Dare I get Sentimental
Dated: early summercamp, undeclared day 2023
Seeking answers in the cruelest of places, nature. The boundless heavens and the hills that escape view into a forested wilderness. That was where they were: the weird women. The weird women lived in the forest and they were both strange and powerful. It was not their dwelling scattered with tanned skins and bones that unsettled her, or their penchant for meat. She betrayed all common sense and dignity when she came to them seeking that which she lacked, a heart. Like all fae, hags loved to make deals, to concoct some sort of agreement between themselves and the foolish mortal that was desperate enough to agree to their terms.
For Erin Ryan, it was this numbness she felt. This sense that she was in the wrong body, an observer to the passage of the world. Distinct and separate, she hungered and possessed the same biology as any other child, but she was just born wrong. The doctors called it alexithymia, a difficulty experiencing, identifying, and expressing emotions. She was far from "mad," but rather her ability to feel the same basic sentiments as others was muted, underdeveloped. Her mother was absent through her childhood, a full-blooded Veela, it was a terrible secret harbored by both herself and her brother that they were not 'truly' pureblooded. Her father was not a cruel or a kind man, simply indifferent. In part, he likely never intended to have children but he dutifully provided for them as a biological progenitor should, but there was no true affection. Words such as 'care' or 'love' were not expressed in her home, among her kin and for the most part her family were black sheep's that existed in the shadow of more glorious pureblooded families. However, as clinical as her father was, in truth his relative indifference was merely a symptom of his own disability caused by the subject of his study, dementors. It was the years in close proximity to these dark and fearsome creatures that his own emotional range was blunted and his children's was stunted. Much like a child that did not get the proper vitamins and failed to grow to their intended height, Erin never learned how to love or how to hate and as dim as she might have been, she understood that there was something wrong with her. She saw it in the world around her, in the smiles and the tears, in the giggles and the sighs as life moved on without her and she just wanted one thing - to feel something, anything at all.
So a deal was made with the very crones whose blood now fertilized the flowers outside of Hogsmeade. Whose unmarked graves were already covered with Ivy. She would get what she wanted, a range of emotions and the madness that came from it. A flood, an endless stream of raw, undulating emotion. Passion and wrath, fear and giddiness, hope and sorrow, all at once and unfiltered. She felt, too much as the hysteria became delirium and the great annelid that had been housed in her left her hollow.
Yet during her terrible tenure, she had seen things. Awesome and abhorrent things, it was no wonder they wanted her dead and it was no wonder that she feared them, a collective for those wise enough to realize what she was about to become. She should have been angry, but whatever she should have been feeling was blunted. Bunted by this dispassionate sense of 'it happened... so what.' So what if her cousins chose to hunt her, they were pulled to other schools or they were already dead? So what if she was alone, all of her friends either gone or devoured by the very crones that made this grass so green? she did not care because she did not know how to care. How to care about the dead, the undead and those with the displeasure of still being alone.
So as Summer Camp began, the humdrum melody of academia broke way to hoots and hollers. To summertide amusement, she had taken her perch on a hill. It was always wise to take the high ground. To watch as droves of foreign and domestic wizards made their way across the lawn the cabins and she was left to wonder if he would grace them with their presence. Him being Yefim. Only, if he did come, she would never see him pass. she would see others of course in the same militant uniform far too heavy for their more temperate climate and she would let out a sigh. It was the grandest expression of sentiment she could muster, he was not there, he was not coming and the defeatist in her told her 'never returning.' It was probably right and she took a strange pleasure in the small ache she felt, barely perceivable in her chest. It was something, as small as it was, a sentiment.
Seeking answers in the cruelest of places, nature. The boundless heavens and the hills that escape view into a forested wilderness. That was where they were: the weird women. The weird women lived in the forest and they were both strange and powerful. It was not their dwelling scattered with tanned skins and bones that unsettled her, or their penchant for meat. She betrayed all common sense and dignity when she came to them seeking that which she lacked, a heart. Like all fae, hags loved to make deals, to concoct some sort of agreement between themselves and the foolish mortal that was desperate enough to agree to their terms.
For Erin Ryan, it was this numbness she felt. This sense that she was in the wrong body, an observer to the passage of the world. Distinct and separate, she hungered and possessed the same biology as any other child, but she was just born wrong. The doctors called it alexithymia, a difficulty experiencing, identifying, and expressing emotions. She was far from "mad," but rather her ability to feel the same basic sentiments as others was muted, underdeveloped. Her mother was absent through her childhood, a full-blooded Veela, it was a terrible secret harbored by both herself and her brother that they were not 'truly' pureblooded. Her father was not a cruel or a kind man, simply indifferent. In part, he likely never intended to have children but he dutifully provided for them as a biological progenitor should, but there was no true affection. Words such as 'care' or 'love' were not expressed in her home, among her kin and for the most part her family were black sheep's that existed in the shadow of more glorious pureblooded families. However, as clinical as her father was, in truth his relative indifference was merely a symptom of his own disability caused by the subject of his study, dementors. It was the years in close proximity to these dark and fearsome creatures that his own emotional range was blunted and his children's was stunted. Much like a child that did not get the proper vitamins and failed to grow to their intended height, Erin never learned how to love or how to hate and as dim as she might have been, she understood that there was something wrong with her. She saw it in the world around her, in the smiles and the tears, in the giggles and the sighs as life moved on without her and she just wanted one thing - to feel something, anything at all.
So a deal was made with the very crones whose blood now fertilized the flowers outside of Hogsmeade. Whose unmarked graves were already covered with Ivy. She would get what she wanted, a range of emotions and the madness that came from it. A flood, an endless stream of raw, undulating emotion. Passion and wrath, fear and giddiness, hope and sorrow, all at once and unfiltered. She felt, too much as the hysteria became delirium and the great annelid that had been housed in her left her hollow.
Yet during her terrible tenure, she had seen things. Awesome and abhorrent things, it was no wonder they wanted her dead and it was no wonder that she feared them, a collective for those wise enough to realize what she was about to become. She should have been angry, but whatever she should have been feeling was blunted. Bunted by this dispassionate sense of 'it happened... so what.' So what if her cousins chose to hunt her, they were pulled to other schools or they were already dead? So what if she was alone, all of her friends either gone or devoured by the very crones that made this grass so green? she did not care because she did not know how to care. How to care about the dead, the undead and those with the displeasure of still being alone.
So as Summer Camp began, the humdrum melody of academia broke way to hoots and hollers. To summertide amusement, she had taken her perch on a hill. It was always wise to take the high ground. To watch as droves of foreign and domestic wizards made their way across the lawn the cabins and she was left to wonder if he would grace them with their presence. Him being Yefim. Only, if he did come, she would never see him pass. she would see others of course in the same militant uniform far too heavy for their more temperate climate and she would let out a sigh. It was the grandest expression of sentiment she could muster, he was not there, he was not coming and the defeatist in her told her 'never returning.' It was probably right and she took a strange pleasure in the small ache she felt, barely perceivable in her chest. It was something, as small as it was, a sentiment.
Just a trick of the lighting they said...
Dare I get Sentimental
It was summer time which was great. The year had ended and all those stuffy people with those long 'study sessions' where they would actually pour over books for hours on end rather than play had finally come to an end. Giddy had gotten taller over the past year, a towering four foot eight inches. He was now eye level with his brother's elbow, an unpleasant place to find oneself but it was fine, it was also in bite range.
Father had a change of heart and said that perhaps this year they would get to stay. Father said perhaps but Giddy heard 'most definitely.' He was not entirely sure of what had caused this change after his abrupt insistence that Hogwarts was 'unsafe' as if it was some sort of revelation and thrust him and his brother as far as he possible could across cold, waters to the school furthest from Hogwarts proper. His cousins sent to the four corners of the world, miles if not continents away. To be frank, father was being dramatic. The only risk Hogwarts truly posed for any of them were a couple of no-name, smelly, old ladies and those dumb enough to broker some sort of deal.
People like the late---
Oh hello, he was just thinking about dumb people. On the hill there was this lady, old but not hag old sitting in the grass. He knew her vaguely, she was one of the failed half-breeds his uncle had sired years before he was born. he never understood why and he never bothered to ask any questions. Frankly he never understood the appeal of Veelas or their part-Veela offspring. He had prettier dolls in his dresser and he was not interested in dating any of them either. But he was interested in one thing, so he trudged those little legs up the very steep hill. Why did she have to sit in such a high place!
"Hi," Giddy would announce breaking whatever weird aura the girl was giving off. It was this uncanny, eerie presence that seemed to roll off the girl sitting in the sod like some heathen. His voice all the same chipper and pleasant, Gideon was if nothing else an amicable and lovable lad and there was little that he could do to counter this notion. "Why aren't you dead?" A perfectly sane question to ask, the girl was a host to a monster, a failed project at best and at worst a monster herself. So the question posed - why aren't you dead was a logical one.
He had tried back on that fateful day, this girl's sixteenth, the day that the change was supposed to occur. A glorious moment, one that would finally make the girl a footnote at the very least, had been thwarted by the mad actions of her peers causing Erin to expel those slugs. Her teeth were shattered on that day, excessive force was synonymous with help it would seem and he had tried to pick up the broken fragments only to be accosted himself by some brute (Hugh Lowe). It was from that moment on he had developed a deep diastase for giant-kin, with how they think with their biceps rather than their head. She was the hag undergoing the change, not Giddy!
Alas, she was apparently either 'saved' or now a bonified hag sitting on this hill shamelessly hunting children. Gideon being of course the cutest and the most delicious but obviously also the most wise. He knew better than to accompany crazy old ladies into the woods or to make deals and promises with fae-like creatures. Common sense being incredibly uncommon.
Father had a change of heart and said that perhaps this year they would get to stay. Father said perhaps but Giddy heard 'most definitely.' He was not entirely sure of what had caused this change after his abrupt insistence that Hogwarts was 'unsafe' as if it was some sort of revelation and thrust him and his brother as far as he possible could across cold, waters to the school furthest from Hogwarts proper. His cousins sent to the four corners of the world, miles if not continents away. To be frank, father was being dramatic. The only risk Hogwarts truly posed for any of them were a couple of no-name, smelly, old ladies and those dumb enough to broker some sort of deal.
People like the late---
Oh hello, he was just thinking about dumb people. On the hill there was this lady, old but not hag old sitting in the grass. He knew her vaguely, she was one of the failed half-breeds his uncle had sired years before he was born. he never understood why and he never bothered to ask any questions. Frankly he never understood the appeal of Veelas or their part-Veela offspring. He had prettier dolls in his dresser and he was not interested in dating any of them either. But he was interested in one thing, so he trudged those little legs up the very steep hill. Why did she have to sit in such a high place!
"Hi," Giddy would announce breaking whatever weird aura the girl was giving off. It was this uncanny, eerie presence that seemed to roll off the girl sitting in the sod like some heathen. His voice all the same chipper and pleasant, Gideon was if nothing else an amicable and lovable lad and there was little that he could do to counter this notion. "Why aren't you dead?" A perfectly sane question to ask, the girl was a host to a monster, a failed project at best and at worst a monster herself. So the question posed - why aren't you dead was a logical one.
He had tried back on that fateful day, this girl's sixteenth, the day that the change was supposed to occur. A glorious moment, one that would finally make the girl a footnote at the very least, had been thwarted by the mad actions of her peers causing Erin to expel those slugs. Her teeth were shattered on that day, excessive force was synonymous with help it would seem and he had tried to pick up the broken fragments only to be accosted himself by some brute (Hugh Lowe). It was from that moment on he had developed a deep diastase for giant-kin, with how they think with their biceps rather than their head. She was the hag undergoing the change, not Giddy!
Alas, she was apparently either 'saved' or now a bonified hag sitting on this hill shamelessly hunting children. Gideon being of course the cutest and the most delicious but obviously also the most wise. He knew better than to accompany crazy old ladies into the woods or to make deals and promises with fae-like creatures. Common sense being incredibly uncommon.
At least Vlad was dead.
Dare I get Sentimental
There were familiar faces among the droving masses. One of them a child stunted in another way, her family's own Napoléon Bonaparte. Gideon Athanatos, her second cousin by blood, not choice would spot her perched on that hill and he would make the 'perilous' climb those couple hundred feet seeming a bit fatigued from his 'journey.' They really do not make men like they used to, or at all in Giddy's case.
So when he finally made his salutation, a one worded hi she was not astonished by the fact that it was all that he could muster. She was mor surprised by the fact that he asked her why she was not dead. Why would she be dead? He was there at that Fall Ball, he saw what had happened to her as the creatures that had burrowed inside of her were released into the ball and the havoc that followed. She was very much alive, the issue was not what was wrong with her but rather the fact that they wanted her dead.
It was not something she had wholly ever considered. Not that there was this deep sentiment to a distant cousin from a family that thought itself better than her or hers. As for realizing that they wanted her dead, the thought never crossed her mind. Why would it? Afterall, it was their family that encouraged her to seek out the crones for a 'cure' for her affliction. It was this family that had seen value in working with hags, for their unsettling appearance and ways yielded so much more in return for those that new the value of a contract written in the right shade of blood.
A cure.
A means perhaps to be like them.
"I'm fine," both a truth and a lie. Physically she was well. Psychologically, well she was fine also. That was the problem, the disconnect. There was no passion, fear or even relief in her. She just was. "I am always just fine," she repeated. Her voice had minimal inflection, she had to place effort in words and the just fine would come out unnaturally, she did not know how to remedy this. Afterall, she was just fine.
So when he finally made his salutation, a one worded hi she was not astonished by the fact that it was all that he could muster. She was mor surprised by the fact that he asked her why she was not dead. Why would she be dead? He was there at that Fall Ball, he saw what had happened to her as the creatures that had burrowed inside of her were released into the ball and the havoc that followed. She was very much alive, the issue was not what was wrong with her but rather the fact that they wanted her dead.
It was not something she had wholly ever considered. Not that there was this deep sentiment to a distant cousin from a family that thought itself better than her or hers. As for realizing that they wanted her dead, the thought never crossed her mind. Why would it? Afterall, it was their family that encouraged her to seek out the crones for a 'cure' for her affliction. It was this family that had seen value in working with hags, for their unsettling appearance and ways yielded so much more in return for those that new the value of a contract written in the right shade of blood.
A cure.
A means perhaps to be like them.
"I'm fine," both a truth and a lie. Physically she was well. Psychologically, well she was fine also. That was the problem, the disconnect. There was no passion, fear or even relief in her. She just was. "I am always just fine," she repeated. Her voice had minimal inflection, she had to place effort in words and the just fine would come out unnaturally, she did not know how to remedy this. Afterall, she was just fine.
Just a trick of the lighting they said...
Dare I get Sentimental
She claimed to be fine and by the looks of her she was. From the likely clean clothes and combed hair, she probably smelled as weird as the other girls with strange fruits or flowers dousing their forms in some alien scent that he abhorred. Lies, strange, flowery, fruity lies. If they had taken on the scent of a cinnamon bun or a caramel chew, he would be able to understand the appeal... but no, allergens and fruits.
Still, 'healthy' one could suppose against all-odds.
"I really thought that the worms were going to eat you and if not the worms... then Vlad or Jürgen..." his voice trailed off as he made a hand motion as if he was holding a knife and stabbing her. Yes, like one of those Psycho movies, just he had never seen one and would never understand the media reference as he dropped his stuffy onto the ground next to her and let out a small giggle. He knew exactly what he was doing, this was no little 'slip' as he shared his brother and cousin's murderous intent.
"I mean, you were turning into a you know..." his hands made this vague gesture that really meant nothing and described even less. "A monster," his voice got small as he drew closer. he was not scared in the least but he knew when to play the role of a timid rabbit and when to play the wolf. And today the tiny man was a wolf and his heart was set on ruining (ending) the life of his cousin. He would be glad to hear his cousin, Jürgen Hess was in the ground alongside his older brother and former heir apparent. Without Vladimir the obvious choice was either Mathias Pride, his half-brother who was love-sick over some muggle girl despite his protestations or his perfectionist cousin Jürgen whose only weakness was his feeble stomach. He was third in line at least, even after a cousin because he never developed the 'gift' of his kin. Both Jürgen and Mathias both had the sight and Jürgen was terrifying skilled despite his young age, prodigal in fact.
But neither of them should be King, the only one to wear that crown would be Gideon.
"Yeah," he admitted. "I was so scared," of them. "It was insanity," he added as he nudged his stuffy nearer his second cousin. "You're family and I would have been very sad if they hurt you and I am sorry that I am not strong enough to stop them," remind her of his fragility and inability to stand up to them. That he is a victim also. Remind her that they are family and that he cares for the darkest sheep he had ever seen. It soured his stomach a bit, but he had seen her fight. Set her on Jürgen's trail and let fate do the rest.
Let's see if his eyes could see this one coming.
Still, 'healthy' one could suppose against all-odds.
"I really thought that the worms were going to eat you and if not the worms... then Vlad or Jürgen..." his voice trailed off as he made a hand motion as if he was holding a knife and stabbing her. Yes, like one of those Psycho movies, just he had never seen one and would never understand the media reference as he dropped his stuffy onto the ground next to her and let out a small giggle. He knew exactly what he was doing, this was no little 'slip' as he shared his brother and cousin's murderous intent.
"I mean, you were turning into a you know..." his hands made this vague gesture that really meant nothing and described even less. "A monster," his voice got small as he drew closer. he was not scared in the least but he knew when to play the role of a timid rabbit and when to play the wolf. And today the tiny man was a wolf and his heart was set on ruining (ending) the life of his cousin. He would be glad to hear his cousin, Jürgen Hess was in the ground alongside his older brother and former heir apparent. Without Vladimir the obvious choice was either Mathias Pride, his half-brother who was love-sick over some muggle girl despite his protestations or his perfectionist cousin Jürgen whose only weakness was his feeble stomach. He was third in line at least, even after a cousin because he never developed the 'gift' of his kin. Both Jürgen and Mathias both had the sight and Jürgen was terrifying skilled despite his young age, prodigal in fact.
But neither of them should be King, the only one to wear that crown would be Gideon.
"Yeah," he admitted. "I was so scared," of them. "It was insanity," he added as he nudged his stuffy nearer his second cousin. "You're family and I would have been very sad if they hurt you and I am sorry that I am not strong enough to stop them," remind her of his fragility and inability to stand up to them. That he is a victim also. Remind her that they are family and that he cares for the darkest sheep he had ever seen. It soured his stomach a bit, but he had seen her fight. Set her on Jürgen's trail and let fate do the rest.
Let's see if his eyes could see this one coming.
Dare I get Sentimental
"Is that so?" She replied. They were really trying to kill her? If they were successful, then she could suppose that she would be really dead. Yes, dead. No more. It was simply a fact. "That would have been unpleasant probably," she concluded after almost no contemplation. It was not that she was hiding anything or even trying to outwit the younger boy, in truth she simply did not care. She had no emotional attachment to living and she had no expectation of fidelity from any member of her family. It was no expected not was it a surprise, it was merely an outcome she had failed to rationally consider.
"Then Korea has been good?" She honestly had no idea where Mahoutokoro was, only that it was in one of them 'Asian places.' She was a better student with a rational head on her shoulders but geography failed to engage her in the least as did most subjects. "Safe from the hags and the violence," stated fact rather than concern.
He would go on to claim that they were family. A word that he had never heard used by any of her distant relatives. That he would have been sad if she were to pass away. That he was sorry. "Sounds enviable," she admitted. Fear, sorrow, yearning... the unholy trinity. "And the summer in young," she added as a strange comfort. Young for what, her death? Well, possibly. She used to think about death a lot, too much really. She would chase it and then she would run from it. This sort of reckless sense of health, safety and even hygiene was expressed vividly in the depths of her madness. But now that sanity and the absence of passion reigned, there was little consideration for her safety but also nothing to compel her to risk the very safety she cared so little for. It simply froze her in time, a strange and cruel hell that she both understood but as a part of the pathology, she was not able to muster much desire for anything.
"You're probably weak because you are a part goblin or you don't eat meat," she added almost matter of factly. She had seen several goblins in Hogwarts, well part-goblins. Strange, somewhat deformed creatures that almost passed for human with the exception of their exaggerated features and their stunted height. He did not have the face or the ears for that matter of a goblin, nor did his family have any love for those unfortunate creatures, but it was one of those possibilities that nobody bothered talking about because of pureblooded pride. Especially in a family such as his, where they were all bred like show dogs, their makers desperate for certain traits and or the most part their efforts yielded at least a few studs. "I had heard that you're the only one that failed, she added." A sore spot, not that she seemed to notice or care. Afterall, why care?
"Then Korea has been good?" She honestly had no idea where Mahoutokoro was, only that it was in one of them 'Asian places.' She was a better student with a rational head on her shoulders but geography failed to engage her in the least as did most subjects. "Safe from the hags and the violence," stated fact rather than concern.
He would go on to claim that they were family. A word that he had never heard used by any of her distant relatives. That he would have been sad if she were to pass away. That he was sorry. "Sounds enviable," she admitted. Fear, sorrow, yearning... the unholy trinity. "And the summer in young," she added as a strange comfort. Young for what, her death? Well, possibly. She used to think about death a lot, too much really. She would chase it and then she would run from it. This sort of reckless sense of health, safety and even hygiene was expressed vividly in the depths of her madness. But now that sanity and the absence of passion reigned, there was little consideration for her safety but also nothing to compel her to risk the very safety she cared so little for. It simply froze her in time, a strange and cruel hell that she both understood but as a part of the pathology, she was not able to muster much desire for anything.
"You're probably weak because you are a part goblin or you don't eat meat," she added almost matter of factly. She had seen several goblins in Hogwarts, well part-goblins. Strange, somewhat deformed creatures that almost passed for human with the exception of their exaggerated features and their stunted height. He did not have the face or the ears for that matter of a goblin, nor did his family have any love for those unfortunate creatures, but it was one of those possibilities that nobody bothered talking about because of pureblooded pride. Especially in a family such as his, where they were all bred like show dogs, their makers desperate for certain traits and or the most part their efforts yielded at least a few studs. "I had heard that you're the only one that failed, she added." A sore spot, not that she seemed to notice or care. Afterall, why care?
Just a trick of the lighting they said...
Dare I get Sentimental
She did not seem to care when Gideon brought up the plan to have her killed. No offense, no anger, no... anything really. It was like they were having a conversation about someone that neither of them knew. Then she went on about Korea. Korea? He had never been--- Oh, the lady was just trying to make it look like she did not care. That she was not mad. That she was not paying attention. "You mean Japan," he played along and corrected her. Nobody was that stupid, not even her.
She did not bite, there was no dance. Just safe from the hags and the violence.
He would try prodding her again. Appeal to her with various words to elicit something, some sort of reaction but there was nothing. It was like she was some hollow doll, made of glass and silk, lovely to behold but there was nothing inside. He frowned when she called the situation enviable and gave him confidence that the summer was young.
She was strange, but he knew that already. Her entire branch of the family tree was strange, from her father that joke of a researcher to her chronically ill fop of a brother. Her father had an attachment to magical creatures, so much so the sick man father two children with one. His fascination with dementors was pathologic but his family had their uses for even a madman. In a family that has earned their fortune through fate, it seemed only fitting that in time they would not want to glean from the bottom of a teacup or the heart of the fire the transient fate of a passerby but rather to ultimately shape it. To become kingmakers, godkillers and of course deities in and of themselves. That was why they were bred as they were, as perfect vessels of knowledge, seers of fates and bringers of faiths. The next and only logical step to follow would be to create fate rather than read it.
A bottle of bliss in exchange for a future never fixed - it had quite the tagline. A decades long work in progress.
"You're probably weak because you are a part goblin or you don't eat meat."
"Part goblin?" Gideon repeated, his attention drawn back to the very dull conversation he was having with a block of wood to find the log insulting him. "Take that back!" He shouted. It was like claiming his mother was a werebeaver, actually that was basically the same thing. Calling him a half-breed was worse than calling him a bastard or stupid. He would grab the stuffy by its arm and attempt to bludgeon the heathen with the armory-filled toy that clanked as he wielded it.
"I had heard that you're the only one that failed."
"I-I didn't fail, you did!" He shouted, a stomp of his foot. He was getting red in the face with the accusation. The creeping suspicion he had all along. No, not that he was something impossible like a part-goblin, but that he was not who he thought he was. That he was not the second-born son of Thaddeus, just the son of a Seer who had a dalliance with some pedestrian. A fear that he never expressed but felt in his bones. It was utterly untrue, in truth he was every bit an Athanatos, but he never did become a Seer. It was his greatest failing and darkest shame. "I didn't!" He repeated, almost desperate that with a second proclamation that the words would be a bit more true. "You're the half-breed, not me!" He shouted.
She did not bite, there was no dance. Just safe from the hags and the violence.
He would try prodding her again. Appeal to her with various words to elicit something, some sort of reaction but there was nothing. It was like she was some hollow doll, made of glass and silk, lovely to behold but there was nothing inside. He frowned when she called the situation enviable and gave him confidence that the summer was young.
She was strange, but he knew that already. Her entire branch of the family tree was strange, from her father that joke of a researcher to her chronically ill fop of a brother. Her father had an attachment to magical creatures, so much so the sick man father two children with one. His fascination with dementors was pathologic but his family had their uses for even a madman. In a family that has earned their fortune through fate, it seemed only fitting that in time they would not want to glean from the bottom of a teacup or the heart of the fire the transient fate of a passerby but rather to ultimately shape it. To become kingmakers, godkillers and of course deities in and of themselves. That was why they were bred as they were, as perfect vessels of knowledge, seers of fates and bringers of faiths. The next and only logical step to follow would be to create fate rather than read it.
A bottle of bliss in exchange for a future never fixed - it had quite the tagline. A decades long work in progress.
"You're probably weak because you are a part goblin or you don't eat meat."
"Part goblin?" Gideon repeated, his attention drawn back to the very dull conversation he was having with a block of wood to find the log insulting him. "Take that back!" He shouted. It was like claiming his mother was a werebeaver, actually that was basically the same thing. Calling him a half-breed was worse than calling him a bastard or stupid. He would grab the stuffy by its arm and attempt to bludgeon the heathen with the armory-filled toy that clanked as he wielded it.
"I had heard that you're the only one that failed."
"I-I didn't fail, you did!" He shouted, a stomp of his foot. He was getting red in the face with the accusation. The creeping suspicion he had all along. No, not that he was something impossible like a part-goblin, but that he was not who he thought he was. That he was not the second-born son of Thaddeus, just the son of a Seer who had a dalliance with some pedestrian. A fear that he never expressed but felt in his bones. It was utterly untrue, in truth he was every bit an Athanatos, but he never did become a Seer. It was his greatest failing and darkest shame. "I didn't!" He repeated, almost desperate that with a second proclamation that the words would be a bit more true. "You're the half-breed, not me!" He shouted.
Dare I get Sentimental
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Let's not get too worked up, now!" an almost-fifth year Slytherin advised as he tried to grab the suspiciously clanking toy the younger boy was trying to beat Erin with. "What's all this, then?"
Jack looked from the blonde boy to Erin, wondering what their relation was to one another. He thought he had seen the boy before somewhere, perhaps at some ball or other, but had never been properly introduced. "Erin, do you know this kid?" he asked, attempting to get the stuffy away from said kid if he could. At least until his temper died down somewhat. He may have been used to calling people by their surnames, but he recalled Erin had corrected him about using her last name once before and from that instance assumed that she preferred being called by her first name.
To the kid, he said, "I'm Jack Burnett. What's your name?" He glanced at the toy. "And what have you got in here? It sounds pretty dangerous. You weren't actually trying to hurt poor Erin, here, were you? I doubt she meant you any harm."
In truth, Jack had seen Erin sitting alone before the blonde boy had come up to her and went to speak to her himself. Upon witnessing the newcomer do so, however, he grew curious and decided to hang back. It was only when the boy began to get angry and violent that Jack decided to step in.
@Erin Ryan & @Gideon Athanatos
Last edited by Jack Burnett on 4 Jul 2023, 13:40, edited 1 time in total.
PC: Jack Burnett | iNPC: Ginyami Midorimori
Dare I get Sentimental
Take back what, that he was a part-goblin? "Sure," she said with an air of indifference. She knew full well his alleged pedigree was between Thaddeus Athanatos and Agnes Pride. She also new full well how often wizards lied. How her own father lied and how she lied, claiming to be of pureblooded lineage when in truth she was a halfblooded half-breed. Something she should care about and for a short period of time when she was capable of did.
It was when he hit her with his stuffy that he would finally elicit a reaction from the soon to be seventh-year. with a clang, as soon as the stuffed beast hit her side she would feel something hard beneath a thin veneer of velour. It was not the attack nor was it the physical pain, the red mark on her outer arm that was unlikely to become a bruise considering her cousin's toddler-like strength. It was what he had apparently brought with him, Jack Burnett. The only time her expression had changed during the length of this exchange, her brows lowered slightly and the angle of her jaw would tighten. She had this senseless impulse she would not entirely capture within her to push him back down the hill he had climbed and to beat him bloody with a shoe or to kiss him because he had a pleasant, albeit common face. Confusing and diametrically opposed, the two of them engaged.
"Explains why he came," Erin announced. She had never really spoken to Gideon, but rather she knew of him. Yet here he was spouting on about a family that they never truly shared. People talk, that much is true. But people rarely care. From her limited experience, she wondered if most truly ever felt anything for one another either. How could they considering the cruelty they inflict on one another, and she was not speaking of wars and the senseless rule of man but rather the broken promises, the lies and the casual disregard humans have for one another. Perhaps it is good that she could only call herself half. "What sort of bullshit did you send him here on?"
"My cousin, why did you send him?" Her voice was not as indifferent as it was before. There was a bite to the tone even if her voice had hardly raised. "Fine, second," she corrected. "Definitely second, but you both already know this. Who are we even lying for at this point."
She would start to stand. She was a rather average-height for a girl, but she simply towered over her younger cousin. As for Jack, he was always shorter than her from what she remembered but with time comes literal as well as metaphorical growth. Five foot seven, she was not growing any taller but the shoes she was wearing did afford her one additional inch. Sensible shoes, unlike most, a pair of hiking boots that seemed well worn but not particularly comfortable. As for the rest of her, time did not make her weaker. She had a physique most men rather than women would covet, her sleeveless white shirt betrayed defined arms bereft of adornments with the exception of a bit of ink on her forearm where she scribbled something with her quill and the ink had dried. Loose cargo pants that were new, the string that had held a tag from a shop in Hogsmeade still hung from a beltloop and only the bit of cardboard paper had been pulled off. Oddly, the pants were torn and a bit dirty. Not something that one would get from sitting in the grass merely observing. Perhaps some of that former madness lingered still from the days she incessantly dug holes to trap the formless and nameless 'dangers' she had once feared or found some isolated place to sleep detached from warm, laundered beds.
It was when he hit her with his stuffy that he would finally elicit a reaction from the soon to be seventh-year. with a clang, as soon as the stuffed beast hit her side she would feel something hard beneath a thin veneer of velour. It was not the attack nor was it the physical pain, the red mark on her outer arm that was unlikely to become a bruise considering her cousin's toddler-like strength. It was what he had apparently brought with him, Jack Burnett. The only time her expression had changed during the length of this exchange, her brows lowered slightly and the angle of her jaw would tighten. She had this senseless impulse she would not entirely capture within her to push him back down the hill he had climbed and to beat him bloody with a shoe or to kiss him because he had a pleasant, albeit common face. Confusing and diametrically opposed, the two of them engaged.
"Explains why he came," Erin announced. She had never really spoken to Gideon, but rather she knew of him. Yet here he was spouting on about a family that they never truly shared. People talk, that much is true. But people rarely care. From her limited experience, she wondered if most truly ever felt anything for one another either. How could they considering the cruelty they inflict on one another, and she was not speaking of wars and the senseless rule of man but rather the broken promises, the lies and the casual disregard humans have for one another. Perhaps it is good that she could only call herself half. "What sort of bullshit did you send him here on?"
"My cousin, why did you send him?" Her voice was not as indifferent as it was before. There was a bite to the tone even if her voice had hardly raised. "Fine, second," she corrected. "Definitely second, but you both already know this. Who are we even lying for at this point."
She would start to stand. She was a rather average-height for a girl, but she simply towered over her younger cousin. As for Jack, he was always shorter than her from what she remembered but with time comes literal as well as metaphorical growth. Five foot seven, she was not growing any taller but the shoes she was wearing did afford her one additional inch. Sensible shoes, unlike most, a pair of hiking boots that seemed well worn but not particularly comfortable. As for the rest of her, time did not make her weaker. She had a physique most men rather than women would covet, her sleeveless white shirt betrayed defined arms bereft of adornments with the exception of a bit of ink on her forearm where she scribbled something with her quill and the ink had dried. Loose cargo pants that were new, the string that had held a tag from a shop in Hogsmeade still hung from a beltloop and only the bit of cardboard paper had been pulled off. Oddly, the pants were torn and a bit dirty. Not something that one would get from sitting in the grass merely observing. Perhaps some of that former madness lingered still from the days she incessantly dug holes to trap the formless and nameless 'dangers' she had once feared or found some isolated place to sleep detached from warm, laundered beds.
Just a trick of the lighting they said...
Dare I get Sentimental
What an indolent woman, spouting such nonsense and disastrous lies. Yes lies! "I can see just fine. I passed. I passed!" He shouted as he swung the stuffy as hard as he could into her. He could hear the clatter and for a brief moment his heart sank when he heard that terrible noise. His eyes flickered towards the stuffy, had it discolored? Had it changed! "Look at what you almost made me do!" His heart pounding in his breast as an unknown came from his rear and interceded.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Let's not get too worked up, now!" a voice chimed in that he did not know or recognize. Guideon would try to keep hold of his stuffy briefly, but the elder wizard would find it not particularly difficult to overpower the young boy and pull it away from his grip. However, Jack would quickly discover that there was something 'wrong' with that worn, long-loved bear. It was heavy. The sort of heavy that required two hands to lift and something would shift from within the stuffed bear as he pulled the bear away. Not on its own, nothing was noticeably alive but there was something housed within that stuffed bear.
"What's all this, then?
"It is her," Gideon announced indignantly. "She had the audacity to call me a half-breed. ME!" As if that was a crime in and of itself. "I am a pureblood that can trace their bloodline back to the first documented witches and wizards. The only filthy half-breed here is her!"[/b][/color] He pointed a small accusing finger at his cousin.
"My cousin, why did you send him?"
"I'm not her cousin" he was not even speaking to her, but rather the upper classman in defense of himself and his honor.
"Fine, second." she self-corrected but it was not much better.
"we are not even closely related, you are on a completely different tree in a-a completely different forest! Probably not even second cousins, more like how most witches and wizards are somehow distantly related here," he rambled on. It was a failing argument, she was not even wrong but he was not willing to admit it. His family's shame was this girl and her family's existence. Not even real people, either of them - Erin or Geoffrey. They shared a great grandparent and somehow when it came down the line it would mean that they were technically distant cousins. "Really distant.
"Definitely second, but you both already know this. Who are we even lying for at this point." She insisted. Although why did she think that Gideon knew whoever this weird, thin ginger was. He sort of reminded him of a Chucky Doll with less damage. Not that he fully understood the appeal of a broken and ugly doll among muggles that he was gifted some years ago during an excursion by another cousin still enamored by some muggle woman.
"Fine, second," he submitted. There was no escaping it, just attempting to re-channel some of her thus-far absent wrath someplace. "He sent me here," he nodded towards Jack. he could at the very least stir some shit and make this guy regret stepping in at all.
As Jack looked from the blonde boy to Erin (Wisdom 20), he would see physical features in one and then in the other. Beyond the blonde hair and the blue eyes. They had familiar expressions, whole Gideon was significantly more animated than Erin was and obviously weaker by far. jack's strength (3) was not even in the same realm as the burly part-Veela. He would also recognize the face around school, nothing recent of course. He had however seen the teen at school functions, perhaps around school. Yet there was something remarkably familiar that went past both of these things. Indeed, the strange family wreath that many pure-bloods had.
"I'm Jack Burnett. What's your name?"
"Giddy Athanatos," he rarely called himself Gideon. It sounded too mature. It gave people a different expectation than the one which he wished to proclaim. one where he was not dangerous, just a child. Something his height had still graciously afforded him unlike his beanpole cousins. People treated those smaller, weaker, in greater need than those with means and physical power he had observed. Nobody watches the kid. Nobody notices the little boy spiking their drink or swiping their artifacts. Nobody thinks to look inside a treasured toy--
"And what have you got in here? It sounds pretty dangerous. You weren't actually trying to hurt poor Erin, here, were you? I doubt she meant you any harm."
"Give Captain Giggles back!" Gideon shouted.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Let's not get too worked up, now!" a voice chimed in that he did not know or recognize. Guideon would try to keep hold of his stuffy briefly, but the elder wizard would find it not particularly difficult to overpower the young boy and pull it away from his grip. However, Jack would quickly discover that there was something 'wrong' with that worn, long-loved bear. It was heavy. The sort of heavy that required two hands to lift and something would shift from within the stuffed bear as he pulled the bear away. Not on its own, nothing was noticeably alive but there was something housed within that stuffed bear.
"What's all this, then?
"It is her," Gideon announced indignantly. "She had the audacity to call me a half-breed. ME!" As if that was a crime in and of itself. "I am a pureblood that can trace their bloodline back to the first documented witches and wizards. The only filthy half-breed here is her!"[/b][/color] He pointed a small accusing finger at his cousin.
"My cousin, why did you send him?"
"I'm not her cousin" he was not even speaking to her, but rather the upper classman in defense of himself and his honor.
"Fine, second." she self-corrected but it was not much better.
"we are not even closely related, you are on a completely different tree in a-a completely different forest! Probably not even second cousins, more like how most witches and wizards are somehow distantly related here," he rambled on. It was a failing argument, she was not even wrong but he was not willing to admit it. His family's shame was this girl and her family's existence. Not even real people, either of them - Erin or Geoffrey. They shared a great grandparent and somehow when it came down the line it would mean that they were technically distant cousins. "Really distant.
"Definitely second, but you both already know this. Who are we even lying for at this point." She insisted. Although why did she think that Gideon knew whoever this weird, thin ginger was. He sort of reminded him of a Chucky Doll with less damage. Not that he fully understood the appeal of a broken and ugly doll among muggles that he was gifted some years ago during an excursion by another cousin still enamored by some muggle woman.
"Fine, second," he submitted. There was no escaping it, just attempting to re-channel some of her thus-far absent wrath someplace. "He sent me here," he nodded towards Jack. he could at the very least stir some shit and make this guy regret stepping in at all.
As Jack looked from the blonde boy to Erin (Wisdom 20), he would see physical features in one and then in the other. Beyond the blonde hair and the blue eyes. They had familiar expressions, whole Gideon was significantly more animated than Erin was and obviously weaker by far. jack's strength (3) was not even in the same realm as the burly part-Veela. He would also recognize the face around school, nothing recent of course. He had however seen the teen at school functions, perhaps around school. Yet there was something remarkably familiar that went past both of these things. Indeed, the strange family wreath that many pure-bloods had.
"I'm Jack Burnett. What's your name?"
"Giddy Athanatos," he rarely called himself Gideon. It sounded too mature. It gave people a different expectation than the one which he wished to proclaim. one where he was not dangerous, just a child. Something his height had still graciously afforded him unlike his beanpole cousins. People treated those smaller, weaker, in greater need than those with means and physical power he had observed. Nobody watches the kid. Nobody notices the little boy spiking their drink or swiping their artifacts. Nobody thinks to look inside a treasured toy--
"And what have you got in here? It sounds pretty dangerous. You weren't actually trying to hurt poor Erin, here, were you? I doubt she meant you any harm."
"Give Captain Giggles back!" Gideon shouted.
Dare I get Sentimental
The unusual weight of the bear reminded Jack of that animated Peter Pan movie where the little boy, Michael, had put a cannon ball in his stuffed bear to use it as a weapon. Perhaps it wasn't a cannon ball used in this case, but it was definitely something that shouldn't have been in there. He was tempted to take it apart but reluctant to in front of its owner who very clearly cared for it.
"It is her," the boy declared when Jack asked what was going on. "She had the audacity to call me a half-breed. ME! I am a pureblood that can trace their bloodline back to the first documented witches and wizards. The only filthy half-breed here is her!"
"My cousin, why did you send him?"
Before Jack could ask whether Erin was questioning why Jack sent her cousin or if she was questioning why her cousin sent Jack, the boy denied being her cousin at all.
"I'm not her cousin."
"Fine, second."
"We are not even closely related; you are on a completely different tree in a-a completely different forest! Probably not even second cousins, more like how most witches and wizards are somehow distantly related here," the boy protested. "Really distant.
"Definitely second, but you both already know this. Who are we even lying for at this point."
"'Both already know this'?" Jack repeated quizzically. "I didn't know it. I didn't even know this boy was related to you." he insisted, though now that he thought of it, he could see the family resemblance even beyond the blonde hair and blue eyes. Their expressions were similar, though the passion behind them was different. "And I don't know if you'll believe me, but I certainly didn't send him anywhere. It seems to me he's the sort of kid who wouldn't listen to anyone even if they tried to send him somewhere."
"Fine, second," the boy conceded. And then, to the Welsh teen's utter disbelief, he claimed, "He sent me here."
"We both know I didn't," Jack sighed at the blonde boy, though he knew it was probably a pointless effort to try to make Erin believe him. She hardly had a reason to believe him at all after his deception a few years back, but he had hoped by now she might have gotten over it.
He smirked at the lying brat who was apparently second cousin to Erin. "I really dislike liars. And I still have your little friend, you know." He held it up with both hands and wiggled it around a bit, both to remind its owner he still had it in his possession and to try to figure out what, exactly, was inside it by its weight and the sound it made when he moved it. On second thought, maybe it wouldn't have been so bad to rip apart the bear right then and there. But he wouldn't. Not just yet, anyway.
"Giddy Athanatos," Jack repeated when the boy gave his name. The last name was familiar. What relation did this 'Giddy' have to Vladimir? Did that mean Erin was related to him, too? He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised considering the nature of pureblood lines, but still... "And Captain Giggles. Good to know. I wonder what Captain Giggles ate that makes him so clangy. I think maybe he should have an operation so we can find out." Holding heavy bear with some difficulty under one arm, the redheaded teen reached into his pocket with his other to fish around for his locksmith's knife. It wasn't as if he couldn't repair the bear again with the right spell once he was done gutting it, after all. But he wondered if 'Giddy' would change his tune when he saw the knife.
"Unless you want to tell me what's in him so we don't have to operate, Giddy?"
Turning his head, he looked at Erin's arm and asked, "What's that written on your arm, Erin? Did you get a tattoo?" At 5'4" now, Jack still wasn't as tall as Erin, but he was still growing.
@Erin Ryan & @Gideon Athanatos
PC: Jack Burnett | iNPC: Ginyami Midorimori