Once Upon a Thought Open. Please Join Me Closed

A voice met his hears, curling upward into a question. It startled him slightly, having come from much closer than he'd expected anyone to be.
Pivoting toward its source, he saw a girl dressed in the telltale blue of a Ravenclaw. Evidently, she'd slipped past his guard while his focus was bound to writing. Age was a disparity between them, his estimate placing her as a first or second year. Odd how the number of students younger than him only grew, yet he ever failed to consider himself an upperclassman. Perhaps because maturity traditionally garnered wisdom, an attribute he seemed to lack as much as the former.

The girl's words engendered more in their place, prodding at a thought which had occupied his mind moments before. Glancing at the book, he ensured that he'd written about becoming an author, and that it hadn't been some form of déjà vu predicting this stranger's approach.
Upon confirming the line in question, he speculated whether she might have perused his personal musings in secret. He hadn't noticed her approach before she grew quite near, so it was a possibility.
Ought he to be embarrassed by the idea? Perhaps. Yet he found it difficult to care, as with so many things of late.

"Tortured, perhaps," came the reply, one eyebrow lofted as she claimed a seat rather near where his hand rested beside the journal. He regarded her with a side-eyed expression. "I wouldn't call myself a poet these days, but who knows? Maybe my personal journal will be published as some kind of breakthrough in literature one day. I suppose that would make me an author." There was a measure of sarcasm in the response, pronounced slightly sharper than polite conversation might accept. He hadn't exactly invited company to the activity, after all.

The book remained in its place. He was already skeptical of the girl's intentions, but what did he have to fear from some eleven-year-old he had never met? She might read the thoughts he'd painted in ink, but what then? Laughter and mocking could follow. Dependent upon her moral orientation, even blackmail was a possibility. But once again, he cared little. Symbolically speaking, his skin was calloused, the nerves deadened by burns inflicted in the past. He was numb to the pain at this point, for better or for worse. So why bother?

The Ravenclaw's gaze was tossed upward, to the grandeur heights of the Hall. A grin tugged at her features, though failed to warm her expression as she spoke again, detailing her own penchant for the literary arts.
Marshal snorted at the last sentiment. He asked simply, "And would they be right?"

It was always curious how one could perceive the way others viewed them. Given no proof at all, or told directly to their face, people always seemed to form their own opinions on how public judgement shaped their reputation. It held a constant place in so many minds, when reality most often meant that no one really cared what they did, one way or another.
It was a truly twisted facet of life that had ever been, and ever would be. Marshal had personally fallen victim to it a time or ten more than he would like to consider, and wanted nothing more than to leave those instances behind. As for this stranger, however, he was curious in what state her mind lay.

Struck by an impulse, he reclaimed his quill, dipped it in the open inkwell, and penned one more sentence into the book.

Some girl is bothering me.

That written, he pointedly placed the quill back in the well and leaned back, creating a clear opening for the girl to check his work, were she so inclined.

@Jessamine Hemlock

@Marshal Mozor | @Jessamine Hemlock

Back in her first year, Alyssea wandered the halls between classes and stayed in various rooms to pass the time. Now, she was always buzzing around just like a busy bee. There was no time between classes like she used to have; it started with being a Headliner writer and keeping up with the latest news, then becoming a duellist and practicing spells more often, then finally becoming a broom racing vice-captain. There was just no time like she used to have before. If she did, they would be spent on her extracurriculars.

But today was the rare day when things finally slowed down and she had a chance to wander like she used to. However, her stomach was growling and a snack was on the agenda. So, once her class was finished, she headed to the Great Hall to grab the nearest thing and sit down for a bit.

The Great Hall was certainly quiet as she entered. The only occupants at the moment were a Gryffindor boy and a Ravenclaw girl. As Alyssea headed to the Hufflepuff table, she kept an ear and an eye out, listening to their conversation. She was unsure of whether to approach them since the Hufflepuff table was empty and, frankly, a sad place to be without her fellow housemates. Alyssea took occasional glances toward them in a not-very-subtle way that would almost guarantee their attention.

Alyssea will leave shortly if she isn't noticed. She just wanted something to eat

Linda found herself coming to the Great Hall way too much this year. Second year in Hogwarts wasn't so bright and happy as was the previous year. And so this time she also found herself heading to the Great Hall. What was so attractive about it? She didn't know the answer. However, for good or bad, it was calming her thoughts.

Getting to the place she noticed older guy sitting there already. He seemed to be writing something and most likely was also from Gryffindor. She went closer and sat nearby, just for a second gazing at his writing. However, there was a sentence that caught her attention and lead her to see more of what was written there. He wrote he was alone in Great Hall. How many of all in this place could relate to this simple feeling that was behind the sentence. And that including Linda.

She was finishing reading and getting more to her thoughts when a Ravenclaw girl came closer to a guy, getting in some kind of conversation, resulting in new sentence in boy's diary. Or should she be calling it journal? He definitely called it so.

Some moments later she noticed Alyssea. This was the only one who didn't come closer to the boy and Ravenclaw girl. Returning her eyes to them, Linda decided to speak. Up until this moment she was staying seemingly unnoticed, but even if only for a second, this was going to change now.

With this way of writing down your thoughts, you definitely could be an author one day. Also I think I disagree with you. Wishing to be alone and not wishing it at the same time can make sense sometimes. Theremore, it would be interesting to find you later, even if just to know what you would add to what you wrote already. She looked directly at the boy while speaking and as she finished, she returned her attention to the sketchbook she currently was holding in her hands.

There was a simple but quite realistic sketch of a Great Hall with girl, facing it alone. There was absolutely no reason for her to be drawing it now, but here she was. Linda looked at the fire and back at her sketch. Picking up one of the pencils, she wrote in calligraphy handwriting: I am alone among people. Finishing her sketch, Linda glanced at the boy and other two girls.

She thought once more about idea of someone finding the guy later after some years to give him his journal. Would that person relate to the written words or would they even care enough? It suddenly came to her that she probably would like to have her current sketch brought to her years later. Linda didn't have any expectations or illusions about another person been interested enough to care about her or why she wrote that sentence.

Why would she think about it if she already knew: no one cared. It was all temporary until one day even best friends would be too busy with their own life or eventually move somewhere, deciding to not communicate anymore. And before she could continue this thought, she returned her gaze at the boy's direction, leaving sketch opened, should anyone glance at that direction.

Mentioning @Alyssea Brown and @Jessamine Hemlock
Interaction with @Marshal Mozor

@Marshal Mozor | @Jessamine Hemlock | @Linda Ramirez

Alyssea's eyes widened at the sudden call-out. Her language was also a bit of a shock to hear. Hither? She might be incredibly posh. Still, Alyssea took one last piece of bread and headed over to the Gryffindor table.

In the time between awkwardly looking at them (definitely trying not to get their attention), a familiar face entered the Great Hall. Another Gryffindor, but a Second Year just like her. It had been a while since she talked to Linda. Sure, they'd seen each other around and Alyssea even moderated Linda's first official race, but nothing deep.

Once she finished chewing on a bit of bread, Alyssea said, "Author? Is Marshal writing a novel? Or is Marshal thinking of being a playwright like Shakespeare?" When someone mentioned the word 'author', the general expectation was they wrote a lot for a single story. Sure, there were some people who wrote shorter forms of literature, like flash fiction, but they were usually called writers. Authors were something bigger.

Alyssea looked towards Linda and waved. "Long time no chat. How are you doing? You did pretty well last month in the winter race." She spotted the notebook in front of Linda but tried not to pry at the contents. There was a thing called privacy and Alyssea respected it.

The revelation as to the contents of his book didn’t exactly seem to rouse the girl’s faculties. In fact, the single word of exclaimed response flopped from her tongue with all the fervor of a dog whose tail had just been robbed of its wag. He wasn’t sure what she had been expecting. He was stationed in the great hall, isolated with naught but a notebook for company. No textbooks garnished the table’s face before him, denying the appearance of a study session; and frankly, the chances that his was the work of an aspiring novelist were minimal.
He supposed the pages could have housed a gallery of sketches, but was unsure how the possibility would be more interesting.
”Sorry to disappoint.” Sarcasm again, and no less sour than before; though why he bothered was anyone’s guess. The hint he’d already dropped had been left to languish on the floor, making it unlikely that more of its kind would be picked up.

At her intonation of how fascinating his thoughts must be, he merely shrugged. They were less fascinating than longing and pathetic, really. A short collection of musings that had quickly been polluted by his solitary state of mind. He was fairly certain she would see them for herself soon enough.
It was as he leaned back in his chair that she addressed his question regarding her sanity. Admittedly, her response was a bit telling where a simple ‘no’ would have sufficed. Feeling the need to explain how some opinions differentiated from the general norm seemed a bit concerning in his view. But then, he would be a rotten liar if he denied entertaining the occasional far-flung idea. He supposed some might have considered him a bit cocked in the head, especially through his first couple of years at Hogwarts. Perhaps everyone had a peer who considered them two noodles short of a ramen dish.

Fingers lacing behind his head as he listened, his gaze lazily shifted to the girl she indicated, whose own attention seemed riveted on the pair. She was alone, much like he had been moments before. Yet unlike him, it seemed she harbored interest in changing her situation.
”I do enjoy a good bit of insanity,” he joked with the Ravenclaw, though the humor was dry. ”Maybe you should publish your own book and find out how many people share your normal. If nothing else, I’m sure the folks at your behavioral health hospital would love something to read.” The ghost of a smirk haunted his lips, speaking to the amusement wrought by his own words. ”If things continue the way they’ve gone lately, I’ll likely be joining you there at some point.” Tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth, he added a caveat, ”Not much of a reader, though.”

The introduction of a second voice from his opposite side caught him off-balance for the second time in as many minutes.
Was there something about him that simply begged younger girls to invade his personal space unannounced? Truth be told, were they his own age, he wouldn’t be complaining. But they weren’t, and he was; inwardly. Perhaps they would require more than passive aggressive satire to be shooed away. After all, social awareness didn’t exactly jump out as their collective strong suit.

The sentiments shared by the newcomer suggested quite brazenly that she had sneaked a peak at his work, spoken with such a lack of shame that he was quite honestly impressed. Boundaries? Who had heard of them?
”I—“ he stammered momentarily, unsure whether he should be flattered by her compliment or disturbed at the castration of his privacy. ”Thank you?”
In spite of himself, he felt a huff of laughter slip from his lips, spurred by his wonder at just how this had become such a gathering.

The second girl struck him as more genuine than the first, a judgment that led him to curbing his sarcasm. Sharp tongues, after all, were not for the meek of heart.
”I thought it was an interesting concept,” he said, a lighter tone underplaying the exasperation that still lingered in his voice. Hazel eyes traveled down with hers to what was clearly a sketchbook - well and true. Given the already blatant disgrace of personal space, he scanned its contents free of misgivings. Apparently this was the new normal.
”I like your drawing,” he added in a lame attempt at reconciling her flattery. It just seemed wrong to leave her comments open-ended.

In the moment, he had left his journal unattended, but with little care as to the result. He’d practically invited the Ravenclaw girl to snoop of his own accord, so when he caught her placing the book back where she’d found it through the edge of his vision, he was less than surprised.
A raised eyebrow was turned on her as he leaned forward in his chair. No dismay coated his expression; merely a form of disappointment one could only feel for a younger peer.
”Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to give you a starring role in my next entry. Jessamine with two s’s, was it?”

Within moments, the third girl was called over and the group had grown into a crowd. And there he sat, a lone male in a collection of multiplying females, unsure how it had come to this. Such a pity that they were all too young for him; a waste of a situation that could have been so grand. But as it stood, each new addition simply added to his headache.
”You all are so supportive!” he exclaimed ironically, clasping his hands together. At the third girl’s question, he slid the journal across the table, where it settled before her. ”Here, why don’t you have a read as well? I’m told it’s quite fantastic.”

@Jessamine Hemlock, @Linda Ramirez, @Alyssea Brown

Just your average day at Hogwarts: some new drama going down just a couple seats away. Astra, poking at her meager supper and attempting some semblance of focus on the most interesting academic work before her, an anthology of world myths and connections betwixt, could not help but be both intrigued and bothered by the persons a table over.

Most pressing and bothersome of these persons being the rather obnoxious sounding Ravenclaw purveying her own madness. "Oh, please," the first year scoffed. "Doesn't everyone belong in a behavioral health hospital in someone else's eye." Her volume was soft, but to any bystander her sardonic tone was louder (and clearer) than a toll of Big Ben.

She'd had lunch with Roderick and was in no hurry to find him, content with reading till it came time to fetch her cat and her notebook and sneak outdoors to record the skies.

However, a familiar voice and figure snagged her attention, joining the mad bird and the irritated elder boy and one of Gryffindor's broom racers. It was her very own cousin, Alyssea.

Astra was at an unfortunate disadvantage when it came to any of her cousins, first or second. In the case of the first, they were either adults or in another country (or estranged, if Uncle Matthew and his wife had conceived since their self-induced removal from the family loop). In the case of the second, they were each in different houses and a year above the Slytherin. Any chance was as good a chance as any to spend some time with her newfound interesting and fun and cool cousins.

And so, with a second glance at her near-empty plate and the open tome, Astra left the former and stowed the latter away in her satchel, looking round to see if any witnesses to her subsequent dip under the table were people she wished to remain in good standing with.

Not a second passed underneath the table, and quick as she got up she materialized by Alyssea. "Good evening, all," she would say cordially before turned her attention to Alyssea. She would begin to greet the girl in particular when the infuriated elder and singular male exclaimed "Here, why don't you have a read as well? I'm told it's quite fantastic," and slid a journal of sorts over.

Raising a singular eyebrow, the young snake dipped her head and devoured the page in a matter of seconds. "Well," she drawled sarcastically, glancing over at the blonde eagle, "it doesn't quite live up to the rave. Short, wouldn't you say? and I'm not one for personal accounts. Autobiographies are truly a bore. What do you think, cousin? Shall we leave the man to his thoughts in hopes he can shape this into the riveting work our friend here thinks it is?"

In some small way, she hoped that would turn the blathering bird away from this poor Marshal Mozor. Astra herself intended to go once she was ready to part with Alyssea.

In some small way, she knew she was picking a fight with someone quite like herself: brash and bold and rude and witty, though likely without the tact or thin veiling Astra showed more often than not these days, what with her new reputation among persons of note.