6 Jun 2021, 05:27
Pusillanimous Posture
They were powerless, in spite of their strength and their aggression. They would never be friends, they were so much more. They defined one another, their bitterness and their fear, their dark needs and gormless meandering. In truth neither were particularly bright, they saw red and the horns would come out. They needed one another because in all the ways that they were different, they were also the same. They needed to fight and claw because their humanity was a sham. Howard and Erin's humanity had been torn from them and unspent aggression would mark Howard's life, separating him from his peers, potential friends, rivals and lovers. Erin had become increasingly paranoid and delusional, yet there was an underlying theme of panic, danger and of course murder. For as much as the girl was wrong, and she was so very wrong, there were threads of truth laced in the madness.
Yes, there were terrors that lurked in the dead of night. Yes, Howard was among them, but he was not the nightmare she should fear. Yet he was the most immediate threat. His hands wrapped around her throat, she struggled for air. She could feel her lungs start to burn, her head swim. Instinct told her to fight and claw. He might not be stronger than her but he weighed more than her, in spite of her strength his weight gave her the advantage. It should be fear she felt as his fingertips met around her neck and he squeezed harder. It was something, perhaps akin to fear. This rush of... adrenaline, yes adrenaline.
She had come to want the violence, the pain grounded her. It was what let her know she was alive; for a moment she was not numb. Howard had a way of taking part in these defining moments. The instance where she felt love, even if it was not for her. Fights and deals with hags, had she not known better she could have called him a friend. A homicidal friend, the sort that kills you at the end of a perfectly normal weekend boating and your body is found two week and 20 miles downsteam.
It was getting dark. She could not--
A final, feeble attempt. A thrust, an attack to rock him off of her. It was the fangs that likely gave her that final moment of fearful strength. The pit, gravity the great equalizer. They would fall, his grip would slacken and she would take a wheezing breath of early morning air that would be knocked out of her when she hit the floor. The ground then the body, well not a body but the Howard would hit her thereafter.
"Fuck sake, you're a damn erumphant" she complained, the wizarding equivalent to an elephant if they could gore a man. She was disoriented but she knew how to fight, there was something primal and simple about the girl as she pushed him back with both her hands before the murdering resumed.
"Believe me now?"
She was still wheezing, hungry and gulping for air as if each might be her last breath. Did she believe him? Howie would never, he was not that sort. Howard, on the other hand, was a hard maybe. "The hell is wrong with you!" Yeah, the girl digging pits on the grounds trying to murder the troglodytes she captured had the gall to be indignant about HIS murdering. She would look up, her neck ached. How the heck did she dig this hole so deep? She jumped. She climbed. She could not remember, her holes never caught anything before and they were dug months ago.
"Think it might be worse that you're YOU," she complained.
Yes, there were terrors that lurked in the dead of night. Yes, Howard was among them, but he was not the nightmare she should fear. Yet he was the most immediate threat. His hands wrapped around her throat, she struggled for air. She could feel her lungs start to burn, her head swim. Instinct told her to fight and claw. He might not be stronger than her but he weighed more than her, in spite of her strength his weight gave her the advantage. It should be fear she felt as his fingertips met around her neck and he squeezed harder. It was something, perhaps akin to fear. This rush of... adrenaline, yes adrenaline.
She had come to want the violence, the pain grounded her. It was what let her know she was alive; for a moment she was not numb. Howard had a way of taking part in these defining moments. The instance where she felt love, even if it was not for her. Fights and deals with hags, had she not known better she could have called him a friend. A homicidal friend, the sort that kills you at the end of a perfectly normal weekend boating and your body is found two week and 20 miles downsteam.
It was getting dark. She could not--
A final, feeble attempt. A thrust, an attack to rock him off of her. It was the fangs that likely gave her that final moment of fearful strength. The pit, gravity the great equalizer. They would fall, his grip would slacken and she would take a wheezing breath of early morning air that would be knocked out of her when she hit the floor. The ground then the body, well not a body but the Howard would hit her thereafter.
"Fuck sake, you're a damn erumphant" she complained, the wizarding equivalent to an elephant if they could gore a man. She was disoriented but she knew how to fight, there was something primal and simple about the girl as she pushed him back with both her hands before the murdering resumed.
"Believe me now?"
She was still wheezing, hungry and gulping for air as if each might be her last breath. Did she believe him? Howie would never, he was not that sort. Howard, on the other hand, was a hard maybe. "The hell is wrong with you!" Yeah, the girl digging pits on the grounds trying to murder the troglodytes she captured had the gall to be indignant about HIS murdering. She would look up, her neck ached. How the heck did she dig this hole so deep? She jumped. She climbed. She could not remember, her holes never caught anything before and they were dug months ago.
"Think it might be worse that you're YOU," she complained.
Just a trick of the lighting they said...
14 Jun 2021, 03:55
Pusillanimous Posture
They will never be friends. An unfortunate truth for the pair of them. The gods know they both could have used more people in their corner or in Erin's case just one person that truly cared for her. If not friends the true shame would be that they would never fully ally with one another. Just think what the two of them could have accomplished if they combined their efforts. Well, not much perhaps, but the trail of bodies left in their wake would have been legendary. It was true that they had such more in common than they had difference. Two people that the world had overlooked and let slip through the cracks. Where Howard would feel his pain and anger fully, Erin would barely have a flicker, but it would leave them both shrouded by fear. The rage and aggression that had come to define him was really nothing more than a defense mechanism to help him cope with it, but each time that shield was cast a little more of the humanity would slip away. For Erin it would tax her mental health as the paranoia spread and grew like a cancer. The exterior beauty most likely masking the deterioration of her mind or perhaps just no one cared. Maybe that is why they so often found themselves on the wrong end of each other's fists. Like two magnets of like poles it was just their nature to repel each other. So, the pair would brawl. Howard would let his inner demons loose and Erin would...feel something. He was the perfect match to lend everything to her. Whether it was leeching off of his emotions or instigating him onto violence, Howard had enough to fuel her for a life time. He the endless spring and her the perpetual drought. Both of them would feel the most alive as his hands squeezed her throat, but neither were ready for that end, not yet anyways.
Their bodies would slam against the earth as the rolled into the pit, knocking the air from them and brining a pause to the carnage. If trying to kill her was all the proof she needed to identify him he would have just started the argument with a swipe of his claws. "Wrong with me?!" In the light of the moon she might see the bewilderment in his eyes, but he lacked conviction to push it any further. His head was beginning to throb as the adrenaline flow ebbed away. A log arm would brace against the earthy wall of the pit to keep him stable on his feet. "Cut the shit Erin. Course it's me. Now what the fuck are you on about?" Such a way with words. "Why do you think there's doubles runnin' 'round?" The term deathwitch had long ago been forgotten by the Dhampir, but Howard was still very much aware of the dangers lurking at Hogwarts. If he could cut through the paranoia and delusion he just might get to the truth buried underneath.
Their bodies would slam against the earth as the rolled into the pit, knocking the air from them and brining a pause to the carnage. If trying to kill her was all the proof she needed to identify him he would have just started the argument with a swipe of his claws. "Wrong with me?!" In the light of the moon she might see the bewilderment in his eyes, but he lacked conviction to push it any further. His head was beginning to throb as the adrenaline flow ebbed away. A log arm would brace against the earthy wall of the pit to keep him stable on his feet. "Cut the shit Erin. Course it's me. Now what the fuck are you on about?" Such a way with words. "Why do you think there's doubles runnin' 'round?" The term deathwitch had long ago been forgotten by the Dhampir, but Howard was still very much aware of the dangers lurking at Hogwarts. If he could cut through the paranoia and delusion he just might get to the truth buried underneath.
16 Jun 2021, 22:55
Pusillanimous Posture
"Wrong with me?!"
He had to be joking. The teen was almost as screwed up as her. Well, Howard was worse of course. In fact it was all Howard, there was nothing wrong with Erin. Everyone else was the problem! Her peers were insane, reckless and foolish, they forgot what was important, they forgot... "everything." Erin announced empathetically without context.
The pit was wide enough to house a giant but less accommodating for two. There was something called personal space, a luxury both enjoyed without a thought. There was this sense of disempowering dis-ease that came over her. Their history was marked by aggression, a desperate bid for survival and this proximity, this stillness was disconcerting. She shifted uncomfortably, what does one say in the aftermath of attempted murder? My what sharp teeth you have Howard? Come here often?
She had never been this close to him without there being a fight, he was tall and his shoulders were broad. When the hell did that happen? Instinct dictated that this was wrong. She tried to back away only to find a wall of earth to her rear. The cold, vertical wall of earth would hug her back as she assessed her situation. The air hunger had not escaped her but she took measured, suppressed breaths. Pride would not allow her to display a moment of weakness, perish the thought that she admitted to the dhampir that she needed to breathe.
"Think it might be worse that you're YOU."
A raw admission not that the Hufflepuff would likely understand the meaning of the words. The shame of losing ones mind with enough of a grip on reality to know that it is happening. The forbidden knowledge that she was deteriorating and the helpless sensation that comes with the understanding that the condition is terminal. A private hell she did not want anyone to share with her, not for reasons of kindness but rather again pride. There is shame in vulnerability. Resentment in loss, in comparing the haves with the have-nots.
"Cut the shit Erin. Course it's me. Now what the fuck are you on about?"
Another mistake. Another incident. A stubborn teen that could not tell fantasy from reality. Pathologized, it was an illness, a malady, a defect. Howard being Howard merely reinforced that fact, that she was the one in the wrong. "I~" her voice wavered "don't know." she admitted. She shook her head, dismissing it. She wanted to retreat, find a hole. Another one and crawl in. Let the day pass, wash over her and perhaps she would forget. "There is just something wrong with my head," she raised a hand to her temple and made a small circular motion with the pads of her fingers against her head.
She could smell him. It was the scent of the outdoors, not the trees or the earth, the water or the wind but something intangible. Awkward, too close. No scents. More space. The dis-ease came upon her in crashing waves of discontent, a primal need to escape and a want for distance.
Up, she wanted up.
She did not want to touch him, he was human. "Can you just leave? He did it before and he was taller. Then she could climb the vertical wall and find a dark place to brood or whatever it was that the crazy people did with their free-time.
"Why do you think there's doubles runnin' 'round?"
His voice was jarring, as if she was in an empty room when someone sneezed. Yeah, he was there. He was really there. Why had he not gone away? It had to of been a few seconds, plenty of time to climb out, order a sandwich and take a little nap.
"Everyone looks the same," she claimed. "Not, the same," she self-corrected and mouthed to herself. Wrong. No. Wrong. "Just..." how should she phrase this? "There is not enough faces," or something like that she mouthed. Surely he had to of noticed it -- the uncanny resemblance his housemates have with Prefects, other peers. "Did you know your Prefect Jack looks just like my..." boyfriend, no. Ex. not really - they never dated. Well, she dated someone else but calling it a relationship was a stretch. "Jack Burnett," just use a name. He was nothing to her, or rather she was nothing to him. Not even worth basic respect. "Who had an uncanny resemblance to Paracelsus Myth," a Gryffindor she had not seen in a very long time. "There is also a smaller one," Ruka Burnett-Tân. She was focused on the wrong thing of course but she was not far off.
They were not the only multiples. There were others too. "There is this other Prefect in Ravenclaw, he looks just like that boy that died last year" she was referring to the infamous Victor Moore "and this guy in my house," Henry Knight. There was another logical conclusion, one that she had not considered -- their family genealogy resembles a wreath rather than a tree. It was not limited to the boys, just more frequent among the males of the school. "Another girl in my house, Opeila Winters," a name she only knew from an impromptu pillow fight "has a few doppelgangers. Same with that quidditch girl, Evelynn something-or-other." Yet in a vacuum it seems to make sense.
"Why wouldn't they bother making another of you?" It was instinct to try to defend her point once she started talking. Who were 'they' -- the hags, the death witches, the giants?
There were parts that made sense, just she was focused on the wrong patterns. [coilor=indigo]"Nobody seems to notice when there is more than one. Nobody seems to notice when someone goes away."[/color] Not like anyone cares, apathy a disease that had overtaken them. Lives were irrelevant, people were complacent and dawdling here at Hogwarts. "Did you even look for Thomas when he disappeared?" A tone of accusation, they might never have been 'friends' but there was a time where they were allied. "Did you notice how he changed. Hell, how you changed?" Did anyone ever address the elephant in the room - his eyes used to be grey-blue, they were now red like burning coals. "You don't even look like you anymore," there was a defiant tone to her voice. "I might be crazy but... I. Remember."
Blast from the past --
Not the point.
"Were you always like this?" she made a rough gesture. "Was Tom always more of an asshole than me?" The later was a hard maybe. "Am I mis-remembering or am I the only one that recalls?" She was not expecting an answer. Maybe the image in her head of Howard was a lie, a fantasy. Why would she fantasize about a nerd? She preferred the monster before her to the repressed farce he used to represent.
"Was I always the only Slytherin girl in my year? I could have sworn there were dozens of us four years ago." He had to of seen it. How many of his classmates were left? How many were lost? "Do you remember their names? Did you even notice when they disappeared. Do. You. Even. Care? Were they ever here? Why don't you remember! Why am I the only one that seems to notice!" Her voice would crescendo to a shout, an accusation and an inquiry.
Get away. Get away. Get away!
She would extend her palms and attempt to push him back. She needed to get away from him. The face that she trusted but had to be a lie. The face that remembered. The face that forgot. Complacent. Complicit. No, no. Don't stay. No, no. Run, run!
@Howard White
He had to be joking. The teen was almost as screwed up as her. Well, Howard was worse of course. In fact it was all Howard, there was nothing wrong with Erin. Everyone else was the problem! Her peers were insane, reckless and foolish, they forgot what was important, they forgot... "everything." Erin announced empathetically without context.
The pit was wide enough to house a giant but less accommodating for two. There was something called personal space, a luxury both enjoyed without a thought. There was this sense of disempowering dis-ease that came over her. Their history was marked by aggression, a desperate bid for survival and this proximity, this stillness was disconcerting. She shifted uncomfortably, what does one say in the aftermath of attempted murder? My what sharp teeth you have Howard? Come here often?
She had never been this close to him without there being a fight, he was tall and his shoulders were broad. When the hell did that happen? Instinct dictated that this was wrong. She tried to back away only to find a wall of earth to her rear. The cold, vertical wall of earth would hug her back as she assessed her situation. The air hunger had not escaped her but she took measured, suppressed breaths. Pride would not allow her to display a moment of weakness, perish the thought that she admitted to the dhampir that she needed to breathe.
"Think it might be worse that you're YOU."
A raw admission not that the Hufflepuff would likely understand the meaning of the words. The shame of losing ones mind with enough of a grip on reality to know that it is happening. The forbidden knowledge that she was deteriorating and the helpless sensation that comes with the understanding that the condition is terminal. A private hell she did not want anyone to share with her, not for reasons of kindness but rather again pride. There is shame in vulnerability. Resentment in loss, in comparing the haves with the have-nots.
"Cut the shit Erin. Course it's me. Now what the fuck are you on about?"
Another mistake. Another incident. A stubborn teen that could not tell fantasy from reality. Pathologized, it was an illness, a malady, a defect. Howard being Howard merely reinforced that fact, that she was the one in the wrong. "I~" her voice wavered "don't know." she admitted. She shook her head, dismissing it. She wanted to retreat, find a hole. Another one and crawl in. Let the day pass, wash over her and perhaps she would forget. "There is just something wrong with my head," she raised a hand to her temple and made a small circular motion with the pads of her fingers against her head.
She could smell him. It was the scent of the outdoors, not the trees or the earth, the water or the wind but something intangible. Awkward, too close. No scents. More space. The dis-ease came upon her in crashing waves of discontent, a primal need to escape and a want for distance.
Up, she wanted up.
She did not want to touch him, he was human. "Can you just leave? He did it before and he was taller. Then she could climb the vertical wall and find a dark place to brood or whatever it was that the crazy people did with their free-time.
"Why do you think there's doubles runnin' 'round?"
His voice was jarring, as if she was in an empty room when someone sneezed. Yeah, he was there. He was really there. Why had he not gone away? It had to of been a few seconds, plenty of time to climb out, order a sandwich and take a little nap.
"Everyone looks the same," she claimed. "Not, the same," she self-corrected and mouthed to herself. Wrong. No. Wrong. "Just..." how should she phrase this? "There is not enough faces," or something like that she mouthed. Surely he had to of noticed it -- the uncanny resemblance his housemates have with Prefects, other peers. "Did you know your Prefect Jack looks just like my..." boyfriend, no. Ex. not really - they never dated. Well, she dated someone else but calling it a relationship was a stretch. "Jack Burnett," just use a name. He was nothing to her, or rather she was nothing to him. Not even worth basic respect. "Who had an uncanny resemblance to Paracelsus Myth," a Gryffindor she had not seen in a very long time. "There is also a smaller one," Ruka Burnett-Tân. She was focused on the wrong thing of course but she was not far off.
They were not the only multiples. There were others too. "There is this other Prefect in Ravenclaw, he looks just like that boy that died last year" she was referring to the infamous Victor Moore "and this guy in my house," Henry Knight. There was another logical conclusion, one that she had not considered -- their family genealogy resembles a wreath rather than a tree. It was not limited to the boys, just more frequent among the males of the school. "Another girl in my house, Opeila Winters," a name she only knew from an impromptu pillow fight "has a few doppelgangers. Same with that quidditch girl, Evelynn something-or-other." Yet in a vacuum it seems to make sense.
"Why wouldn't they bother making another of you?" It was instinct to try to defend her point once she started talking. Who were 'they' -- the hags, the death witches, the giants?
There were parts that made sense, just she was focused on the wrong patterns. [coilor=indigo]"Nobody seems to notice when there is more than one. Nobody seems to notice when someone goes away."[/color] Not like anyone cares, apathy a disease that had overtaken them. Lives were irrelevant, people were complacent and dawdling here at Hogwarts. "Did you even look for Thomas when he disappeared?" A tone of accusation, they might never have been 'friends' but there was a time where they were allied. "Did you notice how he changed. Hell, how you changed?" Did anyone ever address the elephant in the room - his eyes used to be grey-blue, they were now red like burning coals. "You don't even look like you anymore," there was a defiant tone to her voice. "I might be crazy but... I. Remember."
Blast from the past --
He used to be tanned. He did not always have fang and claw. "You turned out quite lovely, less a lie." He was fearsome and terrible yet also beautiful in the same breath -- like a not kinky storm. She appreciated the honesty in a world of duplicity and lies.
Not the point.
"Were you always like this?" she made a rough gesture. "Was Tom always more of an asshole than me?" The later was a hard maybe. "Am I mis-remembering or am I the only one that recalls?" She was not expecting an answer. Maybe the image in her head of Howard was a lie, a fantasy. Why would she fantasize about a nerd? She preferred the monster before her to the repressed farce he used to represent.
"Was I always the only Slytherin girl in my year? I could have sworn there were dozens of us four years ago." He had to of seen it. How many of his classmates were left? How many were lost? "Do you remember their names? Did you even notice when they disappeared. Do. You. Even. Care? Were they ever here? Why don't you remember! Why am I the only one that seems to notice!" Her voice would crescendo to a shout, an accusation and an inquiry.
Get away. Get away. Get away!
She would extend her palms and attempt to push him back. She needed to get away from him. The face that she trusted but had to be a lie. The face that remembered. The face that forgot. Complacent. Complicit. No, no. Don't stay. No, no. Run, run!
@Howard White
Just a trick of the lighting they said...
1 Jul 2021, 03:11
Pusillanimous Posture
The early morning light just may be enough for Erin to see a pair of red eyes roll in their socket. "Pff, everything." He grumbled under his breath. She was surely one to talk. The pair would become uncomfortably aware of their proximity to one another as the earthen walls behind both of them refused to provide them additional space. It was odd being this close to her. Most boys of his orientation and age would be thrilled to be in such tight quarters with a beauty like Erin, but for Howard it made him feel antsy. They never had any reason to share each other's personal space beside when punching was necessary. So, Howard would fill the awkward silence that fell between them for a moment by staring at his feet, unsure of what to say after they had just beaten each other. Fortunately or better said, unfortunately, it wouldn't take long for the crazy to continue.
Think it's worse that you're YOU. "Oh, fuck off." A typical response from Howard when Erin started talking weird and he of course missed the meaning of her words. She would refuse to show weakness and steadied herself against her own truth. The fact that whatever had gripped her mind was or at least seemed like the end. Again, it would be a shame that the two refused to ally or accept any form of friendship from one another. Although he lacked the wisdom to truly help her, he at least would never judge her. For all of the things Howard wasn't, he was rather accepting. He knew how easy it was to slip into darkness or to question whether or not you might be fit for the world. If only he could put his anger aside for just a moment. A moment of compassion would possibly have gone a long way, but she was often too full of pride to allow it and he was way too quick to rage. With another bout of swearing Howard would question her meaning.
As Erin spoke his eyes would shift from slits of frustration to ones of guarded curiosity. Her voice seemed to shake. Her admission was way too revealing as she gently held her own head. Howard would have expected more fight. Even when she was being weird and talking crazy, Erin always stood up for herself. Always fought back against those that would doubt her. This change of tone, the almost vulnerable notes it carried was unlike anything he had heard from her. Howard would bend forward slightly to get a better look, his head shifting from side to side as he tried to catch her gaze. "No shit there's somethin' wrong with yer head." A bit cruel, but how else to stir the real Erin. This weakened state made him uncomfortable. "Leave! Your the one who put me here. You get us out!" Another jab, but every word that left his lips seemed almost have a physical affect on her. Again confusion would spread across his face. Again he would question her.
"Not enough faces?" He repeated to himself in a whisper. "Some just look alike, Erin. Don't be daft." This time louder and carrying notes of exasperation. She wasn't all wrong though. Throughout the student body there were many that looked almost identical. Too much interfamily breeding. Freakin' pureblood. Not to mention the amount of redheads running around the castle was absurd. The gene must be closely tied with magical community, but that was neither here nor there. "Who's they? The crones?" Howard couldn't keep up with her rambling. He supposed they might be capable of such things, but what would that accomplish? Nothing she was saying made any sense. "Why would they?"
"People come and go all the time. Don't mean anythin' happened to 'em." Although she seemed delusional Erin wasn't all wrong. Hogwarts roster was ever changing. Students would begin only to be gone in a matter of months. Some would leave for a long time only to return. Howard couldn't blame them really. "Just parents pullin' there kids out when shit get crazy. If ours gave a damn we'd probably be gone too. No! I didn't got lookin' for him. He got pulled out, he came back. What else could it be?" Many, many things, but Howard wasn't looking. He never was. "Dude! Of course I don't look the same. Did you seriously not know. About...the change?" He was speaking of his Dhampirism, but for whatever reason he still had trouble saying the term aloud. Erin's compliment? was pretty spot on. His exterior now mimicked the raging demon he had trapped inside all along. The floofy hair and cheap smile was only a mask.
Howard would continue to try and get through to her, but his words seemed to fall on deaf ears as the questions poured from her mouth. With every word her voice would rise further and further. Panic and fear seeming to coat each one. Howard would step forward, his hands reaching out to grasp her around the biceps. He would shake her as he spoke. "Erin! Erin! The fuck is a matter with you?!" The closest thing to caring she would probably ever get from him. Howard held no love for the Slytherin, but they were bonded whether they liked it or not. This drastic change in her was unsettling. For so long she had been a constant in his life as everything else seemed to change. What the heel was happening to Erin Ryan?
Think it's worse that you're YOU. "Oh, fuck off." A typical response from Howard when Erin started talking weird and he of course missed the meaning of her words. She would refuse to show weakness and steadied herself against her own truth. The fact that whatever had gripped her mind was or at least seemed like the end. Again, it would be a shame that the two refused to ally or accept any form of friendship from one another. Although he lacked the wisdom to truly help her, he at least would never judge her. For all of the things Howard wasn't, he was rather accepting. He knew how easy it was to slip into darkness or to question whether or not you might be fit for the world. If only he could put his anger aside for just a moment. A moment of compassion would possibly have gone a long way, but she was often too full of pride to allow it and he was way too quick to rage. With another bout of swearing Howard would question her meaning.
As Erin spoke his eyes would shift from slits of frustration to ones of guarded curiosity. Her voice seemed to shake. Her admission was way too revealing as she gently held her own head. Howard would have expected more fight. Even when she was being weird and talking crazy, Erin always stood up for herself. Always fought back against those that would doubt her. This change of tone, the almost vulnerable notes it carried was unlike anything he had heard from her. Howard would bend forward slightly to get a better look, his head shifting from side to side as he tried to catch her gaze. "No shit there's somethin' wrong with yer head." A bit cruel, but how else to stir the real Erin. This weakened state made him uncomfortable. "Leave! Your the one who put me here. You get us out!" Another jab, but every word that left his lips seemed almost have a physical affect on her. Again confusion would spread across his face. Again he would question her.
"Not enough faces?" He repeated to himself in a whisper. "Some just look alike, Erin. Don't be daft." This time louder and carrying notes of exasperation. She wasn't all wrong though. Throughout the student body there were many that looked almost identical. Too much interfamily breeding. Freakin' pureblood. Not to mention the amount of redheads running around the castle was absurd. The gene must be closely tied with magical community, but that was neither here nor there. "Who's they? The crones?" Howard couldn't keep up with her rambling. He supposed they might be capable of such things, but what would that accomplish? Nothing she was saying made any sense. "Why would they?"
"People come and go all the time. Don't mean anythin' happened to 'em." Although she seemed delusional Erin wasn't all wrong. Hogwarts roster was ever changing. Students would begin only to be gone in a matter of months. Some would leave for a long time only to return. Howard couldn't blame them really. "Just parents pullin' there kids out when shit get crazy. If ours gave a damn we'd probably be gone too. No! I didn't got lookin' for him. He got pulled out, he came back. What else could it be?" Many, many things, but Howard wasn't looking. He never was. "Dude! Of course I don't look the same. Did you seriously not know. About...the change?" He was speaking of his Dhampirism, but for whatever reason he still had trouble saying the term aloud. Erin's compliment? was pretty spot on. His exterior now mimicked the raging demon he had trapped inside all along. The floofy hair and cheap smile was only a mask.
Howard would continue to try and get through to her, but his words seemed to fall on deaf ears as the questions poured from her mouth. With every word her voice would rise further and further. Panic and fear seeming to coat each one. Howard would step forward, his hands reaching out to grasp her around the biceps. He would shake her as he spoke. "Erin! Erin! The fuck is a matter with you?!" The closest thing to caring she would probably ever get from him. Howard held no love for the Slytherin, but they were bonded whether they liked it or not. This drastic change in her was unsettling. For so long she had been a constant in his life as everything else seemed to change. What the heel was happening to Erin Ryan?
2 Jul 2021, 01:23
Pusillanimous Posture
Usual banter - damn, fuck, shit, dick, ass, bitch. There was strange substance despite the crude vernacular. There was no civil platitudes, no wasted words just anger and aggression, truth and broiling sentiments.
"No shit there's somethin' wrong with yer head."
He was right and she knew it. Nobody else saw it. Nobody else seemed to stir. It was stupid to say what was already known, that she was broken, debilitated, a mistake. His words would not reduce her to a blubbering mass, she was too proud. She knew how he felt towards her and she accepted it. It was better than indifference.
"Leave! Your the one who put me here. You get us out!"
"You put you here," the second time in any case. Put her there too. The first time did not count. She was petty enough to point out his trespass but not her own. Could she get out? Yes, she dug the hole. What she could make she could unmake, she can break, she can escape. Not that she wanted to, not when he demanded it. A contrarian on demand, his request to leave only made her want to stay. She was deathly stubborn.
"Not enough faces?"
He repeated to himself in a whisper. Yes, that was right, the faces were being recycled.
"Some just look alike, Erin. Don't be daft."
"The same. The same. The same," she chanted, frustration mounting. They were not similar, they were identical. Not that Howard was wrong either -- the family tree looked more like a wreath for many of these purebloods. Perhaps she would suffer the same fate, a permanent insult for a woman - sharing an appearance with another. They can't even stand donning the same dresses at a singular event. The same face? That was a cruelty many would not be able to tolerate.
"Who's they? The crones?"
She took a few breaths. She was not sure. She called them "deathwitches" but she knew nothing more. Well, she knew a bit, Kaegen's mad ramblings, her own erroneous conclusions. "You know about them!" She insisted, he had learned about them when she had those years ago in the Ravenclaw restrooms as claimed by the equally unstable Kaegen Deathmote. "Maybe crones. Maybe them," she pointed in a random direction past Howard that pointed at nothing and nobody in particular. "The giants are dangerous. Maybe they took your face. Maybe it is mine?" Scratch that last one, her eyes widened slightly. How certain was she that she was not the deathwitch. "Not me. Not you," she corrected herself as she attempted to make an inventory outloud. "Erin Ryan. I am fifteen, never sixteen. I am a wizard. Remember the names..."
"Why would they?"
It was enough to pull her back, although lucidity was questionable. "To eat. To hurt. To not be missed," she swallowed hard. "Because we--"
"People come and go all the time. Don't mean anythin' happened to 'em."
A defeated expression. He was right. Did not mean anything. Marcus was fine. Thomas was fine. People came and went and when they returned there was nothing wrong. Just time lost and they re-entered the fold seamlessly, adapting to new friends and classes.
"Just parents pullin' there kids out when shit get crazy. If ours gave a damn we'd probably be gone too. No! I didn't got lookin' for him. He got pulled out, he came back. What else could it be?"
"Bull," Erin replied firmly. the damnable audacity of the privileged prick. "You have that person-lady," mother "that makes the warm and the sun and this other thing-- sugar? Rain?" She did not know how to describe love, or maternal love for that matter. she had never seen it, never experienced it. Never gave it. He had a mother that loved him very much and he loved her. Love, actual love was reciprocal not that there was a trade, it was merely natural order. It should have made her feel something - anger, yes that was what it was supposed to be. Remember the names. "Typical you, not knowing you got something decent in your life," she griped. She was envious of what he had, what she could never have. "Pretty in the places I cannot see but feel and" she made a dismissive motion with her hand "gives you the nice insides nobody else has that no longer match the outside."
The attention on him. On his appearance. On how he has changed since their first, second and subsequent meetings.
"Dude! Of course I don't look the same. Did you seriously not know. About...the change?"
"The change?" She repeated with a tone of distaste. No, she did not know about the change. Well, his change. She knew roughly what 'the change' was, the dark transformation she was experiencing. He was too young for the change wasn't he? How fucking old was he? Was she old? No, fifteen. Always fifteen. She squinted as she looked up at him. "They did it to you too?" Was this the outcome? The corpse-like, sickly visage before her what awaited her as well. If that was true. "It hurts... so much," she admitted. She was referring to her bones, how they ached. How her head throbbed. How her teeth felt wrong and how she could feel her joints pop and crack as she moved. Her skin felt itchy, she had this impulse to scratch until she bled but denied herself the compulsion.
She did not like the change. She did not want the change. She wanted to get out, she did not want to stay. Up and out. The place he was sending her to panic was screaming to comply. "Do you remember their names? Did you even notice when they disappeared. Do. You. Even. Care? Were they ever here? Why don't you remember! Why am I the only one that seems to notice!"
He was moving closer. Not closer. Back! Back monster! The change, he was what she would be. No, "you're not what you say!" She backed away, not that there was far to go. "Hags are exclusively women" and no, she had no reason to believe that Howard was keeping another secret. "You're not changing. You never changed. You never looked!" Looked for the missing. For his friends. For those lost. Even a loveless creature as wretched as she might have been looked, she never betrayed them as deeply as to forget.
Push back, his hands would catch her biceps. She would feel odd, skin too thin, too smooth. Like a peeled, overcooked hardboiled egg. She did not feel like most girls, not that there would be an expectation that she would. She was not soft. Her arm was strangely thin, there was no fat at all to the point where it was unpleasant. A runner's body? No, although that was a logical conclusion. In truth a rat-diet left one a bit thin.
Rattled in a literal sense, she could feel the fluid in her cranium shift to and fro, agitated. "Erin! Erin! The fuck is a matter with you?!"
"I'm FINE!" She insisted, she did not even think it was a lie. She was too far gone. "It is you, all of you" that is the problem here. "The things that watch. That take. That replace. That change and make. Unmake. That I become. It gnaws in my head and it creeps into my bones. That chitter-chitter noise. The bright lights that flash. The coals that die. I am different but you're not the same!" She could feel the cold earth behind her, the leverage that she lacked as he leaned. He was bigger, she remembered that. "I feel it squirm and know it is alive." He knew the truth, he had simply forgotten. They all did. The truth was laid before him years earlier, before her words devolved to madness but he never wondered what came before. "No, you changed but there was no change."
"No shit there's somethin' wrong with yer head."
He was right and she knew it. Nobody else saw it. Nobody else seemed to stir. It was stupid to say what was already known, that she was broken, debilitated, a mistake. His words would not reduce her to a blubbering mass, she was too proud. She knew how he felt towards her and she accepted it. It was better than indifference.
"Leave! Your the one who put me here. You get us out!"
"You put you here," the second time in any case. Put her there too. The first time did not count. She was petty enough to point out his trespass but not her own. Could she get out? Yes, she dug the hole. What she could make she could unmake, she can break, she can escape. Not that she wanted to, not when he demanded it. A contrarian on demand, his request to leave only made her want to stay. She was deathly stubborn.
"Not enough faces?"
He repeated to himself in a whisper. Yes, that was right, the faces were being recycled.
"Some just look alike, Erin. Don't be daft."
"The same. The same. The same," she chanted, frustration mounting. They were not similar, they were identical. Not that Howard was wrong either -- the family tree looked more like a wreath for many of these purebloods. Perhaps she would suffer the same fate, a permanent insult for a woman - sharing an appearance with another. They can't even stand donning the same dresses at a singular event. The same face? That was a cruelty many would not be able to tolerate.
"Who's they? The crones?"
She took a few breaths. She was not sure. She called them "deathwitches" but she knew nothing more. Well, she knew a bit, Kaegen's mad ramblings, her own erroneous conclusions. "You know about them!" She insisted, he had learned about them when she had those years ago in the Ravenclaw restrooms as claimed by the equally unstable Kaegen Deathmote. "Maybe crones. Maybe them," she pointed in a random direction past Howard that pointed at nothing and nobody in particular. "The giants are dangerous. Maybe they took your face. Maybe it is mine?" Scratch that last one, her eyes widened slightly. How certain was she that she was not the deathwitch. "Not me. Not you," she corrected herself as she attempted to make an inventory outloud. "Erin Ryan. I am fifteen, never sixteen. I am a wizard. Remember the names..."
"Why would they?"
It was enough to pull her back, although lucidity was questionable. "To eat. To hurt. To not be missed," she swallowed hard. "Because we--"
"People come and go all the time. Don't mean anythin' happened to 'em."
A defeated expression. He was right. Did not mean anything. Marcus was fine. Thomas was fine. People came and went and when they returned there was nothing wrong. Just time lost and they re-entered the fold seamlessly, adapting to new friends and classes.
"Just parents pullin' there kids out when shit get crazy. If ours gave a damn we'd probably be gone too. No! I didn't got lookin' for him. He got pulled out, he came back. What else could it be?"
"Bull," Erin replied firmly. the damnable audacity of the privileged prick. "You have that person-lady," mother "that makes the warm and the sun and this other thing-- sugar? Rain?" She did not know how to describe love, or maternal love for that matter. she had never seen it, never experienced it. Never gave it. He had a mother that loved him very much and he loved her. Love, actual love was reciprocal not that there was a trade, it was merely natural order. It should have made her feel something - anger, yes that was what it was supposed to be. Remember the names. "Typical you, not knowing you got something decent in your life," she griped. She was envious of what he had, what she could never have. "Pretty in the places I cannot see but feel and" she made a dismissive motion with her hand "gives you the nice insides nobody else has that no longer match the outside."
The attention on him. On his appearance. On how he has changed since their first, second and subsequent meetings.
"Dude! Of course I don't look the same. Did you seriously not know. About...the change?"
"The change?" She repeated with a tone of distaste. No, she did not know about the change. Well, his change. She knew roughly what 'the change' was, the dark transformation she was experiencing. He was too young for the change wasn't he? How fucking old was he? Was she old? No, fifteen. Always fifteen. She squinted as she looked up at him. "They did it to you too?" Was this the outcome? The corpse-like, sickly visage before her what awaited her as well. If that was true. "It hurts... so much," she admitted. She was referring to her bones, how they ached. How her head throbbed. How her teeth felt wrong and how she could feel her joints pop and crack as she moved. Her skin felt itchy, she had this impulse to scratch until she bled but denied herself the compulsion.
She did not like the change. She did not want the change. She wanted to get out, she did not want to stay. Up and out. The place he was sending her to panic was screaming to comply. "Do you remember their names? Did you even notice when they disappeared. Do. You. Even. Care? Were they ever here? Why don't you remember! Why am I the only one that seems to notice!"
He was moving closer. Not closer. Back! Back monster! The change, he was what she would be. No, "you're not what you say!" She backed away, not that there was far to go. "Hags are exclusively women" and no, she had no reason to believe that Howard was keeping another secret. "You're not changing. You never changed. You never looked!" Looked for the missing. For his friends. For those lost. Even a loveless creature as wretched as she might have been looked, she never betrayed them as deeply as to forget.
Push back, his hands would catch her biceps. She would feel odd, skin too thin, too smooth. Like a peeled, overcooked hardboiled egg. She did not feel like most girls, not that there would be an expectation that she would. She was not soft. Her arm was strangely thin, there was no fat at all to the point where it was unpleasant. A runner's body? No, although that was a logical conclusion. In truth a rat-diet left one a bit thin.
Rattled in a literal sense, she could feel the fluid in her cranium shift to and fro, agitated. "Erin! Erin! The fuck is a matter with you?!"
"I'm FINE!" She insisted, she did not even think it was a lie. She was too far gone. "It is you, all of you" that is the problem here. "The things that watch. That take. That replace. That change and make. Unmake. That I become. It gnaws in my head and it creeps into my bones. That chitter-chitter noise. The bright lights that flash. The coals that die. I am different but you're not the same!" She could feel the cold earth behind her, the leverage that she lacked as he leaned. He was bigger, she remembered that. "I feel it squirm and know it is alive." He knew the truth, he had simply forgotten. They all did. The truth was laid before him years earlier, before her words devolved to madness but he never wondered what came before. "No, you changed but there was no change."
Just a trick of the lighting they said...
8 Jul 2021, 02:49
Pusillanimous Posture
"I put me here!" Howard's voice would raise with each word. Not that there was anyone nearby, but had there been the disembodied voices that rang out across the early morning grounds must have sounded bizarre. "I didn't put this hole here! I didn't throw rocks at my fuckin' head!" His hand would gently touch the wound on his head before showing her blood stained finger tips as if to say "Here! Look! You're the asshole!" "Fucks sake." Howard grumbled as she chanted over and over again like a child refusing to listen. There wasn't any point in continuing to argue with her.
Crones, deathwitches, he knew them! Or at least that's what she would shout in his face. The terms all seemed interchanging to him. "Yeah, I know 'em. You took me there! You brought me to them!" The thought of not continuing to argue was forgotten just a quickly as it came once she opened her mouth again. Howard's red eyes would drift over his shoulder as she pointed to nothing and no one. "What?" The disbelief was mounting. "No, not me, not you, not anyone Erin. Giants are dangerous cuz they'll smash yer head in. Why would they steal faces?! Yes, you are Erin." Never sixteen? "Why won't you be?" The questions were endless as she rambled on and on.
Howard did his best to talk reasonably and convince her she was just mentally spiraling. "That was a long time ago." Only a couple of years but teenagers were dramatic. He was of course speaking of the person-lady, also known as his mother. "Probably care less about what I do now." Another lie. If the two of them weren't so consumed by fear they could easily make their way back to each other, but like most it was just easier to run away and hide. The love was there, as it always would be. They would have to find the strength push past the fear. An emotion that often conquered all others. Only time would tell if either would be capable.
"Yes, the change. To Dhampir! What are you on about?" His brow scrunched in confusion as she looked up at him. It seemed as if there was almost a plea in her gaze. A yearning for understanding? Was she capable? "Did what to me too? The crones didn't do this," he gestured to his own body "to me. What have they done to you Erin?" His attempt to understand would fall flat as she began to lose it.
Howard would close the distance between them, his hands grasping her biceps. He would shake, he would shout, his hands would recoil in shock. He knew of her strength for he had been on the beating side of it enough times, but her arms felt like noodles. Hardened muscles, yes, but much thinner than he ever would have imagined. Sometime the body can be deceptive like that, however there was one thing that no one should possess. Howard's long fingers would wrap around flesh that felt but anything like it. There was no texture, too thin, like an overinflated balloon. It was too smooth as if it were overstretched across muscle and bone.
"Erin." The tone would be unlike any she had ever heard escape his lips. A twinge of fear would lace his words, but the most surprising would be the genuine worry that it carried. "What have they done to you?" Howard repeated. She did her best to explain. The gnawing at her head. The creeping in her bones. It squirms. He would step back to her, his hands reaching for her arms again if she did not prevent him. Howard would lift her arm for further inspection, his clawed fingers digging into her degrading flesh. "What squirms? What. Have. They. Done?" His voice was slow. His question deliberate as his red eyes locked with hers.
Crones, deathwitches, he knew them! Or at least that's what she would shout in his face. The terms all seemed interchanging to him. "Yeah, I know 'em. You took me there! You brought me to them!" The thought of not continuing to argue was forgotten just a quickly as it came once she opened her mouth again. Howard's red eyes would drift over his shoulder as she pointed to nothing and no one. "What?" The disbelief was mounting. "No, not me, not you, not anyone Erin. Giants are dangerous cuz they'll smash yer head in. Why would they steal faces?! Yes, you are Erin." Never sixteen? "Why won't you be?" The questions were endless as she rambled on and on.
Howard did his best to talk reasonably and convince her she was just mentally spiraling. "That was a long time ago." Only a couple of years but teenagers were dramatic. He was of course speaking of the person-lady, also known as his mother. "Probably care less about what I do now." Another lie. If the two of them weren't so consumed by fear they could easily make their way back to each other, but like most it was just easier to run away and hide. The love was there, as it always would be. They would have to find the strength push past the fear. An emotion that often conquered all others. Only time would tell if either would be capable.
"Yes, the change. To Dhampir! What are you on about?" His brow scrunched in confusion as she looked up at him. It seemed as if there was almost a plea in her gaze. A yearning for understanding? Was she capable? "Did what to me too? The crones didn't do this," he gestured to his own body "to me. What have they done to you Erin?" His attempt to understand would fall flat as she began to lose it.
Howard would close the distance between them, his hands grasping her biceps. He would shake, he would shout, his hands would recoil in shock. He knew of her strength for he had been on the beating side of it enough times, but her arms felt like noodles. Hardened muscles, yes, but much thinner than he ever would have imagined. Sometime the body can be deceptive like that, however there was one thing that no one should possess. Howard's long fingers would wrap around flesh that felt but anything like it. There was no texture, too thin, like an overinflated balloon. It was too smooth as if it were overstretched across muscle and bone.
"Erin." The tone would be unlike any she had ever heard escape his lips. A twinge of fear would lace his words, but the most surprising would be the genuine worry that it carried. "What have they done to you?" Howard repeated. She did her best to explain. The gnawing at her head. The creeping in her bones. It squirms. He would step back to her, his hands reaching for her arms again if she did not prevent him. Howard would lift her arm for further inspection, his clawed fingers digging into her degrading flesh. "What squirms? What. Have. They. Done?" His voice was slow. His question deliberate as his red eyes locked with hers.
8 Jul 2021, 18:26
Pusillanimous Posture
Howard did something that in multiple years nobody else had, not truly and not more than a perhaps fleeting comment before they became a part of the destructive machine. A statement of logic, of grounded reality. There was no passive acceptance of a faulty truth, just a reinforcement of a reality different from her own. Truth with questions asked and the simplest of inquiries made -- what is wrong and what happened not in general but to something she could define and perhaps even partially understand or recall to her.
He was right, Howard did not dig the hole but he did enter it twice. Not that the part Veela was any good at listening. Not that she had not tried, her wires were just crossed and she was as stubborn as she was insane. The deathwitchs. "Yeah, I know 'em. You took me there! You brought me to them!"
"I did not," she protested. "I took you to-- them," a flicker of recognition. Maybe crones. Maybe them, the first time she admitted the possibility in spite of it being obvious. She was aware that there were hags, or as her ego preferred to call them 'crones' -- creatures with the ability to choose their form. Creatures that were powerful and she was quite aware, were dangerous. Yet she preferred the other word, something that separated her from them. Something that made them different, a nebulous threat that had nothing to do with her.
She rambled on, there were so many moving parts she was not able to keep them in order. She had all the parts, she just had the wrong conclusion, the wrong order, the wrong associations. "What?" She was not making much sense and Howard was doing the best with what he had, which was a cracked teen. "No, not me, not you, not anyone Erin. Giants are dangerous cuz they'll smash yer head in. Why would they steal faces?!" She was spiraling and she knew it. She needed to ground herself. She needed to remember. To calm. To hold on. So she reminded herself -- "Yes, you are Erin." For now at the very least, until that finally slips away. Never sixteen? "Why won't you be?"
"I change," she replied. Change, like-- "be something else." That was a good thing, right? It was what she wanted and what every instinct inside of her screamed in protest of. Her mind was slipping, her memories held ephemeral, like water running through her fingers. She wanted to change, but she still wished to be.
"That was a long time ago."Perhaps in teen years. "Probably care less about what I do now." Her gut was full of stones and a thorn pricked at her heart.
"A lie then?" A defining moment for her was a fleeting, false sensation for him. Wow. Everything was lies with him too, just like Thomas, just like Jack. He referenced a change, the change. That was impossible, hags were exclusively female. He was a lot of thing but she was certain a woman was not among them. "Yes, the change. To Dhampir! What are you on about?"
"What?" He looked the part - tall, pale, and ghastly. She just never looked closely at him. "I thought you were just sick." All of the time, the sunken eyes and cheeks, the pallid skin, the thickened keratin about his nails some sort of fungal infection. Wizard cancer? Bulimia to manage his ghoulish figure? "Maybe--" she squinted at him. "What those muggles call goth?" She was not the sort to stare, she would never notice his lacking presence at meals or his alternative supplements. His teeth were odd, not that his mouth was interesting enough to stare at, the fangs were noticeable enough - an overbite. He needed braces, not a pint of O negative. Red eyes - contact lenses.
"Did what to me too? The crones didn't do this," she slowed down, but she did not calm down.
"They took-- took your flesh? No-no," she shook her head. Close, but no. "finger..." she wiggled a single digit. "Nail," a small triumph. She remembered that, she took him down to see them. He was 'normal' back then she thought. Did she have the order wrong. He was different after she thought.
"to me. What have they done to you Erin?"
"Y-you're different, but not them-different," she confirmed.
"Did what to me too? The crones didn't do this," he repeated and she nodded. Yes, Howard was different. Howard was Howard. "To me. What have they done to you Erin?" It was fine. She just needed to calm down.
That was not possible. There was too much to reconcile. Too much lost. Too many things were wrong. She knew that the giants were something more. There were confessions, there was the fall ball dance that everyone had seemed to have forgotten. There were the missing people, people everyone seemed fine to again forget about. What about Thomas? They were friends at one point. She was confident that there was and would be nothing but animosity between her and LeStrange but even she had enough humanity to look. She was a great many things, but among them was not liar.
Escape was what she needed. Not from fate, that she could not outrun forever. She could outrun a dhampir. Yet there was a wall too climb, the pit too narrow to make the escape and he would have her. His hands would wrap around, yes fully, her upper arm. He would feel what she barely noticed. Like slowly rising the temperature of the water so a toad does not realize that it is being boiled alive. Her flesh had grown smooth and thin, her limbs narrow and gangly. It was one of those things that someone does not notice until they see themselves in a photograph or truly look at themselves in the mirror only to realize -- I have grown old.
"Erin."
"What," she snapped. A delay before a change in expression. Something new. Something unfelt before. Unlikely to be felt again, something worth savoring even if she would never have the opportunity to understand it. To make it on her own. He had been getting through, even if it was hard to process.
Try.
The things that watch. That take. That replace. That change and make. Unmake. That I become. It gnaws in my head and it creeps into my bones. That chitter-chitter noise. The bright lights that flash. The coals that die. I am different but you're not the same! I feel it squirm and know it is alive. No, you changed but there was no change.
She was trying. Words are hard. Thoughts are hard. She tried to swallow, swallowing was hard. Don't run. No RUN, a monster. A liar. Don't run. He is coming. Don't run. He is going to kill you. So what? Logic and paranoia in the same rooms, in the end the conclusion the same. She would flinch but not defend herself when he took her arm. Tanned, unlike his own, the girl worshipped the son. Too thin. His hands could easily wrap around the widest part of her arm, which was the elbow. He could see her veins easily, the skin was thin and smooth. No darkness, not like the curse that had plagued his peers
He would not see it at first, the wiggling that she mentioned. His claws digging into the thin skin, a suggestion of fragility that her persona defied. It would not take much to tear the skin, the pressure of his claws had just then inadvertently. She took a short breath through her nose and said nothing.
"What squirms? What. Have. They. Done?"
There was an eerie pause that followed as she looked up at him and then her eyes flickered away. "Just--" She gathered her hair and tossed it over her other shoulder and turned around. Her arm, the one that Howard held contorted. She could see it pop and roll in its socket in a manner that defied natural function.
Her back was badly scared. He had seen them before but he had never ventured to ask -- why would an allegedly pureblooded wizard have scars? Many scars, as previously described a maze of scars. "They took my flesh and gave me a heart like yours in a locket so that I might finally live" the heart that Jack broke so she cast it away. "Like you," the one she so envied the ensured he would revile her so she would never be irrelevant. "And in the hollow left behind when they crafted my heart, they filled with short, fat worm," slugs. He would see it actually, something shift beneath her skin. Something move. "But only I seem to hear them sing," she frowned into the earthen wall she stared at. Her arm, whichever one it was that Howard had gripped turned the wrong way. Then, there he would feel it. Something wiggle, or worm under his claw and pry past his fingers. "A change more permanent than the heart like yours I envied, for the love and fear, the jealousy and joy you had as an endless stream," a phrase he might have recalled. He was the stream from which the crones drank, the example of what she wanted. "To no longer be forced to emulate but finally create. I would no longer have to be hated to be relevant," to live in the void that was her existence. "But it came with a cost, nothing is free. The slugs inside of me are changing me, soon..." a few months from now "I will be like them and..." she sighed. "I don't want to be me anymore anyways really. I just do not wish to forget what I was. Nobody else will remember."
He was right, Howard did not dig the hole but he did enter it twice. Not that the part Veela was any good at listening. Not that she had not tried, her wires were just crossed and she was as stubborn as she was insane. The deathwitchs. "Yeah, I know 'em. You took me there! You brought me to them!"
"I did not," she protested. "I took you to-- them," a flicker of recognition. Maybe crones. Maybe them, the first time she admitted the possibility in spite of it being obvious. She was aware that there were hags, or as her ego preferred to call them 'crones' -- creatures with the ability to choose their form. Creatures that were powerful and she was quite aware, were dangerous. Yet she preferred the other word, something that separated her from them. Something that made them different, a nebulous threat that had nothing to do with her.
She rambled on, there were so many moving parts she was not able to keep them in order. She had all the parts, she just had the wrong conclusion, the wrong order, the wrong associations. "What?" She was not making much sense and Howard was doing the best with what he had, which was a cracked teen. "No, not me, not you, not anyone Erin. Giants are dangerous cuz they'll smash yer head in. Why would they steal faces?!" She was spiraling and she knew it. She needed to ground herself. She needed to remember. To calm. To hold on. So she reminded herself -- "Yes, you are Erin." For now at the very least, until that finally slips away. Never sixteen? "Why won't you be?"
"I change," she replied. Change, like-- "be something else." That was a good thing, right? It was what she wanted and what every instinct inside of her screamed in protest of. Her mind was slipping, her memories held ephemeral, like water running through her fingers. She wanted to change, but she still wished to be.
"That was a long time ago."Perhaps in teen years. "Probably care less about what I do now." Her gut was full of stones and a thorn pricked at her heart.
"A lie then?" A defining moment for her was a fleeting, false sensation for him. Wow. Everything was lies with him too, just like Thomas, just like Jack. He referenced a change, the change. That was impossible, hags were exclusively female. He was a lot of thing but she was certain a woman was not among them. "Yes, the change. To Dhampir! What are you on about?"
"What?" He looked the part - tall, pale, and ghastly. She just never looked closely at him. "I thought you were just sick." All of the time, the sunken eyes and cheeks, the pallid skin, the thickened keratin about his nails some sort of fungal infection. Wizard cancer? Bulimia to manage his ghoulish figure? "Maybe--" she squinted at him. "What those muggles call goth?" She was not the sort to stare, she would never notice his lacking presence at meals or his alternative supplements. His teeth were odd, not that his mouth was interesting enough to stare at, the fangs were noticeable enough - an overbite. He needed braces, not a pint of O negative. Red eyes - contact lenses.
"Did what to me too? The crones didn't do this," she slowed down, but she did not calm down.
"They took-- took your flesh? No-no," she shook her head. Close, but no. "finger..." she wiggled a single digit. "Nail," a small triumph. She remembered that, she took him down to see them. He was 'normal' back then she thought. Did she have the order wrong. He was different after she thought.
"to me. What have they done to you Erin?"
"Y-you're different, but not them-different," she confirmed.
"Did what to me too? The crones didn't do this," he repeated and she nodded. Yes, Howard was different. Howard was Howard. "To me. What have they done to you Erin?" It was fine. She just needed to calm down.
That was not possible. There was too much to reconcile. Too much lost. Too many things were wrong. She knew that the giants were something more. There were confessions, there was the fall ball dance that everyone had seemed to have forgotten. There were the missing people, people everyone seemed fine to again forget about. What about Thomas? They were friends at one point. She was confident that there was and would be nothing but animosity between her and LeStrange but even she had enough humanity to look. She was a great many things, but among them was not liar.
Escape was what she needed. Not from fate, that she could not outrun forever. She could outrun a dhampir. Yet there was a wall too climb, the pit too narrow to make the escape and he would have her. His hands would wrap around, yes fully, her upper arm. He would feel what she barely noticed. Like slowly rising the temperature of the water so a toad does not realize that it is being boiled alive. Her flesh had grown smooth and thin, her limbs narrow and gangly. It was one of those things that someone does not notice until they see themselves in a photograph or truly look at themselves in the mirror only to realize -- I have grown old.
"Erin."
"What," she snapped. A delay before a change in expression. Something new. Something unfelt before. Unlikely to be felt again, something worth savoring even if she would never have the opportunity to understand it. To make it on her own. He had been getting through, even if it was hard to process.
Try.
The things that watch. That take. That replace. That change and make. Unmake. That I become. It gnaws in my head and it creeps into my bones. That chitter-chitter noise. The bright lights that flash. The coals that die. I am different but you're not the same! I feel it squirm and know it is alive. No, you changed but there was no change.
She was trying. Words are hard. Thoughts are hard. She tried to swallow, swallowing was hard. Don't run. No RUN, a monster. A liar. Don't run. He is coming. Don't run. He is going to kill you. So what? Logic and paranoia in the same rooms, in the end the conclusion the same. She would flinch but not defend herself when he took her arm. Tanned, unlike his own, the girl worshipped the son. Too thin. His hands could easily wrap around the widest part of her arm, which was the elbow. He could see her veins easily, the skin was thin and smooth. No darkness, not like the curse that had plagued his peers
He would not see it at first, the wiggling that she mentioned. His claws digging into the thin skin, a suggestion of fragility that her persona defied. It would not take much to tear the skin, the pressure of his claws had just then inadvertently. She took a short breath through her nose and said nothing.
"What squirms? What. Have. They. Done?"
There was an eerie pause that followed as she looked up at him and then her eyes flickered away. "Just--" She gathered her hair and tossed it over her other shoulder and turned around. Her arm, the one that Howard held contorted. She could see it pop and roll in its socket in a manner that defied natural function.
Her back was badly scared. He had seen them before but he had never ventured to ask -- why would an allegedly pureblooded wizard have scars? Many scars, as previously described a maze of scars. "They took my flesh and gave me a heart like yours in a locket so that I might finally live" the heart that Jack broke so she cast it away. "Like you," the one she so envied the ensured he would revile her so she would never be irrelevant. "And in the hollow left behind when they crafted my heart, they filled with short, fat worm," slugs. He would see it actually, something shift beneath her skin. Something move. "But only I seem to hear them sing," she frowned into the earthen wall she stared at. Her arm, whichever one it was that Howard had gripped turned the wrong way. Then, there he would feel it. Something wiggle, or worm under his claw and pry past his fingers. "A change more permanent than the heart like yours I envied, for the love and fear, the jealousy and joy you had as an endless stream," a phrase he might have recalled. He was the stream from which the crones drank, the example of what she wanted. "To no longer be forced to emulate but finally create. I would no longer have to be hated to be relevant," to live in the void that was her existence. "But it came with a cost, nothing is free. The slugs inside of me are changing me, soon..." a few months from now "I will be like them and..." she sighed. "I don't want to be me anymore anyways really. I just do not wish to forget what I was. Nobody else will remember."
Just a trick of the lighting they said...
15 Jul 2021, 04:15
Pusillanimous Posture
Perhaps Howard's simple thought process could potentially benefit Erin. It wasn't that he was stupid, but to call him bright would be a lie. He saw things in black and white because it was just easier to process that way. His peers often seemed to have these deep and complicated trains of thought, especially those nerdy Ravenclaws or tricky Slytherins. When others were faced with Erin's madness, in most cases her fellow snakes, they for whatever reason felt the need to perpetuate her delusions or take advantage of the mentally addled girl. This wasn't to say that Howard was some angel that felt compelled to help those in need. What Erin was saying didn't seem true and he did his best to correct her, simple as that. This approach may do nothing to save girl, but at least for the first time someone would be honest with her.
"Yes, you took me to 'em, that's right." Howard nodded along as inklings of remembrance flickered through her mind, but the moment wouldn't last long before she began to ramble once more. He would again try to break through the madness. Again she would have a brief moment of clarity. "Change? To what? What is something else? I don't get it."
"It's wasn't a lie. It's just...different now." Howard couldn't deny the love he carried for his mother no matter how hard he tried to distance himself from the emotion. Even in this very moment, stuck in a dark hole with a girl that was transforming into something horrible, he would still feel it tug at his heartstrings before he threw up his wall. To keep it pushed away was to deny himself something special, but it also protected him from the pain of separation.
"No, not sick. I became Dhampir. Like Keagen, like Nico." Howard repeated slowly, offering her names to reference. "Yes." He encouraged her as she remembered the night they went to the crones. "I wasn't Dhampir then. They took my nail." He held up his index finger to confirm she was right, the area was still slightly scarred and the nail darker than the rest. Them-different. What? Howard would try to get it through her head that what was happening to her and what happened to him were not the same, but it proved too much.
Her mind would fall back into the loop. Giants weren't giants. The people were missing. Faces were stolen. Howard would attempt to shake her out of it and it would be then he realized it was more than her mind that was rapidly degrading. As his hands grasped her gaunt arms the flesh would tear where he gripped too hard. His mouth would salivate. Not in the way it usually did when flesh was torn, but in the way it does when the urge to vomit strikes you. Howard would steady himself with a gulp. What have the done?
A gasp would escape his lips as she turned away from him. The shock of what was happening kept his hand gripped on her arm as the appendage loosened from the socket and rolled with minimal force. As she shifted her hair it would reveal the flesh of her back. Howard had seen a glimpse of it before, but now that they were this close it became apparent just how badly scarred she was. Howard breathe deeply in an attempt to calm himself as she began to tell her tale.
When Howard went to the Hags he would seek power. Whatever form it may be he yearned to have the ability to decide his own destiny. When Erin went she asked for the ability to finally feel something. Leave it to the vile creatures to use someone like her. Someone desperate for an inkling of what everyone else took for granted. Tragic and deeply sad in its own right, but the price would come at a staggering cost. For Howard he merely became an errand boy, but for her she must play host to a parasite. One that was slowly transforming her into something terrible. Howard would see it first before he felt it under his fingers. A truth coming to him as he did. For so long he was determined the Hags had lead him towards his change. That the power he sought was granted through their dark magic. How could he not. Ask for power and you shall receive. Heightened senses and reflexes. Hardened muscles and lethal claws. All just a coincidence. It was his own dark desire for power that had pushed him down the path to Morgantha. A deception weaved by master manipulators. The real change was what was happening to Erin, what he felt just beneath his fingers. The anger that coursed through his body was unlike any he had felt before. It usually came quick, burning hot and consumed his mind. This he would feel in his belly. Just a spark that in time would grow to a wild fire, but his mind would remain clear.
Howard's hand would release her arm and slide up to her shoulder as she made her admission, his long fingers resting just at the base of her neck. "Can't they fix it? Can't I?" He asked, a note of sorrow hung to his words. There was no love between the two, but she had become a constant in his life. No one deserved what was happening. Not even her, but perhaps there was no stopping it. Two things he would know in that very moment. The Hags must be destroyed and Erin Ryan must never be allowed her transformation. She would however be wrong on one account. "I will never forget you, Erin."
"Yes, you took me to 'em, that's right." Howard nodded along as inklings of remembrance flickered through her mind, but the moment wouldn't last long before she began to ramble once more. He would again try to break through the madness. Again she would have a brief moment of clarity. "Change? To what? What is something else? I don't get it."
"It's wasn't a lie. It's just...different now." Howard couldn't deny the love he carried for his mother no matter how hard he tried to distance himself from the emotion. Even in this very moment, stuck in a dark hole with a girl that was transforming into something horrible, he would still feel it tug at his heartstrings before he threw up his wall. To keep it pushed away was to deny himself something special, but it also protected him from the pain of separation.
"No, not sick. I became Dhampir. Like Keagen, like Nico." Howard repeated slowly, offering her names to reference. "Yes." He encouraged her as she remembered the night they went to the crones. "I wasn't Dhampir then. They took my nail." He held up his index finger to confirm she was right, the area was still slightly scarred and the nail darker than the rest. Them-different. What? Howard would try to get it through her head that what was happening to her and what happened to him were not the same, but it proved too much.
Her mind would fall back into the loop. Giants weren't giants. The people were missing. Faces were stolen. Howard would attempt to shake her out of it and it would be then he realized it was more than her mind that was rapidly degrading. As his hands grasped her gaunt arms the flesh would tear where he gripped too hard. His mouth would salivate. Not in the way it usually did when flesh was torn, but in the way it does when the urge to vomit strikes you. Howard would steady himself with a gulp. What have the done?
A gasp would escape his lips as she turned away from him. The shock of what was happening kept his hand gripped on her arm as the appendage loosened from the socket and rolled with minimal force. As she shifted her hair it would reveal the flesh of her back. Howard had seen a glimpse of it before, but now that they were this close it became apparent just how badly scarred she was. Howard breathe deeply in an attempt to calm himself as she began to tell her tale.
When Howard went to the Hags he would seek power. Whatever form it may be he yearned to have the ability to decide his own destiny. When Erin went she asked for the ability to finally feel something. Leave it to the vile creatures to use someone like her. Someone desperate for an inkling of what everyone else took for granted. Tragic and deeply sad in its own right, but the price would come at a staggering cost. For Howard he merely became an errand boy, but for her she must play host to a parasite. One that was slowly transforming her into something terrible. Howard would see it first before he felt it under his fingers. A truth coming to him as he did. For so long he was determined the Hags had lead him towards his change. That the power he sought was granted through their dark magic. How could he not. Ask for power and you shall receive. Heightened senses and reflexes. Hardened muscles and lethal claws. All just a coincidence. It was his own dark desire for power that had pushed him down the path to Morgantha. A deception weaved by master manipulators. The real change was what was happening to Erin, what he felt just beneath his fingers. The anger that coursed through his body was unlike any he had felt before. It usually came quick, burning hot and consumed his mind. This he would feel in his belly. Just a spark that in time would grow to a wild fire, but his mind would remain clear.
Howard's hand would release her arm and slide up to her shoulder as she made her admission, his long fingers resting just at the base of her neck. "Can't they fix it? Can't I?" He asked, a note of sorrow hung to his words. There was no love between the two, but she had become a constant in his life. No one deserved what was happening. Not even her, but perhaps there was no stopping it. Two things he would know in that very moment. The Hags must be destroyed and Erin Ryan must never be allowed her transformation. She would however be wrong on one account. "I will never forget you, Erin."
16 Jul 2021, 02:57
Pusillanimous Posture
Howard actually had more pieces to the puzzle than he knew. Morgantha was associated with the hags, she always was. She also had ties to a number of top players and he was one of the only people that knew that she had found her way onto the grounds. Her presence, his 'change' was more than mere coincidence. Hags were a great many things but they were true to the very letter of their word -- it was just the result was often a twisted malformation of the speaker's true intention. It was a perversion perpetuated by their wants, by their 'needs' and by their sin. Howard's want for power and his undirected rage made him a perfect target but he never understood for what or for why. The worst errand boy in the history of forever, he had never delivered anything and they never sought to take or enforce a deal. Why?
She would show Howard the truth.
In the end Erin had no reason to hide it, no reason to lie. She was a great many things but a liar was not among them for a very long time. Would she have lied to get what she wanted? To get what she needed? Yes, in the blink of an eye. She had lied so many times, always with terrible purpose that even now as she approached the end of her story she did not find herself regretting her trespasses. She needed it -- their ire, their pain and their agitation, it served as a salve, as a source of power, it was what gave her world color, meaning and substance.
She explained. Again, no reason to lie. She told him as she understood it but her perspective was limited. Her madness was profound.
There was a tone of defeat in her words, a sense of acceptance. There was no desperate bid to stop the change, perhaps that was because the change had already effected her mind so.
"Can't they fix it? Can't I?"
They who? The Professors, the infallible protectors of the realm. The hags, the story's convenient villain. "Doubtful," she answered simply as she let her hair fall over the healed gashes in her back. It was not an act of vanity, it was a merciful attempt to safeguard the viewer's sensibilities as her previously held arm fell to her side. A visible pop and click as the humeral head re-entered her socket.
He would feel the strands of straw-colored hair brush past his forearm, held partly at bay by his hand which rested perilously close to her windpipe, her spine. Hardly a trust exercise, she simply lacked reasonable fear. Minutes ago they were in the throes of combat and now-- this was the closest they might come to a heart-to-heart. She simply went with it, his concern even if feigned was more than she had received to date. She would deal with the consequences at a later time.
"I doubt it matters really," she added with raw honesty. She was not an agent of chance, she was just a leaf... albeit a stubborn leaf, in the midst of a storm. She would have no say in her fate if she survived long enough to realize it. Her mortality was a constant consideration, her hope was not for a cure or a reprieve but rather a swift ending. Her story would end and her life would be nothing but a footnote, a forgettable aside. She had no legacy and her life would have held no meaning.
"I will never forget you, Erin."
"I believe you," she lied. A rare, useless-seeming lie of little significance beyond what it meant for her. The lie did not help her this time. A lie with a singular motive -- to alleviate the curious feeling that came from him. Capable of empathy, the locket was gone and she would not feel that heavy and she had no hope to understand it, it was something new, it was not hers, but it sounded painful. It just was no her pain, it was his and somehow she was associated. A half smile, she did not know how to smile fully, broadly or truly. Not that it would have been believable if she had tried to smile fully. Smiles had a time and a place, they had sentiments she scarcely knew or understood.
"I should go," she added awkwardly. She looked up, the lip of the pit was far enough away that it would be troublesome to climb. That was of course the intention, the pit was a trap. The trick to escape was not to make a running leap, there was no ground to gain speed. The trick was to use the walls to their advantage, then the depth does not matter.
She had dug the hole so she had been down here before under different circumstances. She would crack her neck, the pop of her spine could be felt underhand. "I am sorry for being an asshole," she announced without looking as she started to attempt to climb. Unless he planned on hanging onto her neck, she would feel his hand fall away. "I like to climb narrow spaces, being high makes me feel safer," she added. A nonsensical addition perhaps to impart. "You can climb high too," he did not need her help to escape the pit. He was able to claw at the earth and ascend like a madman, far from methodical but he was a creature of passion rather than logic.
She was not going to offer him a hand unless he asked when she reached sod. A creature of pride. Not truly a friend. Not something that would admit or should debility, a need for assistance. This was not the virtue of pride but rather that animalistic instinct that weakness preceded defeat and death. It was not Howard's time to die. Not today, not yet.
They would meet again a handful of times. The next being the Blossom Ball. The time after, perhaps summer. Perhaps not. She would not expect to see him many times so she would leave him with a few words upon departure. "The crones left the dungeons a almost year ago, but the darkness is still there. It does not want me. Watch the moon. People smell like food. I have developed a taste for rats. Don't eat the food - the people food or the food for people. The forgetting forgets to remember." Perhaps her mind slipped again. Perhaps she gave him the little she knew.
She would show Howard the truth.
In the end Erin had no reason to hide it, no reason to lie. She was a great many things but a liar was not among them for a very long time. Would she have lied to get what she wanted? To get what she needed? Yes, in the blink of an eye. She had lied so many times, always with terrible purpose that even now as she approached the end of her story she did not find herself regretting her trespasses. She needed it -- their ire, their pain and their agitation, it served as a salve, as a source of power, it was what gave her world color, meaning and substance.
She explained. Again, no reason to lie. She told him as she understood it but her perspective was limited. Her madness was profound.
There was a tone of defeat in her words, a sense of acceptance. There was no desperate bid to stop the change, perhaps that was because the change had already effected her mind so.
"Can't they fix it? Can't I?"
They who? The Professors, the infallible protectors of the realm. The hags, the story's convenient villain. "Doubtful," she answered simply as she let her hair fall over the healed gashes in her back. It was not an act of vanity, it was a merciful attempt to safeguard the viewer's sensibilities as her previously held arm fell to her side. A visible pop and click as the humeral head re-entered her socket.
He would feel the strands of straw-colored hair brush past his forearm, held partly at bay by his hand which rested perilously close to her windpipe, her spine. Hardly a trust exercise, she simply lacked reasonable fear. Minutes ago they were in the throes of combat and now-- this was the closest they might come to a heart-to-heart. She simply went with it, his concern even if feigned was more than she had received to date. She would deal with the consequences at a later time.
"I doubt it matters really," she added with raw honesty. She was not an agent of chance, she was just a leaf... albeit a stubborn leaf, in the midst of a storm. She would have no say in her fate if she survived long enough to realize it. Her mortality was a constant consideration, her hope was not for a cure or a reprieve but rather a swift ending. Her story would end and her life would be nothing but a footnote, a forgettable aside. She had no legacy and her life would have held no meaning.
"I will never forget you, Erin."
"I believe you," she lied. A rare, useless-seeming lie of little significance beyond what it meant for her. The lie did not help her this time. A lie with a singular motive -- to alleviate the curious feeling that came from him. Capable of empathy, the locket was gone and she would not feel that heavy and she had no hope to understand it, it was something new, it was not hers, but it sounded painful. It just was no her pain, it was his and somehow she was associated. A half smile, she did not know how to smile fully, broadly or truly. Not that it would have been believable if she had tried to smile fully. Smiles had a time and a place, they had sentiments she scarcely knew or understood.
"I should go," she added awkwardly. She looked up, the lip of the pit was far enough away that it would be troublesome to climb. That was of course the intention, the pit was a trap. The trick to escape was not to make a running leap, there was no ground to gain speed. The trick was to use the walls to their advantage, then the depth does not matter.
She had dug the hole so she had been down here before under different circumstances. She would crack her neck, the pop of her spine could be felt underhand. "I am sorry for being an asshole," she announced without looking as she started to attempt to climb. Unless he planned on hanging onto her neck, she would feel his hand fall away. "I like to climb narrow spaces, being high makes me feel safer," she added. A nonsensical addition perhaps to impart. "You can climb high too," he did not need her help to escape the pit. He was able to claw at the earth and ascend like a madman, far from methodical but he was a creature of passion rather than logic.
She was not going to offer him a hand unless he asked when she reached sod. A creature of pride. Not truly a friend. Not something that would admit or should debility, a need for assistance. This was not the virtue of pride but rather that animalistic instinct that weakness preceded defeat and death. It was not Howard's time to die. Not today, not yet.
They would meet again a handful of times. The next being the Blossom Ball. The time after, perhaps summer. Perhaps not. She would not expect to see him many times so she would leave him with a few words upon departure. "The crones left the dungeons a almost year ago, but the darkness is still there. It does not want me. Watch the moon. People smell like food. I have developed a taste for rats. Don't eat the food - the people food or the food for people. The forgetting forgets to remember." Perhaps her mind slipped again. Perhaps she gave him the little she knew.
[Topic Left unless Stopped]
Just a trick of the lighting they said...