Off to Feed the Wild Things PV Charlie Finished

Ruthie was unaccustomed to help. She'd always been the older sister and at Hogwarts, she'd developed a frightening habit of saving one of her best friend, Jorah, from a wide array of trials. In short, she was the helper. So, as she pushed herself off the ground, she was quite surprised to hear someone call out to her, asking if was okay. And even more strangely, he called her Miss. Never once in her life had she been addressed so politely like a grown-up. "Greer," she filled in the gap in his speech, "Ruthie Greer."

It was slightly irregular that she'd give her nickname to someone she didn't know, but the entire thing was odd. He was so polite and kind, a very different kind of boyishness than she had come to know at Hogwarts thus far. "I'm fine," she said, almost automatically. She never really thought about it--being fine--it was just a natural thing because everyone was not fine. Everyone else was a mess. After pushing herself up from the ground, she rolled over and sat up. Sitting up, she just sat breathing. "Or maybe not so fine," she admitted, pulling her right knee towards her. Her black school stocking had been ripped through and revealed a sharp cut, which was bleeding and nearby bruising. It wasn't anything too serious, a childhood scrape, but she winced as the stinging set in. It'd have to be cleaned, the gravel removed, but then it would be a quick fix.

With her finger, she tried to clean it, but this wasn't very efficient unlike swiping the owl pellets off her calves and her shoes. Once she had determined this and a few scrapes on the palms of her hands were all the injury she had incurred, she looked over to the boy who'd stopped to check on her. She didn't know him. Older, she might have guessed, but only by a hair. He wore a kind face and a warm scarf. Since the ball, she'd had to learn how to trust strangers. Thankfully, some of those strangers had become friends. Perhaps that would be the case with this boy as well. Funny how crisis seemed to weave together her strongest relationships.

"Ugh, there goes Darby's supper," she admitted, frustrated with her fall as she looked around at the owl pellets on the floor, herself and probably even the boy who'd come to her rescue. She felt so stupid. When Darby had been gifted to her, she promised to take good care of bird--she knew how expensive it was for her family--and now look what she'd done. Almost immediately, the blonde started to pick up the pellets within her reach, holding them in her hand. With a few turns of her head, she located the bag from which they came. It had fallen behind her, just beyond her reach. She intended to reach for it with a full hand, but that proved problematic as she dropped half of them in the process.

Perhaps she should have asked him for his name, but she didn't want him to feel as though he needed to stay with her and clean up this mess. It would be nice, of course, but she didn't expect anything from a stranger. At least, a stranger for the moment. Perhaps he would not be so strange if he too shared a certain affection for the wild things.

For @Charlie Woodward

She'd never heard her name stretched out flat like that, the way the boy's Texan accent did. In the Highlands, words ran together and consonants dropped off the ends. It probably didn't help that Ruth Iona Greer was remarkably short--every single part of her name. Still, she listen to him eagerly as he commented somewhat rhetorically that the scrape was indeed not so fine. "You're not from here, are you?" she asked as he examined her knee. Her curiosity was phrased as a question to be polite, but she had to admit this boy was intriguing.

"Some what?" she asked as he looked across to his bag. They had anti-sceptic in Scotland as nearly anywhere else, and antibiotics too, but they had different names. Except Ibuprofen, which was just Ibuprofen. What Ruthie didn't know was that the cream the boy was referring to was Neomycin in the UK. It wasn't as common as a generic cream at Boots, but that wasn't really that important when you added in the fact that her mother, the botanist, often favored natural remedies anyway. Still, seemed as good ideas as ever. "All right, if you think that'd probably help," she decided to trust him.

As she turned to pick up the pellets from the ground, she noticed Charlie drop down besides her offering to help her. After dropping a few of the pellets into the bag, she craned her head to look over at him. "You don't have to--" she started, but hesitated for a moment, unsure. Usually when she did get help, it was in the middle of a crisis. But this was an everyday thing, and he was just being nice. He seemed quite a pleasant fellow with lovely honey hair, warmer than her own shade of blonde. Moreover, the mess was fairly large and pellets small, wedged in the stones. And so she suppressed her independence, and instead agreed, "Perhaps I could."

At his remark of the cold, she was reminded of his presumed foreign status. Perhaps he lived somewhere not as cold? That would make more sense. Scots only really acknowledged the daily rain if it was particularly dreich. She wondered if perhaps she sounded exceptionally Scottish to a foreign ear.

Without warning, he was already picking up the pellets. "Here," she said, placing the bag between them, "You can put them in here." She smiled up at him, genuinely grateful for his assistance. The bag was simple, plain dark plum leather. It lacked embroidery or any distinctive embellishment. In short, it was another way of mark of a working class girl. Somehow, she did not think this would bother Charlie, as he introduced himself. "Thank you, Charlie, for your help," she replied while continuing to clean up. At least they could make some progress together.

"Yes, the owlery," she answered matter-of-factly, "Darby is my owl. She's a small Barred Owl. I only got her over the holiday." She stopped, deliberately omitting the part about the owl basically being a direct reaction to the trauma she'd suffered at the Masked Ball. Charlie was probably there, even if she hadn't seen him. "She's quite sweet actually, likes people," she continued, "if you ever wanted to meet her." Perhaps it was a bit of a rush to offer an introduction of her pet to a boy she hardly knew, but he'd already been so kind. It seemed the least she could do.

For @Charlie Woodward

Charlie continued to gather up pellets, hands still a little shakey from the weather. "I'm from about as far away as folk can get from 'here,' I reckon." He watched as she pulled the small bag over, unmarked leather. It reminded him of the simplicity he had at home, and couldn't help a small, genuine smile. (trinkets and the like, unembellished leather, it was something rather common in his home)

"And uh, Neosporin, it's a medicine,
creme you put on scapes n' stuff to stop infections n' nasty germs gettin' in your system." He made a few odd hand gestures as he tried to explain it. "I went to a muggle store in London before I got on the train- it's uh- it's like Neo-Neomycin?" He wasn't sure if he was correct in that statement, but the tubes at the store had looked similar, in his brief visit to Tesco before running through the platforms to board the Hogwarts Express. "I'll grab it once this is all up and tidy, I reckon I've got bandaids too."

Either way, he continued to help her with the grain, running his fingers through the cracks to pull some of the lost fibres back to the surface. When she thanked him, he let out a small chuckle. "No need to thank me, Miss Greer, 'm happy to help." It was about the most southern thing he could say, but the smile was genuine as he swept more grain into the pouch. When she described the bird, Darby, his smile only seemed to grow a little more. "She sounds lovely, if you wouldn't mind, of course-" He thought the pause was a little odd, perhaps thinking on something, but didn't mention it. They'd just met- and well, he didn't want to badger her. He only meant to help.

So sorry for the late reply, I've been sick, and school has been rough!!

Far away from here. It sounded like such a novel idea, and she couldn't help but imagine what that might be like, what adventures it might hold. "I've never left Scotland," she admitted as she looked across at him. Perhaps it was his foreign status or perhaps simply his unconditional kindness, but there was certainly something interesting about him. "Where's your home then?" she asked, unable to reel back her curiosity. She's be able to place a man in Scotland, maybe even the UK if the accent was broad, but Charlie's gentle words were a complete mystery. Though he did sound a bit like some characters in films if that was anything to go off.

"Ohhh, Neomycin! Yes, that would be good," she agreed once he relayed what he was actually talking about. He had come through London. Most of the pupils at Hogwarts did and yet it seemed like he had come from much further afield if his earlier intonations were anything to go off. That and the fact that he once again used a word she didn't know: band-aid. But rather than questioning, she just nodded. He seemed to know what he was doing so far so she had no reason not to trust him. Quite the contrary in fact, he had been extraordinarily helpful, more than your average passerby.

Her rescuer continued to help her, but they were nearly finished. And even so, it seemed he didn't feel a need to be thanked. He was more humble than that as his smile made easily clear. "I don't mind at all," she explained, "it's the least I could do." That was true, not to mention the fact she didn't have an awful lot to barter with. She was always just a fisherman's daughter, not interesting, not showered with interesting possessions.

When the bag was finally heavy, she looked as they seemed to be getting up the last of the pellets. "This looks pretty good," she admitted, giving him a nod so he could go and collect the antibiotic he had mentioned earlier. The pain had lessened in the few minutes they'd been collecting the pellets, but it was still there. She'd done her collecting mostly by trying not to move her leg, but she'd have to move it eventually and get off the ground. Until then, she gripped the string at the top of her leather bag. It was heavier now that the contents had been restored. Hopefully, the wild things wouldn't mind a little bit of gravel mixed in with dinner.

For @Charlie Woodward

He'd never been to Scotland before. What a curious, bizarre way of being. Most if not all of the students at Hogwarts were British, weren't they? And if they weren't, would they have gone home for the holidays? She cocked her head over to the side in surprise, studying him a little bit. It was not her intention to be rude, but rather her natural curiosity had reared its head. She couldn't help smiling at his laugh. It seemed genuine and very different from the typical self-deprecating kind of laugh she was accustomed to amongst her fellow Brits.

"America?" she asked somewhat rhetorically. Her knowledge of America was limited to books and films, which made her view primarily just a summation of stereotypes. So, when he specified Texas the first thing that came to mind were old Westerns with John Wayne and Roy Rogers. "Do you have cactus trees where you live then? And cowboys?" It was perhaps the stupidest, mildly insulting question she could ask, entirely based on preconceptions. But the eleven year old didn't know any better. At least her interest was genuine as reflected in the corner of her eye.

His accent seemed a little more pronounced when he talked of his home state. Perhaps it was a very important part of his identity just as Scotland was to hers. "Why do you study here then? If there's an American school?" she asked bluntly. She was very glad he had been here to check on her in light of this fall, but it did seem odd. Perhaps he had family here? Or some other connection?

"Quite," she agreed, "But I've seen some of the English students having a hard time with the weather too at times." She smiled lightly, hoping this sentiment would make him feel more comfortable in being, well, uncomfortable. Still, Scotland was beautiful and she hoped the weather didn't put him off exploring. "What do you think of our country, then, so far?" she inquired, "I rather think the Hogwarts grounds have some exquisite views, especially from the towers." The Ravenclaw tower had what was rumored to be the best view in the entire school, but she imagined other towers also offered pristine views of the nature around.

When they had finished cleaning, Charlie reached for his satchel. It was old and worn, not unlike the leather bag which played home to Darby's meals--or really anything Ruthie owned. It was small, barely noticeable, but her eyes lit up at this sight. Everyday at Hogwarts she felt like most people were better than her or had things she'd never have, but this boy...he seemed on her level. And it was refreshing, even if it was only a feeling. She couldn't help but peer over to get a better look at what might be inside. Perhaps there were other clues that he was from a similar background. "You collect things," she observed, "Books." The colorful spines had caught her eye. Hugo. Orwell. "I think my parents have that one," she commented, motioning towards the copy of 1984, "but my favorites are Robert Louis Stevenson's stories." As much as she longed to one day read and understand all her parents' more grown-up books, the Scottish author's boyish adventure books would always have a special place in her heart. So much so, that she had brought her copy of Kidnapped with her and it was sitting up in the Ravenclaw tower at this very moment.

While she was daydreaming of the books she had yet to read, the boy had pulled out a first aid kit, small and compact. It was certainly more organized than anything they had around the docks. With the antibiotic and plaster in hand, he was more than ready to help, but paused to ask for consent. "Yes, of course," she agreed, surprised by the kindness of this cowboy. Instinctively, she wiped her fingers across her knee as she bent upwards, just to make sure to get the tiniest pieces of gravel out. It was a strange role reversal, being helped. But then, after all she'd been through in just one year at Hogwarts, perhaps it was about time.

Interacting with @Charlie Woodward

@Ruthie Greer