3 Apr 2024, 20:16
One Foot in the Rubber Room, One Arm in the White Jacket
House Colours: Slytherin
Calming Presence in Effect; All Participants Affected
"I'm not finding myself hungry right now. Petite appetite, I suppose." He smiled lightly with a gleam of mischief to be found in his eyes as he mimicked the French girl's accent. This statement was a half-truth. The other part unspoken was that his appetite had been fluctuating wildly in the past few years, sequences of finding himself famished and then moments when he thought he should be famished he instead found himself too nauseated to even consider picking up a fork, let alone trying to force food past lips. "Alas, but we are still growing. Eating well means growing tall--or at least it should be meaning that, though I appear to be the outlier of that statement." His gaze was fixed upon the white cat's eyes and the similarly hued paws kneading in the girl's hair. Yes, Figaro liked to do the same exact thing, though Figaro's attention seemed to on average be more focused upon the boy's cheeks and lips for some reason.
"Aha..." The boy pressed a finger to the side of his nose briefly before shrugging and closing his eyes for a second and leaning back a hair as if in consideration. "Call me by any name, chances are I've heard it before." He hummed as the girl reclined herself comfortably. "And the little cat..." Piérre's fingers threaded into the air, seeming to spin those words into nothingness in the empty space. "Oh he's about. Keeping an eye on things, he'll be around soon potentially. Busy little boy is he." Came the reply to the Slytherin girl who had queried about that same Figaro. This was also true. Figaro was delivering things by scent at this moment, trying to locate his designated recipient so that a delivery of Niffler's Fancy sealed in the collar capsule could be had. "Probably also looking for a girlfriend. Imagine that, he's better at finding someone than his human is." Also a true and factchecked statement.
An eye opened in time to watch the hand of Lily slither back to its former place away from the box. That same emerald eye slunk to her face, fixing upon it with an intensity that seemed to click into being from the prior disinterest. The smile never faded, a muscle never twitched, and yet it seemed that an interrogation of a silent degree was being had--an assessment that was almost dermal in nature and cut deeper even deeper than that at times. The time it took for this to occur was likely less than five seconds total, and yet the boy spake at the end of it almost as naturally as the flow of the situation had gone by--no sooner than Lily had taken her hand away from the box. "You can touch it." He said softly. "Just promise you won't break it." Simple enough terms, he believed. "It was a present. It means quite a bit to me."
He nodded to it ever so slightly, his other eye opening at last even though his head did not turn--it was a strange, sideways sort of glance that came from the corner of his eye, eerily akin to that of the Malocchio but not quite. A brow arched. "Finding a place to be alone is nice. I don't usually find myself in it very frequently." Nor was he used to finding himself in it frequently. He was always so inundated with people and noise and simply the life and energy of the world that finding himself lacking that aspect of the world was something jarring and startling. He needed motion, movement, laughter and chatter... and absence of those simply left him with his own thoughts and with nothing to do. Idle hands were the Devil's playthings.
And his thoughts were hollow and wailed with words unspoken and ideas and dreams unshared instead left to rot unsaid and unknown. Speech and nebulous concepts never brought to life, and never permitted to see the light of day. They would be conceived, be born, would age and grow old and then die all within the mires of the mind, dying upon his tongue before they could pass through his teeth or fly with gossamer wings from his lips. Like a firefly crushed, all that remained was the bioluminescent glow of its stomach upon the surface upon which it was smeared... and even that would grow cold and dark as the night crushed in and the dawn drowned it away. Its mangled corpse was nothing to a world so much larger than itself--it would be forgotten to disinterested eyes and unbothered minds. In this way, it could be said that it had simply never existed, and that its destruction had just as equally never occurred. Absent in mind, absent in memory, meant that it was unremembered and therefore not worth preserving or speaking of. It was nothing.
"It is enchanted to play music that the opener remembers at the edge of their memories--something from childhood not quite forgotten but like a whisper about to fade away." Piérre's eye continued to stare lopsidedly. "When I open it, the melody is a song that..." What word could he use to describe how he remembered Eleanor? It was strange, strange that he was now using the name of his adoptive mother as opposed to simply calling her his 'mother'. Because she was not that, was she. She was not his mother in blood, and she was no longer his mother in name... she had died nine years ago, along with Carlos--his adoptive father--that she had loved very much. They had been too young. They were not entirely lost to his memory, but they were not remembered as frequently as Piérre thought he would remember them. They were similar to the fog that came at dawn, a presence but an intangible one even when one was within the curling mists. A nebulous memory, and no more. He had only been... had it been seven or had it been six?... at the time. He had spent over half his life without them now. He had stopped using their surname, even, before they had died--the Marchonnés had been born even before the Bianchis had died, the Bianchi twins had died when the Marchonné twins had birthed themselves.
"Uh," His eye flicked away for a moment as he snapped his fingers lightly in emphasis of trying to remember. "that had been sung to me as a lullaby when I was younger. About a butterfly flying away free. It's... stupid and childish." His eye returned. "I am curious what you hear." His eyes tracked to everyone, curious in turn... "What all of you hear, for that matter." He blinked slowly, trying to encourage muddled thoughts to align themselves in a swimming brain, and he instead took his face into both hands and began to rub his eyes sleepily, ruffling his hair and messing it up even more than it had been before. His chest was starting to feel hollow again, and his stomach was turning ever so slightly.
With a tired sigh, Piérre blinked slowly again and found himself hyperfocusing on the ground in front of him before remembering that there were people around him and perking up once more. "Maybe I should go and throw a dung bomb in the Great Hall myself, then. That would be fun. That would stir something up." And perhaps it would bring a little excitement into his life, even if only in the form of cheap and thrilling adrenaline that would crash him out when he got foisted by a pointy ear to the nearest Head of House or Professor. It wouldn't solve that which he felt his condition was, but it could at least distract from it for at least a little while. Like an addition, it was there to satiate and then to demand more on the next time. It was something that could never be satisfied, something that would demand further sacrifices further down the road the likes of that which the boy had already laid on the altar in the form of human connection, reputation, and friendships. An addiction indeed...
Statistics: Stamina 7 | Strength 5 | Evasion 18 | Wisdom 12 | Accuracy 16 | ArcPower 5
Abilities:
Keen Eye | Calming Presence | Beast Master [Cat] | Cat's Grace | Animagus [Hummingbird]
Items:
Wand [10.2 inches Yew and Snallygaster Heartstring] | Invisibility Cloak | Soda
[Sharpened] Locksmith's Knife | [Red] Deck of 52 Playing Cards | Magical Music Box
@Astra Norrick, @Elisa Shakestra, @EmmaLee LeDames & @Lily Isobel McCoire
Jesters do oft prove prophets. 𓀚
I am the brother account to Romeo Marchonné & Zyva Hel Fae Skógrwight
7 Apr 2024, 22:33
One Foot in the Rubber Room, One Arm in the White Jacket
Date: March 9, 2024 | Time: Dinnertime| Language: French – English | WC: 934
Interacting with: @Piérre Marchonné, @Elisa Shakestra, @Astra Norrick, | Mentioning:
EmmaLee speaks with a light French accent.
Calming Presence is in Effect
Allies: Piérre Marchonné, Elisa Shakestra, Astra Norrick
Interacting with: @Piérre Marchonné, @Elisa Shakestra, @Astra Norrick, | Mentioning:
EmmaLee speaks with a light French accent.
Calming Presence is in Effect
Allies: Piérre Marchonné, Elisa Shakestra, Astra Norrick
Any mischief or teasing the boy intended by adding in a French word and shifting his speech went unnoticed by EmmaLee, who was more than used to English speakers slipping in vague words they knew from other languages to sound fancy or learned. "Petite", "voila", "bonjour", and "c'est la vie" was the only French a vast majority of people knew and most of them had learned it from tv shows that did the same thing they were attempting to do. She didn't really have any solid feelings about the habit and normally just let the phrases roll off her shoulders.
This boy, Piérre, didn't seem like the kind of person who would use random French to sound chic, but maybe to try and connect with his "audience", with the barest hint of a playful smirk and the slightest mischievous turn in her blue eyes, she decided to play his language game.
"Well, Mr. Stone," she said with inflection, "if you are concerned about your smaller stature, should you be allowing your smaller appetite to stop you from eating a good healthy meal to assist in your growing?" she continued with another tip of her head.
She continued to watch the boy's theatrical mannerisms and wondered if he acted this way when he was one on one with someone. Clearly this was not the Piérre of solitude: the Piérre he was when he was completely alone. That seemed to be the cloudy, panicky boy she had walked in on. She frowned a little as she thought about the discrepancy between his public and private self and wondered if he felt like there was anyone he could be sad in front of. To not have one person like that was a sad thought indeed.
Like lightening, recognition flashed across EmmaLee's mind as the boy answered one of the girl's questions about his cat. She had seen this boy before and his cat: a thin, silver creature if she recalled correctly. They had both been in the Dragon cabin during summer camp, though she had barely spent a minute longer in the cabin than she absolutely had to. It wasn't so much that she didn't want to interact with her cabinmates, she had just planned so many things to do that she usually would just pop in to exchange items or sleep and leave. Her summer had gone by in a whirlwind but she was very good at remembering people, even if she had never caught their name.
She continued to watch him as he spoke to the other girls, juggling their various questions and statements with relative ease. EmmaLee thought people like this boy were fascinating. She found it hard to connect when multiple conversations were going around her so unless she could latch on to one person to talk with or one subject to talk about, she usually floundered or stayed silent and listened instead. She spent a lot of time at any general social gathering feeling more like a tiny mouse rather than a real participant.
As the boy explained the music box and expressed interest in what the others' songs might be, EmmaLee raised an eyebrow curiously. It would be rather interesting to hear everyone else's songs. What would the enchanted music box bring up from everyone's pasts? The French girl begin to ponder what her own song might be. Piérre mentioned that it would be a barely remembered song, brought to the surface of memory but the enchantment. One of her most remembered songs was Vole, Vole, Vole, Papillion, so by the boy's description, that is probably not the one that would come out of his box. Her mind drifted towards her father. Maybe one of his songs. Her mother had told her that he used to sing to her as well and she said that he had a voice like a double bass.
Thinking about her father always made her feel awkward. Her mother expected EmmaLee to love him just as much as she loved him, but how do you love someone you only have about four memories of? She couldn't even remember what songs he used to sing to her, or his voice, or his face by her own recollection. Even now his picture resided on the mantle of their homes and she used to spend hours staring at it and wondering what he would be like today when she was six and eight and eleven and even now. How would he feel about her turning thirteen soon? How would her life be different if he were here? He was like a looming shadow, always around but never really there, everything in her life measured against his possible expectations. Anytime she tried to remember his face without the pictures though, he was a blur.
"What did you think of camp this year?" EmmaLee asked as her mind drifted back to the situation at hand and the conversation opened up. Maybe she could steer the conversation away from pranks and heavy topics and get some real positive energy out of the boy. As of now, his cloud seemed to be still lurking under the surface, ready to bleed out at any moment. She knew that agitated kind of face rubbing, the sleepy look of someone who was having a hard time pulling ideas and then words from a deep well. Maybe she had looked a certain amount this way after stumbling into a chair in the Hufflepuff common room after four nights of no sleep herself, when she had finally consented that she might need some medical help sleeping after all.
Fearless | Calming Presence | E.L. | Prodigal Transfiguration
ST: 9 | EV: 9 | STR: 3 | WI: 8 | ARC: 9 | ACC: 11
Caretaker: A. P. Finch | iNPC: Yasha V.
ST: 9 | EV: 9 | STR: 3 | WI: 8 | ARC: 9 | ACC: 11
Caretaker: A. P. Finch | iNPC: Yasha V.
9 Apr 2024, 13:18
One Foot in the Rubber Room, One Arm in the White Jacket
astra
@Piérre Marchonné ∆ @EmmaLee LeDames ∆ @Elisa Shakestra
"Unfortunately, I'm not coded for tall," Astra murmered, poking her shoe. It was true: the descendants of Rodney Norrick were not tall, barely average in several cases, and neither was Morella. Even now, Astra crept along the growth chart, remaining painfully short compared to her above-average peers and the upperclassmen.
A nod to his response. "The Phantom it is, I suppose," she said with a small shadow of a smile. She'd heard other names for the lad, brief names. Luigi something or other the first time, the jester the second if she remembered rightly. And each fit: Luigi, ignoring the Nintendo character, had the right feel of this boy. Jester, he was an entertainer.
But Phantom, despite originating from his own Phantom of the Opera reference on that near-historic day, seemed to fit more than anything in the world in this moment. It seemed he was a Phantom, a passing wisp in the windy night, never truly there. Always shifting moving changing.
Perhaps he was only a dream. Perhaps they were all only dreams. Perhaps Astra was getting a little too philosophical.
A giggle fluttered from her pale pink lips as Piérre discussed his cat. "A girlfriend, really? He is a busy little fellow!" The notion tickled her humor and she sat up again, hugging her stomach as her laughter grew. It could be because of her own little lad, likely searching for his mistress (and hopefully steering clear of any girlfriends!).
A solemn air seemed to overtake the boy, and by proxy the young girl. A tilt of the head and a darting of pupils as the wordless, intense exchange passed into a more mellow warning. Astra's face remained impassive as she turned over the audacity of the little lion in her mind. She'd thought nothing of it at first, simply a piece of visual information, but now she wondered. Was the other simply rude? Did the music trigger respite from her own shadows? Who was to know but the girl herself.
Indeed, the soft tinkling melody had been familiar to Astra's own ears. She played the memory in her mind, eyes drifting almost shut as she analyzed it, barely hearing Piérre's explanation of the enchanted thing. "Not stupid," she whispered, shaking her head, as her mind crept closer to answer. "A memory isn't stupid. Perhaps painful. Perhaps sad. But never stupid."
Memories memories. Pieces of the past. Chronicles of what you've done.
It was no use, not with all these conversations and chattering to try and pinpoint her song. Not with the blue boy and dismal girl each teetering on the edge of despair.
Maybe, in Piérre's case, he was simply sliding further into its murky waters. He'd seen things, been a part of things. That much was easy to see. Far more things than anyone her generation she had ever met. Things were scarring: she'd seen it firsthand. She saw it in her father, her mother, her aunts and uncles.
Her gaze flitted to the honey blonde girl. Camp? Dark blue eyes sparked with intrigue, glancing back towards the Phantom for a response.
inventory : wand, ink pen, crumpled piece of blank paper, chocolate bar
13 Apr 2024, 12:13
One Foot in the Rubber Room, One Arm in the White Jacket
The way the boy mimicked the other blonde haired girl made Elisa chuckle for a minute or two before she finally stopped as she started observing of how the boy's eyes were filled with a mischievous gleam, much like her own during pranks.
Elisa remained silent as she heard the boy start speaking of his cat, the more he spoke, the more she could barely stop herself from laughing, 'A cat getting a girlfriend? Surely yet another scene worth to be seen' thought Elisa while trying her best not to laugh but finally gave up when she heard Astra's statement. As she chuckled, Elisa realised how long it had been since she had last laughed infront of others, But nor was there anything funny to laugh on, It felt like this was the start of her boring days to the young Slytherin.
As Elisa heard the boy speak of the music box, she immediately paid all her attention on the words of the boy, the more she heard him speak about its speciality, the more she wondered how the melody she had previously heard was a part of her memories, the more she thought of it, the more she tried to remind herself her past, her memories before Hogwarts but before she could engulf in it, Elisa immediately snapped out of it, the last thing she would want currently would be reminding herself of her bitter childhood, the negligence and pressure of her parents were memories she yearned to forget but continued to linger onto her,
As she heard Astra tell Piérre of how memories weren't stupid, she slowly muttered "Astra is right—memories hold profound significance, far from being deemed foolish or insignificant", she then slowly became quiet again,
Her attention suddenly diverted to the other blonde girl, when she heard the word 'camp', she had heard of it being very fun! And a chance for students to spend their summer in school...
"Speech"
Yo!
Muah, The one and only Vasilius Nighthawk!
26 Apr 2024, 16:32
One Foot in the Rubber Room, One Arm in the White Jacket
House Colours: Slytherin
Calming Presence in Effect; All Participants Affected
"I assure you that the lack of my height is not for a lack of trying." Piérre flashed teeth in mischievous glee. "My twin got lucky--I think he ate my height." He neatly dodged the question about not eating as much as he should. He wasn't starving, after all, just peckish.
Figaro did like to run about quite wild and free when permitted. Interestingly enough, the feline could have had a few broods of little Figaros (the handsomely sleek and busy Figaro hadn't been 'fixed') by this point and Piérre likely would have been none the wiser to their existences.
As for memories... Such memories, such thoughts, such things that were imprinted and struggled to depart. So strange it was how the most insignificant ones seemed to vanish without so much of a word, but others liked to linger and to wreak destruction and despair when it was least wanted. The boy's childhood was strangely blank in places, times and incidents that were perhaps at one point the entire world to him but were now as illusory as fog in the summer sunlight. Even now his mind was a patchwork of experience and emotion attached to memories and frozen moments in time that were likely only half-remembered or at least shabbily recalled--precious few gleamed golden and whole at this point, but those he clutched close to his heart like priceless gems.
Hope, among them, seemed to have so few memories attached, though despite this She fluttered in his fingers and seemed loathe to depart even when bold attempts were made to pry Her from him. "Ah... yes, that much is true." A knifelike pain sank into his chest. "I suppose I feel that I'm merely the stupid one for letting them affect me too much." It was a miracle that he had not fallen apart sooner. "I simply wish that some were not so easy to remember compared to others. That the 'right' ones would stay as opposed to go."
He considered this to himself quietly before blinking and tilting his head in thought.
"Camp?" Piérre queried. "Ah, yes. Camp." It hadn't been terrible. It hadn't been eventful. "Well, it was fine, I suppose." He shrugged, running his fingers through his hair as he reminisced the things that had happened during it. He had ended up in a nice cabin, the Dragon cabin, though admittedly the people in it weren't really interested in his shenanigans. He did remember the blonde girl, though, as soon as she had mentioned it. "We were in Dragon Cabin together, weren't we." A small smile.
What else had happened then...? A game of Spin the Bottle that had brought him endless amusement in the form of his brother's drama, the gnome racing that his and Romeo's disaster of a creation had somehow ended up almost winning it all, and watching his brother on Durmstrang's team basically demolish the Hufflepuff team only to get scammed out of a full fledged win due to what he had to assume was Hogwarts bias. It was something that had almost turned to blows, he remembered the outrage vividly--a good thing Romeo had been knocked out when it happened, Piérre could only have imagined the kinds of outrage that the giant would have wreaked if someone had tried to jibe him. He had been almost inches away from clotheslining a referee as it had been only moments before he had been de-seated, a rare instance of rage that was highly uncharacteristic of the young man and had caused Piérre to have a whiplash of surprise. Sure, Romeo was neurotic... but he was rarely rageful. It was as if a switch had suddenly flipped, like some kind of mental break had occurred.
Similar to his own.
"Not as great as some other camps I've been to, but not the worst one either." He shrugged, feeling a small pressure behind his nose that was quickly remedied with a sniff.
At some point, Lily had departed from the rest of them, so now it was only Piérre and the three other girls left. The boy had likely watched the young lion leave with a bit of hollowness in his green eyes. He knew not the circumstances, he knew not for what reasons the departure was, but he hoped that he would see her again instead of finding that once again his presence had led to the vanishing of another. Another missing face, another withdrawn person.
He swallowed lightly at the thought, his hands turning the music box between thin fingers with slight anxiety. Too many people, as if one was not enough--as if he were the cause of the disappearances and the strange vanishings... Those that stayed around him too long vanished, or had something of ill fortune occur to them. He was a walking cataclysm, a harbinger that heralded a demand for a soul sacrifice when he passed. And he had young children here now gathered about him--any one of them could be the one that was next. "You should all go." He finally blurted, looking down and speaking no louder than a whisper. "Nothing good happens when I'm around. I don't want any of you to get in trouble." The unspoken 'or worse' wasn't necessary.
Statistics: Stamina 7 | Strength 5 | Evasion 18 | Wisdom 12 | Accuracy 16 | ArcPower 5
Abilities:
Keen Eye | Calming Presence | Beast Master [Cat] | Cat's Grace | Animagus [Hummingbird]
Items:
Wand [10.2 inches Yew and Snallygaster Heartstring] | Invisibility Cloak | Soda
[Sharpened] Locksmith's Knife | [Red] Deck of 52 Playing Cards | Magical Music Box
@Astra Norrick, @Elisa Shakestra, @EmmaLee LeDames & @Lily Isobel McCoire
Permission to lightly godmod Lily's char leaving the thread was given.
Permission to lightly godmod Lily's char leaving the thread was given.
Jesters do oft prove prophets. 𓀚
I am the brother account to Romeo Marchonné & Zyva Hel Fae Skógrwight
30 Apr 2024, 21:07
One Foot in the Rubber Room, One Arm in the White Jacket
Date: March 9, 2024 | Time: Dinnertime| Language: French – English | WC: 642
Interacting with: @Piérre Marchonné, @Elisa Shakestra, @Astra Norrick, | Mentioning:
EmmaLee speaks with a light French accent.
Calming Presence is in Effect
Allies: Piérre Marchonné, Elisa Shakestra, Astra Norrick
Interacting with: @Piérre Marchonné, @Elisa Shakestra, @Astra Norrick, | Mentioning:
EmmaLee speaks with a light French accent.
Calming Presence is in Effect
Allies: Piérre Marchonné, Elisa Shakestra, Astra Norrick
"Well, it is a good thing 'e didn't eat you entirely then." EmmaLee said in a teasing manner. "As I 'eard that can 'appen with twins, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't try to catch up to 'im." EmmaLee said, wagging her finger at him playfully, not willing to fully let go of his need to eat, but not feeling like a full push would be welcome.
Thinking on his comment about memories, her mind wandered back to her own memories, or, rather, her lack thereof. "I wouldn't call you stupid for letting them affect you, either." EmmaLee said, looking down at her own hands abruptly and causing the cat upon her head to have to shift quickly herself with a irritated 'merf' kind of sound to keep from falling off and to the floor. EmmaLee brought her head back up gently to appease her cat and look at the boy once more. "The ones you don't remember can be just as affecting as the ones you do. They 'ang over like a cloud sometimes. I can sympathize with wanting to call forth the memories you wish and keep forgotten the ones you don't." She said almost pensively.
As the boy answered her question about camp, EmmaLee nodded. "We were. I remember you and your cat, though I wasn't in the cabin often enough this year to really get to know anyone." She explained. "I 'ad a very full summer over all this year, but camp was especially so. I am glad that you 'ad at least a decent time." She said.
Apparently, as they all had been in conversation, Lily had slipped away. EmmaLee frowned a little as she noticed, because she was usually more perceptive than that and would have at least waved a goodbye without interrupting the conversation if she had noticed. She really hoped that Lily hadn't left because she was feeling left out of said conversation. As EmmaLee turned her attention back to Piérre, it was apparent that he had noticed the other Gryffindor's exit as well. The Hufflepuff frowned further as his face fell and this time he seemed unable to pick it up.
As the boy's face dropped back into his lap and he whispered their dismissal, Minx shifted carefully from EmmaLee's shoulders and leapt lightly down. The large, white animal padded over to the boy and bumped his chin upwards with her fluffy forehead before turning a circle and lowering herself into a comfortable position on his lap.
"Well, I won't be going anywhere without my cat and she seems to 'ave taken a liking to you, so you can't be quite the doom you claim to be." EmmaLee said with an amused little smile. Minx always had her own agenda and EmmaLee usually let her have it, not that EmmaLee would be following if Minx chose to go. The white haired girl really couldn't bring herself to leave someone like him alone, even if he didn't want to speak any more. Maybe it was some kind of stubborn Hufflepuff need to help those who seemed they needed help. She dipped her head down to try and look him in the face as he looked at his lap.
"If I may intrude, why do you say nothing good 'appens around you?" She asked carefully. It seemed to her an odd and untrue opinion of himself, as the girls gathered who knew of him apparently had good opinions of him, and what she had seen of him at summer camp was a lad who at least knew how to have a good time and be friendly, even if part of that jovial spirit he put on seemed to be an act. It always saddened her greatly when people thought little of themselves, as she had been taught that even terrible people had worth in this world.
Fearless | Calming Presence | E.L. | Prodigal Transfiguration
ST: 9 | EV: 9 | STR: 3 | WI: 8 | ARC: 9 | ACC: 11
Caretaker: A. P. Finch | iNPC: Yasha V.
ST: 9 | EV: 9 | STR: 3 | WI: 8 | ARC: 9 | ACC: 11
Caretaker: A. P. Finch | iNPC: Yasha V.
20 Jun 2024, 05:02
One Foot in the Rubber Room, One Arm in the White Jacket
astra
@Piérre Marchonné ∆ @EmmaLee LeDames ∆ @Elisa Shakestra
Astra heard Elisa's laugh. She had never heard Elisa laugh, really. Nothing more than a polite giggle (heavens, that sounded like the worst oxymoron) or a quiet chuckle to herself. And, well, this did fall into the latter category in a sense, but it sounded different. More... genuine?
Memories, an imperfect record of the life one has lived, the love one has lost, the treasures of happy indifference, simpler times. Astra had no complaints in regards to her own little camera in her head; as it were, the thing seemed too good at losing memories. Bad, good, right, wrong, though her hippocampus did like to view her past through rose colored glasses, a sense of pleasantness almost tainting her earlier years like a too-sweet syrup on an ice cream sundae.
"Aye," was the simple response to EmmaLee's position on memories. "There is something to be said of the bad ones. They help you learn. And move on. And get over things." If only. The odd little obsession she had with keeping all the things that ailed her under the rug until they passed, the drive to never disappoint... where had it come from? How would she turn the unhealthy practices and mindsets into something she could use, to make her useful- and there it was again.
The French girl and the Phantom discussed things that did not pertain to Astra, and as such she remained silent, watching curiously as the snowy feline made herself acquainted with the boy.
At his last sentences, she peered at him with furrowed brow, puzzled. Panicked whispers... oh my. This was certainly something, wasn't it? Nothing good ever happens around me. "It can't be so bad, can it?" she whispered, calmly, perhaps in an effort to soothe. "What's happening right now is good. Sitting and taking a moment to rest. Nothing dangerous, nothing horrible." It probably didn't ease his mind much at all, but Astra didn't understand why he was so worried.
inventory : wand, ink pen, crumpled piece of blank paper, chocolate bar