Phoenix Zhang
Enemies Among the Shelves
Phoenix did not in fact need anything. Not really. She had no homework that was due, no research for her to go undertake, no good reason for her even to be in the library. But her feet had carried her there, quietly and with purpose, as if the pull was magnetic.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Date: 14/05/25 | Time: 16:15 | Outfit: Robes | CC: #english, mandarin
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She walked past the tall library doors and stepped in unnoticed. The sudden stillness was balm—quiet as the common room, yet less crowded, and a universe removed from the whirlwind that seethed in her own head. There was a smell of ink and dust and something else, older than years. She liked it.
She floated, rather than walked, to a table.
It would have meant nothing, or would have. Not for Phoenix, anyway. A mode of listening. Walking with her, listening, something would speak to her—not actually, of course. Something would be clear to her. A title. A spine. Something she hadn't realized she was seeking until then. She passed smoothly from topic to topic: Wandlore, Magical Law, Beings. She stroked the edge of a shelf with the side of her hand, her fingertips tracing over the books, skimming the air on either side of them. At distant tables, students grumbled, parchment was turned, and the enchanted ceiling lazily, imperceptibly shifted to conform to the pale gray of an overcast day. It was not until she had crossed the library, by a leaning window and a stand of leaning shelves, that she halted. Something here was… found wanting. Books were crowded too tightly together, shelves labeled in dusty letters. Neglected, a little. Nearly forgotten.
Untagged
Phoenix tilted her head, eyes glinting over the spines. No organization there, either—books leapt from odd titles, their spines faded pale with age rather than with wear. That was nice, too. At least one of those caught my attention—not by title, half of which had rubbed off, but by colour. A subdued green, the same tone as moss on a rock that had been wet with rain. It had a good well-worn binding, the kind that had belonged to too many hands. It was a bit taller even than I, standing between two bigger books as if placed there to conceal it.
She stopped.
It did not matter. She was sure of that. It might be dull. Or pointless. Or written in a language she did not read. Still, something held her back. Not because she was positive that it was so—and yet, she was not. Phoenix stretched out and extended her hand, her fingers tracing along the vertebrae. For the simple act of touching.─────
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| 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉: @None yet @Giovanni De'Luca @Mateo Sáez | 𝑴𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈: @ |
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Enemies Among the Shelves
_GDL_ |
───────────────────────────────────────────────── One of Giovanni’s favourite areas to be in at Hogwarts was the library (You could call him out on Ravenclaw stereotypes, though he’d probably only arch a brow and carry on reading). The hush was favourable, as if the air had been folded into stillness, each mote of dust frozen mid-flight, each sound absorbed by the centuries-thick quiet that clung to the stone. The light filtered through the tall mullioned windows, the pale gold of the late afternoon after rain; a softened glow, reverent, which spilled in long, languid rays across the floors and shelves, catching on the gilded lettering of book spines and the fine edges of parchment like sunlight brushing the rims of old goblets. The smell of parchment mingled with petrichor, and somewhere far off, water still trickled from a gutter in slow, rhythmic drops. Giovanni stepped slowly and deliberately through the shelves, dark pools of green scanning the spines with an almost surgical precision. His dark hair, thick and usually in a state of loose control, had surrendered to the rain in a way that irked him. Damp with rainwater, his curls clung to his temple, brushing against the arch of his cheekbone; he had tried to tame them with a hand as he’d entered the safe refuge of indoors, and now they’d dried in stubborn spirals that spoke of the brief, sullen dash he’d made through the courtyard. His uniform, always a little neater than it needed to be, was still darkened at the shoulders, the sleeves faintly wrinkled where he’d shaken off water, or attempted to at least. It was distantly uncomfortable, and he vaguely wondered how long it would take for them to dry now that he was inside the rich warmth of the library, and how he should perhaps learn how to cast a drying charm. Today, he had not come here to wander idly, but for a specific purpose, a book in fact, green, tall, unlabelled to the careless eye, but vital to the thread of his research. Giovanni had spent a week or more trying to trace it through indexes, scouring the margins of forgotten catalogues for the single reference that proved its existence, and now, at last, he had found it in a crooked alcove of shelves trilted slightly with age, where the light dappled over the wood in lazy ribbons. He stepped forward to reach for it, and simultaneously, so did someone else. Giovanni stilled instantly, his slender fingers curling on the spine of the book as his gaze snapped down to a girl around his age or younger, he did not know. He did not recognise her. Giovanni eyed her at first with surprise and then, not with idle curiosity, but with a sharp, quiet scrutiny- the kind he reserved for anything unusual that ever caught his attention. The light streaked through the windows and fell across her skin, an olive warmth that paired with her brown waves of hair, gave her a rather angelic look. Her hair was cut just below her shoulders and fell with a natural grace, catching stray glints of gold like the edges of old parchment. Her eyes, a misted jade, held a distant, contemplative stillness, a quiet knowing that was both watchful and withdrawn. She was undeniably pretty, of that there could be no question. The calm in her smooth features wasn't posed, but settled naturally into the softness of her face, like the calm before the storm, and though her frame was slight, it carried an unspoken steadiness. The damp at Giovanni’s temple was beginning to dry, leaving his hair curling even more so at the ends, visibly more unruly now in the light. A single droplet clung near his jaw, catching the sun as it slid down his neck and absorbed into the collar of his shirt. “It's a first edition on structured duelling tactics,” His voice was silken, teetering on mocking, and his lip curled as he tightened his grip possessively. “You’d hate it. Far too many words, not enough pictures.” ───────────────────────────────────────────────── | _GDL_ |
Last edited by Giovanni De'Luca on 16 Jul 2025, 23:56, edited 1 time in total.
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*ੈ✩‧₊˚Star-pale, celestial, neither flesh nor blood.⋆⭒ ࣪ .⋆
|
Phoenix Zhang
Enemies Among the Shelves
Phoenix did not pull her hand away immediately. Her fingers had merely brushed the spine but it was enough to stake some kind of silent ownership. She was not bothered that another hand had touched it at the same time. That was just timing. Coincidence. Bad luck even. But most certainly no reason to give up.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Date: 14/05/25 | Time: 16:15 | Outfit: Robes | CC: #english, mandarin
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Her gaze rose to meet his.
The boy stood tall, one hand already curled possessively around the spine as if that was enough to make it his. Like books were territory and proximity was enough to mean ownership. It Irked her. Not moving she looked at him in a way that suggested she might if the moment demanded it- not away but forward.
The way he gazed at her….that was more disturbing than anything else. He was staring at her silently, as if he was attempting to make sense of something that had surprised him and which he had not anticipated at all. This kind of attention irritated her far more than the simple fact of his hand being on the book. As if all this was not enough, his words only served to reinforce her annoyance and irritation.
“You’d hate it. Far too many words, not enough pictures.”
Phoenix tipped her head to the side. It was a subtle gesture. Her lips curled into a smirk. She stretched a bit higher standing on her toes, her fingers digging into the cover of the book slightly as if probing its durability. Or his.
“You must be used to needing pictures then.” There was no venom in her voice. The tone was level almost absent minded however the implication was barbed. It wasn’t a snap but something quieter. Drier. A slow turn of the knife rather than a sudden jab. It was the kind of comment that could either be passed over or taken very seriously.
Her eyes roamed over his form. His eyes, a darker shade of green than her misty ones. Moist strands at his temple and the water droplet that trickled down his neck. His cuff was creased. He looked like a painting that someone spent ages to make look effortless.
Her eyes returned at once to his face, and there was a sudden intensity in her expression. "And if it happens to be a first edition," she moved slightly closer, emphasizing the point, "then you really ought not to handle it the way you are. You'll damage the book's binding if you keep it up."
There was the implication again: he didn't deserve it. Not if this was the way he was handling it. Not if he though mocking her would scare her off. Make her cower. Phoenix didn't back down from books or boys, especially not boys who though clever words made them more clever. She allowed her own hand to lie gently alongside his on the spine, not moving from her position or backing down from or escalating the confrontation that had led them to this point. They were in a library, after all, a space generally set aside for quiet and focus. Her own fingers brushed gently against his, a contact subtle but by no means accidental. It was invited as a test, soft and understated as it was. It was a feeler to see just how far he would take things in the heat of this charged moment.
Phoenix's expression did not falter but a flame burned behind her eyes. This was no longer about the book. Not anymore, but rather standing her ground. If he truly wished to possess the book, he'd have to fight for it. And to be honest, she actually hoped that he would take that challenge.─────
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| 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉: @Giovanni De'Luca | 𝑴𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈: @none |
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Enemies Among the Shelves
_GDL_ |
───────────────────────────────────────────────── His patience was fraying like an old, threadbare tapestry. Her words sent a sudden jagged spike of fury and adrenaline that surged through his veins. Ohhhhh so she was one of those; bold, brazen, an irritating blaze of confidence that dared to scorch his so thinly veiled calm. His lip curled into a familiar snarl, sharp and cold. Who the absolute fuck, did she think she was? Fine. If she sought a game of endurance, he would be the master of the long play. He noticed her shift and glanced down to see they were almost toe to toe; she was rising imperceptibly onto the balls of her feet. Her fingers brushed his own along the spine of the ancient tome, and his gaze snapped up, locking with hers. She wore an expression equal parts smug, defiant, and dangerously assured. There was something almost hypnotic about her, an infuriating elegance wrapped in insolence. Oh, he was furious. Shit. Did he have a temper? Perhaps it was about time he accepted he did, and it was volatile, a fire long smouldering beneath layers of discipline. A cold drop of rainwater splashed onto the bridge of his perfect nose from his sodden hair, making him startle slightly amidst their intense staring match. The surprise loosened his grip with a quiet gasp, but he surged back to clamp down harder. The sudden tug sent him stumbling forward awkwardly into her personal space. He couldn’t have cared less with the fire blazing inside him. He flicked his damp fringe from his eyes, licking his lips where the rainwater had pooled at his cupid's bow. He looked, to be quite frank, furious. “Let go,” he growled, voice low and harsh, teeth clenched like he had a toothache. He opened his mouth to unleash another cutting insult, but a darker thought arrested him. His hand shot out, sudden and merciless, striking her squarely on the shoulder. The shove wasn’t violent, but it was deliberate, and measured enough to wrench her grip and send her stumbling backwards, perhaps even to the floor. It was a dirty move. His ancestors were undoubtedly scowling, some from above, others, more fittingly, from below, at him. Sure, he hadn't gone and boxed her, but the imbalance in their stature made the act unmistakably cruel and of course, ungentlemanly. So much for patience. So much for poise. So much for the long game. Someone else might have flinched with guilt. But Giovanni was no gentleman. At the manor, he wore civility like a starched collar, crisp shirts, hollow pleasantries, and carefully worded condolences. He knew how to play the part; it had been etched into his bones over years of stifled dinners and sharpened etiquette. But here, at Hogwarts, he could be as bitter and cruel as he desired. No scrutinising eyes watching from oil portraits. No ancient governess correcting his posture. Merlin, it was liberating. He tore the book free from its shelf and fixed her with a glare that morphed into a faint, sardonic smirk. Then he stilled. Ah. Of course. He was trapped. Shit. Evidently, the Ravenclaw in him had taken the evening off, left his logic at the door and let his temper do the thinking. Unlike her, Giovanni stood boxed in, trapped on the end where old bookbound wood touched the stone walls of the castle. Through her was his only escape, and unfortunately, no doubt, she was already drawing up her vengeance behind that unwavering gaze. It was slightly unnerving, but bold. Unyielding. Strikingly beautiful. He knew she would not allow him to leave unscathed, not with that book, and definitely not after he’d pushed her. Crisp, polished oxfords took a slow step back, his dark robes sweeping the bookshelves as he edged further in. The book was large and heavy and his slender fingers slipped slightly; he grasped it with his other hand for good measure. Despite his hauteur and sharp edged cruelty, a grudging respect for her bubbled beneath the surface. She was bright eyed, sharp, she didn't break easily. An adversary worth his irritation. And perhaps, just perhaps, this was the only thing that made this game interesting. ───────────────────────────────────────────────── | _GDL_ |
ooc pinterest . ency . playlist . owl |
*ੈ✩‧₊˚Star-pale, celestial, neither flesh nor blood.⋆⭒ ࣪ .⋆
|
Phoenix Zhang
Enemies Among the Shelves
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Date: 14/05/25 | Time: 16:15 | Outfit: Robes | CC: #english, mandarin
────────────────────────────────She didn't expect it.─────
One second she had her fingers pressed against the spine of the book, firm as rock, her eyes fixed on his with something near contempt. The next a force burst on her shoulder. Quick. Sharp. Intentional. The breath constricted in her throat as her body recoiled backward. She staggered, her feet flying out from beneath her as she lost balance. She flailed out to catch hold of something to arrest herself but the air was empty.
She met the ground.
Hard.
The collision knocked the breath out of her lungs. Her hip grazed the edge of a low shelf, her backbone crunching against the floor. A flare of pain erupted where her elbow struck the ground, and dust soiled her robes. She remained there a beat longer than she intended, teeth gritted, gaze locked on the ceiling beams overhead—still, shocked, humiliated.
There was nobody else in this little alcove. No witnesses. Just her, him, and the books.
She breathed in, shallow. Then again.
Silence rang in her ears like a gong.
Phoenix sat up slowly, planting a palm on the floor as she collected herself. Her hair had fallen from behind her ear and now hung in loose strands over her face. She brushed it back without fanfare. Her hand came away lightly grazed with dust and grit, and her elbow ached in a slow, steady beat.
She hadn't turned to look at him yet. She didn't have to. She could feel him still standing there—looming, watching, like the type of boy who knew what he'd done and didn't care. Or worse, was proud of it.
Phoenix stood.
Not all at once. She rose deliberately, each movement smooth, unhurried. She straightened to her full height—not tall, not towering, but composed. Her expression was unreadable, all the more dangerous for it. The only trace of her fall was the slight bend in her arm, the dust smudged along her side.
Her mind registered the wall behind him. A glance behind her showed the rest of the library. He was trapped. She snorted. Beginner's mistake.
Then before he could even see it coming she stepped forward, fast.
Her palms struck him flat on the chest—hard enough to potentially set him back a pace. She may be smaller than him but she wasn't completely helpless. She was upset. Her customary tranquility was gone the instant his hand made contact.
"Don't. Touch. Me."
The words were low. Controlled in a way that implied she was very close to not being controlled at all.
She did not yell. She did not snarl. Her voice was soft, yet sliced with anger. The kind that did not need loudness to be listened to.
"I was there," she spoke rigidly, each word measured like a coin on a balance. "I was holding that book. I didn't shout. I didn't hex you. I didn't insult you first yet you have the audacity to push me?"
Her eyes cut into him now, sharp and scalding. “What does that say about you? Huh?”
Phoenix did not give him time to respond. She didn't want one.
She stepped forward pushing him again for good measure. "You selfish prick." Her voice was warped with contempt now, something chill creeping through.
She didn't back away. If anything, she moved closer.
“You made your choice,” she said. “You put your hands on me and if you think that's how you win?” She scoffed. "You thought wrong"
Her hand darted out again—not to strike or hurt, but to snatch. Her fingers grabbed the edge of the book, the moss-colored tome still caught between them and pulled. She would not let some boy bruise her pride. If anything it boosted her determination not only to get the book. But to win.
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| 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉: @Giovanni De'Luca | 𝑴𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈: @None |
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