional wreck in front of the person she was trying to gain respect from. It would ruin the very carefully picked mask she wore every day, while it had lifted slightly for a mere moment, it would be replaced quickly. She was not ready for that amount of honesty because when she got that honest with people when they saw how weak San truly was, how she could barely stand to look herself in the mirror every day for failing her parents and herself, they all walked away. She wasn’t sure if she could ever brave to rotate this facet for anyone ever again.

They worked until it was all done, and when the red screen dropped flooding the room with proper lighting, Santario had to blink her eyes a few times to allow them to adjust before they found Thomas, who was no longer cloaked in deep crimson shadows. She walked over to the photos as he looked them over, and when his finger touched the photo, he asked for her eyes moved from him to the photo. Then he confided in her again. Hags. Interesting choice of friends, but if hags were to offer her what she needed to kill her parent's murderers, she would probably strike a deal with them too. Who wouldn’t when they were as desperate for something as these two were.

Her focus shifted back to the photo of Vladimir. “Vladimir Anthanaos, third year Ravenclaw, If Professor Price was correct.” She missed Price quite a bit; he had been her favorite professor, but his behavior before leaving his position so unexpectedly had been slightly erratic. She hoped that wherever he was that he was okay. “He sold potion laced candies around Valentine's day. One made you cannibalize, one made you obsessive, one was what I believe to be essentially a watered-down version of amortentia. Interesting choice.” She reached up and unclipped the photo request and carefully handed it over to Thomas. “Try not to touch the ink until it dries fully; it can still be ruined.”

He stated his intentions to leave, and while she didn’t want him to, she did not try to stop him. “Remember two things Reaper. Your life is worth more than what they can give you and who inevitably in the end that photo links back to.” She wouldn’t tell him what and what not to do with that photo, and she wouldn’t assume it was some kind of preteen crush because notions like that didn’t exist for her. They were beyond her comprehension while she could give you the dictionary definition of a crush, affectionate, or even love; she lacked the emotions capable of understanding them.

She would turn away from him now and wait for him to leave. She would wait for the sound of the door to open and close, then she would silently count to thirty awaiting the amount of time that he should be far enough away. She was emotionally exhausted, and she was more exhausted from hiding it as tears started to slowly find their way down her cheeks. Once she hit thirty, it was as if a marionette's strings had been severed as she collapsed to the ground. Lying against the cold stone was her only solace now as she removed her locket and opened it, staring at the photos of her parents smiling back at her. Eventually, she would get up and clean everything up, but the photographs needed to dry, and she only had time on her hands now. “I’m sorry I failed you.” She whispered as she lay there for what felt like an eternity.

@Thomas Lestrange