Having climbed into the Divination classroom George Grogan hangs up his things and takes his Divination text books to his seat with him. He greets his friends as usual and gets his things ready in the typical fashion that has become a ritual for him almost. George brushes a bit of his long black hair from his eyes in frustration. Perhaps today he will devine that its time to get a haircut?

Forcing himself into the classroom, Gabe Goden sighs dramatically as he slumps down into a sitting position, resting his forehead on two fists, elbows on his textbook. Dad had always made is opinions on his class known– bordering on useless! But mum had always stared him down in times like those. For this reason, Gabe perks up a little, putting forth an effort and waiting for class to start.

Angry footsteps stamp down on the ground, echoing ahead of Kelly Pantall as her less than gentle footsteps often do. She climbs up through the floor, her face a picture of annoyance, glaring in turn at each person her eyes fall upon and biting at her lower lip angrily. As someone dares to ask her what’s got her so angry, she whirls on the unfortunate, planting her hands on her hips firmly and glaring. “Why wouldn’t I be angry? You know, my supposed sweetheart hasn’t so much as spoken to me for weeks.” Though the unfortunate seems stunned for a moment, he merely nudges his friend, offers a quiet remark to the extent of ‘what’s the bet she only noticed this morning?’ – but the Gryffindor girl doesn’t notice this remotely, merely moving to her desk and dumping her bag on the ground next to her with a distinct, loud thunk, awaiting the beginning of class in silence. Oh, drama, drama, drama.

Evelynn Lawley enters, jangling as she always does with the large amount of metal jewelry(enchanted poorly to look like pure silver) on her wrists, but now also hanging from her ears. Yes, gaudy faux-silver earrings with green glass set into them are apparently her favorite new things, as her mass of curls has been pulled back from her face to better show them off. “Oh, Miss Pantall, dear, it can’t be helped.” She flashes her white teeth in a horribly fake smile, “He’s obviously misplaced his brain.” Now her painted-red lips form a sort of pseudo sympathic pout and her eyelashes flutter.

“Alright, settle in everyone. We’ve an interesting class today. Which, of course, you already know if you’ve done your reading.” Bonnie smiles wryly and picks up her wand, putting the chalk at the ready for when she speaks of something important. “First, though, I’ll have your homework, and I’ll hand back your essays from last class.” She strides around the desk and retrieves the pile, starting around the room to hand them each to its owner. “These are an improvement over the last time, but I would sincerely like to see a bit more effort put into them. Don’t forget, any text in the library — but not the restricted section — is at your disposal for this.” The woman nods and begins retrieving the new homeworks to set on her desk.

Kelly Pantall kicks at her bag with a dark expression (and for the record, yes, it did take her until this morning to notice), before looking up at Evelynn with an appraising sort of look, trying to determine if the Slytherin is actually being sympathetic, or if she’s merely making fun of her. “Probably.” She mutters after a moment. On some level, the idea of Hufflepuff brains having been accidentally put down somewhere never to be found again is very attractive to her. “Ever since the stupid social. Why did we have to have a social, anyway? It was a stupid idea.” She pulls the rather crumpled homework out of her bag and sets it on her desk, smoothing it out a little so it looks more presentable before handing it in. Look at all the effort she puts into this class.

Perking an eyebrow at Evelynn, Gabe shakes his head as he looks to Kelly. “Now, who are we talking about here? Rafe?” the name is said with considerable distaste, “Charlie or Mister Foster?” with a rather good-natured grin, Gabe hushes up as the professor begins handing back essays. Snatching his excitedly, Gabe rather makes a face when he sees the mark. Impossible! Briony had helped him think of ideas for this one!

George Grogan bites his lower lip as Evelynn steps in. A very real…. very dopey smile spreads over his face expressing his sentiments for her. “H.. hello Miss Lawley… you can sit with me if you like.” When the Professor begins speaking and handing out essays he becomes quiet again and looks over his own with a look of dread. George‘s face is blushing just a bit and he gets very quiet not wanting to embarass himself any further.

Evelynn Lawley huffs a little incredulously. Is Kelly Pantall trying to hold a conversation with her? Without further ado she smiles almost prettily at George and takes a seat near him, “Why thank you Mr. Grogan, I would be de/lighted/.” She looks more displeased that it wasn’t the dashingly exotic looking Ravenclaw boy across the way, so says nothing else. Thankfully, Evelynn has a distraction, and busies about getting out her homework and trying not to look too displeased with talk of effort. Her brother had said this was a blow off class, and it was shaping out exactly the opposite. “Thank you very much, Professor Kensington,” she says in her high, sacchrine voice as papers are exchanged, old for new. She doesn’t let her face fall too much, instead raising her eyebrows. 53? She’d spent at least ten whole minutes on it. A soft, dramatic sigh escapes.

“Rafe!” Kelly offers in a rather angry response to Gabe, turning around to glare pointedly at him. “I’m not involved with Charlie, not matter what you’ve heard. I’m not even going to mention Mister Prefect Sir.” There’s a brief pause here, and she turns back to the front of the room darkly, lowering her voice noticably. “Mind you, Charlie’s not exactly been communicative lately, either. I don’t know what I’m supposed to have done, to either of them.” In addition to being quite angry over the matter, the Gryffindor girl here indicates her innate cluelessness. She doesn’t even look at the mark of her returned essay, just folding it up and shoving it straight in her bag.

Shrugging, Gabriel moves down a few seats, hauling his belongings, to sit beside Kelly. After all, they might be in a similar position, but Gabe couldn’t tell. Things had been slightly off between him and Briony since the social, too. Recalling what had happened last summer, with Briony being mad at him for being mean to Kelly, Gabriel tries everything, now. “Maybe you should re-trace your steps. Figuratively, I mean. What was the last thing you said to… Rrrafe?” Gabriel tries his hardest to keep the hatred out of his tone.

George Grogan grins again as Evelynn sits next to him. She actually sat next to him! She knows his name! “R… right then…” George quickly folds and puts away his essay afraid that Evelynn migh see his abysimal score. Never mind that hes is only a single point higher his is jusr _dreadfull_. “I errm.. ” He starts to say but feigns muteness in Evelynn’s glorious presence.

“You’re very welcome, Miss Lawley. Please wipe that stuff from your lips,” Bonnie responds, continuing on down the way with only half a glance at Evelyn. She ignores the chatter that everyone is engaging in for the time being and sets the stack of assignments down on her desk, coming to stand in the center of the room. “Alright, as I’m sure you all will know, we’re studying Divination and how it affects Muggles. For those familiar with it, what forms of Divination have the muggles tried to harness? Hands, please.” She glances around, waiting for some student to hazard a guess.

Kelly Pantall shrugs vaguely in response, fixing her angry gaze on the tabletop, brow creased with thought. If she recognises the barely-concealed hatred she does not comment on it – which, considering her response in Astronomy, is probably more a sign that it just slipped past her. “I don’t even remember,” she murmurs, gaze flickering over at Gabe. “I said I wasn’t going to break his sister’s fingers, and that that stupid girl was probably afraid of him because she kept avoiding us, and… I just can’t remember anything inflammatory that I said, because it was nearly right after that that I went to go talk to Charlie.” Because that can’t be even remotely linked, of course. Her eyes flicker up to the Professor, and suddenly she sits up a little straighter, hand flying into the air.

George Grogan raises his hand and fidgets with the end of his quill in his mouth. This is an obvious opprotunity to impress Evelynn and he’s not going to just waste it.

Unfortunately for Kelly, Gabe hasn’t either the social cunning to link the two situations in a way that would bring light to Rafe’s apparent silence. He only shrugs again, with an interested-sounding, “Oh.” His attention is pulled away by the professor again, and Gabe raises his hand slowly.

That stupid girl has taken a seat as far away from Kelly as she possible could have. Clementine doesn’t pay much mind to her essay either, shoving it away. Her long, bony arm slowly raises into the air as the question is asked, lips pursing sternly as she fights her urge to glare over at Kelly.

Evelynn Lawley opens and shuts her mouth, one eye going up in a twitch. Wipe it off? Evelynn lets out another sigh and digs a kerchief from her pocket. Very, very slowly she wipes her precious lip color off, trying hard not to smudge it all over her face. This takes the entire remainder of the passing out time and the question, as bit by bit her lips are restored to a somewhat stained and unluxiorous state. At least she doesn’t smudge it all over, but by contrast her lips look rather pale and seem to blend into her face.

“Alright, let’s hear from you, you, you, you and you,” the teacher states, almost lazily as she points to each of them counter-clockwise around the room, leaning on the edge of her desk and watching the students attempt to stealthily interact with one another. It’s still early in the class, and Bonnie is going to be patient about it for the time being. They are thirteen after all. She crosses her arms over one another as she waits to see what the students will come up with this time.

“I mean,” Kelly further whispers after a moment, “I know he was sort of angry because he was the second person I asked to the social, but I thought he’d, you know, finished being upset about that.” Her hand waves in the air with a silent urgency, a sort of ‘ooh, ooh, pick me, pick me’ that would be verbalized if she didn’t have more important matters at hand. “I mean, I told him that I only asked Josh as a joke, what else was I supposed to say? And that was ages ago.” Ooh, ooh, was that her being picked? Suddenly, she raises her voice to a much more normal volume, waving her hands to try and explain her points. “Um. Palmistry. Tarot cards. Tea leaves. Does phrenology count?” See, she can pronounce it now. “Because ages ago, you said that it wasn’t real Divination, but muggles thought it was.” Considering how eager she was to get called on, she really has quite a poor answer.

“It’s Tarot cards,” Gabe Goden replies, having definitely read that in his textbook and trying to correct Kelly. Though, no matter how correct the answer is in theory, Gabe has pronounced the last ‘t’ in the word, showing a view to his true knowledge on the subject: very little.

“Well Muggles have been known to use Tarot Cards and pendulums…. and tea leaves. Some have been known to use devineing rods… though everyone knows thats just silly nonsense.” George speaks up after Kelly and decides to add. “Some of them even try tol hold sceances and usually end up scareing themselves stupid for nothing.” George smiles and looks over to Evelynn as if to see if she approved. After all…. Her approval is the most important. Forget that silly old Professor!

“There are muggles that claim to see the future with their dreams.” She offers lazilly, returning her hand back down to her after the comment is offered. “It isn’t in the same way that we do it though.” “They aren’t magical.” The girl just blinks, finally giving in and cocking her head to the side. Clementine‘s dark eyes squint into narrow angry slits in Kelly’s direction. If it were socially acceptable, she’d hiss and spit in her direction… but… it saddly is not.

“Not many actually know about the tea leaves, but for all the rest, you all are spot on.” Bonnie turns to check that the chalk isn’t malfunctioning today. Really, one would think that she’d be good at that spell by now. “Tarot cards, divining rods, phrenology, astrology, dream readings, palmistry and various other signs and things that don’t actually resemble Divination in any form.” She glances around. “Muggles were introduced to it before the secrecy laws went into effect, and they have progressed in similar ways to our own, but theirs don’t actually predict anything of consequence except by accident. After all, Seeing and magic go hand in hand, and you cannot have one without the other.” Bonnie looks to the board again. All is well, so far. “Questions so far?”

Having wondered for quite some time, Gabe shoots up his arm for a minute, later asking, “If magic and Seeing go hand in hand, then how come not everyone, I mean, every wizard and witch, can See? My mum said it was a rare gift.” An eyebrow is raised questioningly.

Kelly Pantall has a question – a very, very important one, indeed, and she shows how important it is by elbowing Gabe in the side and narrowing her eyes at him. “Are you trying to make me look bad?” Her voice is low, whispered, rather more like a hiss than normal conversation, however just as quickly she appears to stop paying attention and looks down at her notes which she is half-heartedly taking, notes about methods of Divination that muggles know with a large heart in the middle of the page, one intertwined with delicately drawn ivy. What a pretty drawing, though one entirely unrelated to Divination.

“Very good question, Mister Goden,” Bonnie says with a smile. “Two points to Gryffindor for that.” She looks around for a moment and takes a deep breath before answering. “While magic is a very strong trait, Seeing is not, so while many people get the trait for magical ability, very few people actually get the trait for Seeing. Many wizards do not realize just how rare this trait actually is. The chances that many of you in this room do not actually have it are very high. Time will tell, though.” She smiles down and directs her hand to Kelly. “Yes?”

Glancing away from the professor, Gabe looks to Kelly with a confused look on his face. Rubbing the place where her elbow had lodged itself, Gabriel whispers, “What?” and, upon remembering what he said before, adds, “Oh, no. Just making sure… nevermind,” he says, waving his hand in front of her face. As the professor answers his question, however, the boy nods in response. “Makes sense,” he says in a low voice.

Evelynn Lawley spends at least two minutes looking for a reflective surface, her nostrils flaring self consciously. Finally, she looks down at her nails, fingers flared out, inspecting for dirt or other imperfections. She is listening to the discussion, if only minutely. Occasionally she looks up and pretends to smile at George, but she is otherwise snubbing Bonnie as discretly as she can by, shock and amazement, not answering or asking questions. Not that she does so normally.

Kelly Pantall looks up at the Professor in surprise, apparently taken quite by surprise – oh, right, questions. “Is it possible to have only a little bit of Seeing ability?” Let’s play the making up a question game. “Like, some people are particularly good at Charms or Transfiguration naturally, but others are magical but not as good, is it possibly to have a little bit of talent for Seeing but not very much? Or is it just, like, either you have it completely or you don’t have it at all?” Just for good measure, she elbows Gabe in the side again.

George Grogan blushes just a little from the pretend smile. Of course he dosn’t know that its a pretend smile. When his attention finally returns to the teacher he frowns. George writes down in his notes quickly. “Not everyone posesses the “gift”. But no one is exempt from homework for the lack of the “gift”"

Clementine Duncan leans on a hand, doodling as well… scribbles and the stick figures that love them. Actually, the scribbles are supposed to be her notes. Scanning her classmates, she daydreams about what life might be like if she had was a seer. Her quill smoothly moves across the parchment that she takes notes on, creating a crude drawing of herself and bubbles leading up to her vision. She puts a tree in the bubble. Yeah. The future: A tree. Clementine bends down to flip through her book to see what a tree means.

“When you first start out at Divination, your gift is very raw, and you would be bad at it. I’ve never met a person who didn’t have to work at Divination and Seeing. The Inner Eye is a fickle one, and without work and persistence, would lapse to the raw state again, where you have a difficult time Seeing, and an even harder time interpreting what that means. Also, a very good question, Two more points to Gryffindor for that.” Bonnie smiles at Kelly rather softly. After all, she isn’t deaf, and troubles are still troubles, even if you’re thirteen. “Alright, I want you all to pick an aspect of Divination and compare it with the Muggle aspect of it. I want a compare and contrast essay detailing how the two are similar and how they vary. You may talk about regional aspects, and historical aspects as well. Due next class, and I’d like at least two feet. This is meant to merely be a minimum. I would not say ‘no’ to having longer essays.” She glances around at the mostly quiet classroom. “Well, then, if there are no more questions, you may all lapse into study, or leave, if you must. I will be here, and am willing to answer questions if you continue to have any.” The woman nods at the class and picks up her wand, point to the chalk and uttering something very quiet. The chalk falls to the lip and Bonnie sets her wand down again, taking a seat behind her desk.

are here.

Rain patters soothingly against the stone walls and closed windows of the infirmary, lulling the young patients even deeper into sleep while the assistant nurse makes her rounds, checking on each one in turn. From farther back in the narrow corridors of the hospital wing, the soft sound of Sibyl Wexler‘s whistling can be heard, a bright, cheerful sound floating out of her office to rise above the other, quieter ones. The nurse’s ruddy face is slightly paler than usual, and a bottle of sparkling blue potion sits within easy reach as Sibyl sits at her desk, shuffling through papers, but her expression has settled back into a comfortable half-smile as she works busily away.

Olivia Baxtor stops just outside the Hospital Wing, and glances around. Before she enters, Olivia takes a deep breath and steps in, stopping just inside the door. “Misses Wexler?” she asks quietly, not wanting to speak too loudly, lest she wake up any patients that might be sleeping. The girl has come for one reason or another, and whatever the reason, she looks a bit unsure, perhaps perplexed, even maybe a bit nervous.

“Yes, dear?” Sibyl answers automatically at the sound of a youthful voice, even before she has looked up from her paperwork to see the identity of her visitor. A warm smile greets the girl, even as the nurse’s eyes narrow slightly to give Olivia a searching, professional glance up and down. “Are you feeling all right? Come in – what’s your name, dear?” Sibyl interrupts herself to ask, motioning invitingly to the chair across the desk from her.

“Olivia,” the girl answers quietly as she steps farther in and comes closer to the desk, stopping just behind the chair that she has been beckoned to. “I was wondering if — well, er — I mean, i-if you aren’t busy or anything.” The girl glances around at all the beds to make sure there aren’t too many full for her conscience. “Well, er, I had a question for you if you aren’t too busy.” The girl still seems a bit nervous as she finally takes her seat in the chair across from the desk.

Sibyl‘s quill goes down, and she closes a folder over the top of her paperwork – a small ribbon at the edge of the folder automatically ties itself into a knot, sealing the folder into confidentiality. She pushes the folder and pen away from her, giving her full attention to the girl in front of her. “Olivia, then,” Sibyl repeats, with a warm, reassuring smile. “Of course. You can ask anything you like, dear. Would you like some tea?” she adds, glancing over at the tea set on one of the nearby shelves. “Or pumpkin juice?”

“Maybe some tea?” Olivia answers, sounding rather grateful at the offer for distraction from what she is really here for. The girl sits up rather straight in her chair, and looks around quickly, then tucks her hands underneath her legs, as if unsure of what to do with them. “Are you sure I’m not interrupting you? You aren’t busy?” the girl reiterates, just to make sure.

“Absolutely, dear,” Sibyl replies warmly. She pushes back her chair and bustles over to the shelf where her tea set resides, starting to pick it up – then glances back over her shoulder at her paper-covered desk, and decides to just leave the tea tray where it is. She fishes her wand out of the loosely-wrapped belt of her robes, and taps the side of the teapot to set it steaming again. “Milk? Sugar?” Sibyl glances back over her shoulder at Olivia, giving the girl another friendly, comfortable smile. “Olivia, dear, it’s really all right. I’m a nurse – you can ask me about anything. I can close the door to my office, if you’d like to have more privacy?”

“No, that’s alright,” she responds and shakes her head, not wanting to be an inconvenience at all. “Just plain tea, thank you,” she responds and leans back in the chair a bit. “Well, I — I don’t know if you can help me, really, but I wanted to ask. It’s really been bothering me.” The girl’s demeanor seems to predict a very serious predicament, though there appears to be nothing wrong with the girl. Olivia bites her lip, still not having relaxed very much.

“There you go, then.” Sibyl leans over to hand Olivia one of the cups of tea, and gives the girl a comforting pat on the shoulder as she withdraws, then adds two lumps of sugar to her own before settling down behind the desk again. She hesitates for a moment, glancing from the potion bottle to Olivia and back again – and then gives in and reaches for the potion, pouring a few drops into her teacup along with the sugar. “Now, what is it, dear? Really, you can tell me anything. And I’ll do my best to help you, whatever it is.”

Taking the tea with a grateful smile, Olivia seems to relax a bit as she sips the hot tea carefully. “Well, er,” she starts, looking down at her tea, then setting the cup and saucer down into her lap as she slowly runs her finger along the length of the saucer. “I — I’ve always hated my teeth, and –” The fourth year falters momentarily, and takes a quick sip of her tea. “Well, I– I wanted to know if there was something that might fix them.”

“Ah…” Sibyl murmurs, nodding slowly as understanding dawns. For a long moment, she doesn’t say anything else, just taking a long sip of her tea and looking Olivia over with careful, searching eyes. “Let’s see, then,” she says at last. She sets down her teacup, and leans forward over her desk to get a better look as she prompts gently, “Smile for me, dear?”

Obediently, Olivia opens her mouth to display an array of quite crooked teeth, though all of them nicely shaped, not one is facing a proper direction. She lifts her head to display the set of teeth to Sibyl, though her mouth is hardly shaped into a smile. She quickly closes her lips over her teeth, reddening cheeks a display of how little she likes the teeth. She says nothing however, diverting her eyes and taking another rather embrrassed sip of her tea.

“Mmm. I see.” Sibyl nods slowly, her tone calm and neutral as she gives the girl’s teeth a quick, professional glance. “Thank you, dear,” she adds, with another reassuring smile. “Have you talked to your parents about this? Do they know how you feel” Sibyl sits back, taking another sip of her tea, and giving Olivia a steady look over the top of her teacup.

The girl sips her tea slowly an then shake her head. “I’ve mentioned it, but mum never says anything, she tells me to hush.” The girl only glances at Sibyl momentarily, feeling almost ashamed for her selfish reason for being here. “My — my sisters don’t have ugly crooked teeth, their teeth are straight and lovely, like mother’s.” The girl rubs at her eye momentarily, to prevent a tear from possibly falling. “She probably thinks me frivolous for hating them so.” Her voice is quiet, as if Olivia is even ashamed of herself for wanting this little bit of vanity.

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear,” Sibyl sighs, her expression softening with sympathy as she reaches out a hand across the table towards the girl. “Some people don’t understand.” However small the problem might seem to others, it is deadly serious to Olivia, and therefore, it is serious to Sibyl too – she gives the student’s distress nothing but sympathy in return. “Is your mum – forgive me for asking, dear, if it’s a personal question – but is she a Muggle or a wizard?”

“She’s a wizard; we’re all wizards at home,” Livvy answers quietly still. “She just doesn’t understand.” To tell the truth, if Olivia‘s mother even noticed the question, it would be truly shocking. “I feel terribly selfish, wanting something like this, maybe I shouldn’t have asked in the first place.” The girl sets her teacup and saucer down on the desk and standing up quickly, turning to walk away, quickly, but stopping short as she gets halfway across the room, wiping both her eyes. It seems as if Olivia is torn between vanity and selflessness.

At the sight of the girl’s tears, Sibyl springs up, hurrying across the room to catch Olivia before she can flee. Her arms reach out to fold the girl into a comforting hug – but they do not touch down yet, keeping her distance unless Olivia accepts the gesture in return. “Oh, Olivia, dear, it’s all right. I don’t mind you asking at all. Honestly, it’s a relief to have someone in here who’s already healthy, and who just wants to make herself a little more healthy!” A gentle laugh rises up – not from amusement at the girl’s predicament, just a soothing sound to punctuate her own light statement. “Now, let’s sit down and talk about this some more. I can tell that it’s very important to you.”

“Alright,” Olivia agrees, and turns into Sibyl’s hug with a bit of relief. The tears flow more readily, and seem to fall directly onto Sibyl’s shoulder, where Olivia lays her head. The girl is clearly in need of some motherly attention, and wraps her arms back around Sibyl slowly, almost as if she oughtn’t do such a thing. The girl sighs happily. “I really wish I had been born with straight teeth,” she laments quietly into the woman’s shoulder, her voice unsteady.

Sibyl‘s arms fold comfortingly around Olivia, and she lets out a soft, sighing, “Sh… it’s all right.. . ” One hand reaches up to smooth down the girl’s hair, as Sibyl murmurs, “I know, dear, I know.” There is maternal affection here to spare, it seems, and Sibyl gives hers freely. “You’re a lovely girl, Olivia, just the way you are. But I do understand wanting to make things better, and I want to help you if I can. It will make you healthier, too – straight teeth are easier to keep clean, even with magical cleaning charms.” Her broad hand keeps up a steady, gentle rhythm as it strokes against Olivia’s fair hair. “I’ll need to get your mother’s permission before I do anything, though. I wouldn’t feel right otherwise.”

“Oh, do you really?” Olivia responds, disappointed, standing back from the woman, her face crestfallen. “I don’t know if she would let me. She’d probably think me so … so shallow.” The girl sighs and removes her arms from the nurse. “Well — er, thank you for — for your help,” the girl responds, folding her arms behind her back and looks down at her shoes. “I suppose I could ask my mother, but I imagine I know what her answer will be. Thank you, anyway.” The girl turns and starts to slowly walk out of the office, her disappointment very apparent.

Sibyl turns quickly to follow Olivia, and her hand reaches out to touch Olivia on the shoulder – not forcefully holding the girl back, just adding a gentle physical touch to her words. “I’m not sending you away, dear!” she hastens to reassure her. “And I’m not saying that I won’t do it. I’ll send an owl to your mother – I’ll point out the health benefits, and perhaps that will convince her. I wouldn’t feel right doing it without her permission, though,” Sibyl reiterates, offering a sympathetic, conciliatory smile. “Because it’s not an emergency sort of thing, you understand. And if I just did it on my own,” she adds, her turquoise eyes sparking with mischief, “without parental permission or concern for health, I’d have people coming to me asking for smaller noses and different-shaped ears and different-colored hair every five minutes.”

“Well, I guess that makes sense,” Olivia responds an pauses at the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. The girl sounds upset, but resigned. “There’s no way you could do it without talking to her first?” The girl turns to look at Sibyl, her eyes no longer welling up with tears, but still rather hopeful for at least a chance. Obviously the girl doesn’t think her mother will consent to such a thing.

“I just wouldn’t feel right,” Sibyl says again, reaching out to circle her arm around Olivia’s shoulders, softening her words with another comforting gesture. “But I’m sure your mother will come round – maybe all it will take is hearing it from a nurse. You’d be surprised what sort of change that can make in some people.” Mischief twinkles in Sibyl‘s eyes again, and she gives the girl’s shoulder another gentle pat. “Don’t worry, Olivia dear. I’ll take care of it. Now, come on back and finish your tea.” From another one of the pockets of her voluminous robe, she pulls a handkerchief, and tucks it into the girl’s hand.

“Thank you, but I think I’ll go back to my commons now.” She pauses. “I should probably work on homework.” The girl offers a closed-lipped half smile to Sibyl and turns and slowly walks out the door, headed towards the third floor landing. Perhaps she’s just melancholy in general, or the situation really does perplex her. Those who don’t know her well would find it difficult to tell that anything was even different. Olivia‘s pace is slow but careful as she heads back to her commonroom to presumably work on homework.

are here.

“Nothing to be nervous about, of course,” Gabriel finishes something of a pep-talk for Briony regarding their first game, despite that Gabriel hasn’t gotten the feeling she was anxious at all. As always, the boy is likely trying to calm himself down under the pretence of giving advice! Dragging his new broom rather carelessly behind him, Gabriel turns again to his friend. “Well, I’ll get a quaffle and we can practice shooting and keeping?” he suggests, but in a questioning tone.

“That sounds good, Gabe-y,” Briony answers, puffing a bit with pride as she shows off her new Quidditch duds, which her parents had gifted to her for making it onto the team. “Should we stretch or anything before we go up? I don’t want to pull anything, not this close to the game.” Briony laughs a bit, rather nervously. After all, she had seen those Ravenclaws flying about. She knew how quick they were. The girl was doubting her ability to actually do this. Then again, she had made it on the team. “I can do this,” she mutters to herself quietly. “I can do this. After all, I’m not on the team for no reason.

Nodding, Gabriel has long since given up trying to get Briony to stop calling him by that emasculating pet name and sighs as he runs to the storage shack, emerging half a minute later with a beat-up looking quaffle. “This thing looks like it’s been around since our mums went here,” he comments with a grin. Mounting his broom, Gabriel is off like a rocket towards one hoop, seeing if he can beat Briony there and make a goal before she even gets there. “Last one there—” Just what the last one there is cannot be heard as Gabe flies up into the wind.

“Cheater!” Briony calls, commanding her broom UP! and getting onto it as quickly as she can. Alas, she is not quite as fast as her good friend and teammate, and has a hard time catching up to him, hard as she might try, and he is up at the level of the hoops long before she gets there. “You’re a cheater, Gabriel Matteo Goden!” Briony calls, sounding a bit annoyed.

“We’re on the same team!” Gabriel defends himself as he tosses the quaffle easily through the undefended hoop, diving to catch it again quickly. “Alright, alright,” he says as Briony takes her place between him and the goals. Backing up to a good distance away from her, Gabriel flies forward again, shooting for the leftmost goal.

“Not for this practice! I’m trying to block your shots! And you still cheated!” Briony huffs a bit as she takes her place in front of the goal hoops, then quickly dives to her right to get the Quaffle which he has already thrown. The tips of her fingers brush it as it flies through the hoop, and she sighs a bit. She rather did hope this wasn’t a prelude for what the game would be like. She, however, was not about to go diving after the Quaffle. Gabriel could do that.

Waiting for Briony go retrieve the Quaffle, Gabriel hovers in place for a second before he realizes she has no intention of getting it at all. Girls! On his way back up from fetching the thing from the ground, Gabriel glances over his shoulder at Briony. “Calm down Bri, it’s not like we’re keeping score. Just have fun and reeeeelaaax,” he says, maybe a bit of a condescending tone in his voice.

“But I don’t want to get beaten on Saturday! I really want to win!” Briony says, crossing her arms across her chest. The girl hmphs a bit then uncrosses them. “I’m not supposed to have fun, I’m s’posed to practice!” The girl puts her arms straight up, though this rarely has helped her in the past for blocking shots. “C’mon, I’m ready!” she calls and looks square at him. Who put a bee in Briony‘s bonnet?

“Okay, here I come!” Gabriel announces, veering from left to right as he comes toward her. Faking for the right hoop, Gabriel shoots to the left once more. Something seemed off with Briony today. Maybe she really was nervous after all?

Watching closely as Gabriel makes his shot, Briony dives, and this time comes up successful with the Quaffle! The second year looks quite pleased at this and rears back her arm, chucking the quaffle back to him, perhaps throwing it a bit harder than was absolutely necessary. “Go again, Gabe-y,” She calls, a smug look on her face. Of course, Briony knows that this isn’t over. When all is said and done after this mini-practice, more likely than not, he’ll have made more goals than she’ll have blocked.

If Gabriel is surprised at Briony’s good save, he doesn’t show it as he catches the Quaffle with a “Nice one!” But that was, of course, one of Gabriel‘s easy-to-defend shots– or so the boy would like to believe. Swerving from side to side after having backed up again, Gabriel forces his broom to drop down as he nears Briony, shooting in sort of an upwards direction to the centre hoop.

“Sure was,” is all Briony says in response, and first starts towards the left, then quickly changes directions, trying to go up to catch the quaffle more quickly than she previously had. She manages to tip the ball away so it misses the hoop, though it still flies behind the hoops. She grins at Gabriel. Two for her! The girl is quite proud that she’s at least managed two in a row.

Proud of Briony, Gabriel grins back at her before flying down to get the Quaffle again. Upon his return, the boy takes another shot on goal, and another, getting the Quaffle from the ground when it falls, and catching it carefully when it is chucked towards him by Briony. He is glad to see both cases: when his shots go in and when she saves them. After all, the better she is, the better Gryffindor will fare.

“Perhaps we ought to get back to the castle,” Briony suggests, thoroughly winded as she clings to her broom, watching Gabriel fly back up after another successful block (though not catch) of her own. “I know I’ve got to get to work on my Defense homework, else Mum’s going to kill me, and then Professor Rathe might. I don’t want either to do that!” The girl lets out a winded giggle and starts slowly decending to the ground. The practice had been a good one, testing her limits and making her try things she mightn’t have thought to before.

“Augh, defense homework,” Gabriel echoes. “I have some too. And Astronomy. Don’t you think the embarrassment of having your mum as the teacher should take the place of having to do homework in that class? It’s only fair,” Gabe whines as his feet touch terra firma once more. “Cold out today,” he comments. “Are you cold?” he adds, looking to Briony appraisingly.

“Not really,” The girl says, stepping off her broom, and pondering his first question. “It wouldn’t be very fair, though, don’t you think? If you got out of doing homework just because she was your mum, people would say you got it easy and shouldn’t they, too. Besides, what’s that slytherin boy’s name? Edward? Something like that. I heard his mum was Headmistress here a couple of years ago! How embarrassing would that be!” Briony snickers a bit and walks over to the shed, putting her broom away, then comes out again. “Anyway, I better go take off these Quidditch clothes before I get them too mussed. Mum will want me to wear them to the match on Saturday.” The girl gives a little giggle then waves to her good friend as she runs off towards the school.

Most of the younger students are in class at this hour, but for the NEWT-level students, there is a bit more free time, and Eliza Marlowe is taking advantage of it in study. The Head Girl, her robe casually unbuttoned to reveal the brown of a Puddlemere United jersey, sits sprawled sideways over a chair, her head propped up on one of its cushioned arms and her long legs dangling over the other. A stack of books sits on the floor next to her chair – surprisingly small and drab books, with flimsy paper covers whose pictures don’t even move. Their titles, proclaimed in bright but similarly unmoving letters, are things like “Tales of ADVENTURE!!” and “PERIL in the Himalayas!” One of Eliza‘s hands holds one of the paper-bound books open while her other holds a quill, busily scribbling notes on a piece of parchment propped up on one leg. Her hazel eyes devour the words on the pages, their eager spark in odd contrast with the flimsy, drab appearance of the book.

More stumbling into the room rather than walking, Olivia makes her way into the commonroom, a fresh stack of Muggle Studies texts in her arms. Oh, dear, it was going to be a long night. “Hullo, Eliza,” the girl says quietly and drops her stack of books rather hazardously on the table. A second glance at them would show that all of her books are organized alphabetically. The girl sits down carefully, making sure not to bunch her robes so that they don’t wrinkle and offers a half-smile to the older student lounging.

“Mm?” Eliza tilts her head away from her book and lets the cover drift closed over the finger that marks her place, only reluctantly dragging her attention away from what is revealed to be ‘TRUE! Tales of Shipwreck and Survival!!’ “Oh. ‘Lo, Baxtor.” Eliza gives an easy grin to her younger housemate, and cocks a curious glance over at Olivia’s stack of books. “Working on Muggle Studies too?” she asks, her dark brows lifting with interest. “Fascinating stuff, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Olivia answers, still quietly, still unable to separate the ma’am from her statement, for Eliza is Head Girl! Olivia‘s extreme respect for the older student is apparent and she nearly blushes, though Eliza’s comments are casual enough. The girl takes the top book from the pile — Apples Are Apples But Bonnets Are Not — and opens it to the first page, before pulling out her inkwell, quill and some parchment to write on. “We’ve just been assigned a project about muggle clothing,” the girl comments, carefully opening the blue ink and dipping her quill in it. It is clear that every motion she does is slow and careful, and cleanly organized.

By this point in the year, Eliza has given up fighting the battle of ‘ma’am’ and the ‘miss’ from younger, awestruck students – the Head Girl’s eyes just glance heavenward with the briefest of resigned looks as she accepts Olivia’s deference. And the prospect of talking Muggle Studies is too interesting for Eliza to worry about the younger girl’s insistence on formality. “Oh, right. Loved that bit!” she replies, her grin widening with enthusiasm. “Have you got to zippers yet?” Her own Muggle book lies forgotten for now – Eliza spreads the small paper-bound volume open face-down over her leg to hold its place, and shifts her lanky body back to allow her to face Olivia more directly.

“We’ve just learned about rain jackets today,” Olivia answers, pointing to a picture of it in the book, and rather marvelling. “Do they have to be such awful colors?” she comments quietly, holding the book up closer to her eyes as she tries to view all of its attributes. She scribbles a couple of things down on the parchment. “Muggles wear the oddest clothing,” the fourht year comments, a bit louder, furrowing her brow at the oddly shaped rain hat.

“Oh, not all of ‘em,” Eliza replies, with another easy grin. “I’ve seen some in rather drab colors, actually. All black and brown. I’d think that when it rained they’d want to put on brighter clothes, but no. Not in London, at least,” she adds, giving a rare bit of precision to her casual words. The younger girl’s next comment draws Eliza‘s attention even more, and she pulls herself up from her lazy slouch on the arm of the chair, craning her neck to see the illustration in the book. “Oh, the hats!” she exclaims, and lets out a laugh. “The hats are right out. Ridiculous looking, the whole lot.”

“Why do they wear things that look so ridiculous?” Olivia asks. “I don’t understand why they would wear hats anyway. Doesn’t it fuss up your hair?” Not that Olivia is a terribly vain one, but she does like to look neat. “Or they could use one of those umb-er-allas,” she comments, making a motion with her hands, rather resembling an inside-out umbrella. She shakes her head and writes down some more notes before turning the page to reveal a page of weather-appropriate footwear. “What on earth are those?” she asks incredulously, staring at a pair of galoshes.

“Rain shoes,” Eliza replies with a grin. “Also known as galoshes or Wellingtons. I’ll say this for ‘em, the Muggles have some good names. Although ‘Wellingtons’ sounds a bit too dignified for those things, doesn’t it?” She waves a hand in expansive dismissal at the picture of the floppy rubber boots. “Uncomfortable, too, but not as bad as the hats. If you have to wear Muggle rain things, I’d say an umbrella would work best.”

“Gal-oo-shes just seem so pointless. The least they could do is make them less floppy. More like the puddle boots we use in Herbology. Then again, how do you keep the water from getting your feet wet in these?” Olivia shakes her head. Muggles. So impractical. “And these? These aren’t for rain, surely?” Olivia points to a pair of sandle-like shoes. “I imagine your entire foot would get soaked in it.”

Eliza‘s shoulders move in an eloquent shrug. “If the water gets inside ‘em, you mean? No way at all. Your feet just get wet.” She wrinkles her nose in distaste, but it quickly passes with another shrug. “Wait, what are those?” Eliza leans over farther, swinging her legs up and over the arm of the chair in a wide pinwheeling motion to straighten herself up so that she can get a better look at the second picture. “Oh, those. No, they aren’t for rain. They’re for summer, I think.”

“Oh, hmm. What does one do with them in the summer? I shouldn’t think half-shoes are necessary just because the sun comes out occasionally.” Obviously Olivia has completely missed the point. She writes some more notes out in slow, neat handwriting before turning the page again. “What are zippers?” she finally asks — clearly they haven’t gotten to that part of the lessons. “I’m sorry, I’m just such a terrible dunce, and Muggles are so confusing.” Her cheeks pinken and she feels almost embarrassed for not knowing what the zipper is, despite that she hasn’t been taught of it yet.

“You’re not a dunce,” Eliza pronounces. Her words are blunt and straightforward, but their impact is softened by another easy grin, and honest friendliness towards her younger housemate. “Guess you haven’t got to them yet. Can’t be expected to know something you haven’t done in class yet!” Eliza tosses her book down on top of the stack, and lets her quill and parchment slip down between the cushions of her chair as she leans forward, resting her arms on her knees while she explains. “Zippers are these things that hold clothes together. They do the same thing as buttons, but they’re. . . all together, like.” Her hands stretch out, interlacing her fingers in a rough imitation of a zipper’s teeth. “Here, I bet the textbook has a picture of one. Check near the end,” Eliza suggests, untangling her hands to wave at Olivia’s textbook.

“How very odd,” Olivia comments, leafing through the book to find the illustration of a zipper. “And they use it to close up their clothes? I can’t imagine that would be a very comfortable thing,” the girl comments and runs her finger along the illustration, which zips up and down in demonstration of how the thing works. “Muggles are so very peculiar, and I do have such a hard time pronouncing some of their words. Umb– Umb-er-alla, and Gall-oo-shies?” Olivia sighs a bit and purses her lips, certain she’s butchered the words again. “I’ve never heard of such ridiculous things. Did you have to learn about all this when you were a fourth year, too?

“Oh yes. All of it.” Eliza shrugs again, and leans back in her chair, stretching out her long legs in front of her and cocking one foot atop the other. “Well, I had a Muggle-born chum in the year ahead of me, and she helped me with some of it. But yes, I had to start from the ground up, pretty much. Didn’t even know how electricity works. Well, still don’t, really,” Eliza adds, with a crooked, self-deprecating grin. “But at least I know what to do with electric lamps and things.”

“Oh, we haven’t gotten to that yet, either,” Olivia comments, feeling a little disappointed as she hears this. Why hadn’t Evan taken Muggle Studies so that he could explain these things to her? The fourth year sighs and looks at the zipper picture for several more minutes before flipping back in the book to watch the shoes demonstrate themselves some more. “I suppose it’s a good thing I’m a wizard; all this Muggle stuff… so much of it doesn’t make sense!” The girl shakes her head ruefully and turns the page, revealing a number of modern frock styles — well, they were modern twenty years ago, anyway — demonstrating how they vary from the wizarding styles.

“Oh, it does, in its own Muggle-ish sort of way. And if you’d been born a Muggle, then wizarding things would seem just as odd. Or that’s what my Muggle-born chum said, when I told her the same thing.” Eliza gives Olivia a reassuring grin and tosses her head casually – and then pauses, regarding the younger girl for a moment. “Here,” she offers, nodding down at the textbook, “want some help with that? What are the bits that aren’t making sense? Is it the clothes? The whole Muggle thing?”

“Why don’t they ever wear robes like what we wear? Aren’t they more practical for every day wear than their … frocks?” To Olivia, the dresses that the Muggle women wore looked terribly fussy and not at all useful for any purpose at all. Whether she realized it or not, Olivia‘s own casual clothing resembled muggle wear to a slight degree, but even those items were more practical than the fussy getups that the book displayed. “Do they always wear skirts and dresses? Don’t they ever wear trouserS?”

“Well, the men do. All the time.” There is a faint hint of envy in Eliza‘s voice. “But the women don’t, usually. Or if they do, everyone else thinks it’s scandalous. I’d think it would be much more comfortable, too. ‘Specially when you compare it to those skinny little skirts that most Muggle women wear. No room to move!”

Olivia‘s mind is immediately brought to the skirts that she herself wears, pleated and roomy. No, she doesn’t understand that, either. “Why do they do that to themselves? I don’t understand. That isn’t practical at all.” Olivia, while she likes pretty things, is clearly more concerned with practicality than she is with fashion. “Why do muggles put themselves in these kinds of things, restricting themselves so.” Olivia pauses. “And why can’t women wear trousers? Professor Rathe does all the time. It seems to me that they’re more practical sometimes than skirts.” Ah, that word again.

“Beats me,” Eliza replies, stretching lazily back in her chair, kicking aside her own loose and practical robes as she stretches out her long legs. “Something about propriety – that’s all I could get out of ‘em. Which is rubbish, I think, ’cause they wear short skirts that show more leg than any trousers would!” Eliza‘s tone isn’t judgmental, despite the critical nature of her words, but rather one of casual bemusement. “But yes, that’s how it goes. The men wear trousers and the women wear skirts, most of the time.”

“What, the men sometimes wear skirts?” Olivia looks generally shocked as she says this, and looks down at the various pictures in her book which are still modelling for her. “I can’t imagine that it would be more proprietous for a man to wear a short skirt like that than it would be for a woman to wear trousers.” She frowns a bit. “Muggles are peculiar. I don’t understand them at all.” The fourth year shakes her head a bit ruefully and crosses her arms across her stomach.

Light amusement colors Eliza‘s grin as she shrugs off the younger girl’s question. “What? Men in skirts isn’t any less proper than men in robes. And hardly any of ‘em do, anyway. Wear skirts, that is. I haven’t seen any, but I’ve seen pictures. In the Scotland section of ‘Muggle Britain’, if you’ve got that book.” She stretches up her arms, folding them back to cushion her head on her hands. “Muggles have got their own logic, I think. It’s a strange one, but it it works.” Eliza shrugs, accepting the oddities of Muggle life with complete calm and ease.

“Right, but I meant the short skirts, like what the muggle women were wearing in that catalogue that Professor Hayward showed us. The women were all wearing skirts that showed their knees and things. Mum said that’s improper for a woman to show her knees.” The girl shrugs a bit. “I suppose if women can wear skirts like that then men can, too.” The girl looks down and turns the book shut, pulling another off. “I was reading through this book here, and this is one thing that I can’t quite get. Muggles make their tea in little bags.” The girl stifles a giggle as she comes to the page where it demonstrates just that. “How odd!” Clearly, Olivia finds this part more amusing than peculiar.

“Not all of ‘em,” Eliza says yet again, although now a bit more amusement finds its way into her voice. “Some of ‘em look down on it, even. Can’t say I blame ‘em – tastes much worse that way. And looks pretty silly, too, dunking a little bag on a string, or fishing about in your teacup to get it out with your spoon.” Eliza rolls her eyes, but her chuckle is more sympathetic than anything else, as she reflects on the hardships of dealing with teabags.

“I don’t imagine the rich muggles use them, then,” olivia comments. “We haven’t had occasion to try them in class yet. Maybe we’ll do it sometime.” She shrugs a bit and closes the book. “I suppose it’s good for me to learn about this,” she comments. “Evan says that learning how other people live helps you appreciate your own way of life. I suppose it’s true enough. Mum said taking Muggle Studies was a ridiculous idea.” Olivia pauses. “I think she would have much rather I took Divination instead.”

“Divination’s all right,” Eliza says, with an agreeable shrug. “Useful, in its own way. And having the chance to know about the future?” For a moment, her eyes light eagerly at the thought, and her grin widens. “But Muggle Studies is practical, too.” Has Eliza picked up on Olivia’s emphasis on practicality, or is it just a fortunate convergence of personalities? “After all, there are plenty more of them than there are of us. Hard to avoid ‘em, even if some people try.” There was no disdain in Eliza‘s voice throughout all of her discourse on Muggles, but she rolls her eyes as she speaks of ‘some people’. “Might as well learn about ‘em, then,” she concludes, good humor returning once more.

Quietly, Olivia admits, “I think my mum and dad are like those people.” She looks genuinely ashamed at this. Aside from the fact that her sisters are notorious for being ridiculous snobs, Olivia is generally able to ignore her family. “You don’t think it’s something you get by default because of your family, do you?” While Olivia knows better, she can’t help but be concerned. “Does your family mind that you’re taking Muggle Studies?”

Instantly contrite, Eliza sits up, her eyes widening in swift surprise and hands sweeping out to wave away the younger girl’s doubts as she protests, “Oh, no! I mean, some parents teach their children not to like Muggles, but it’s not something you get, like blue eyes or something like that.” Her voice softens a little, and she gives Olivia a gentle, crooked grin. “And you seem to have turned out all right.” Eliza leans back, folding her arms behind her head again. “My parents didn’t mind. They’d rather that I’d had the marks for something like Arithmancy – ‘specially ’cause Mum knew Professor Morgan, way back when – but they thought Muggle Studies was just fine. Useful. And they knew I liked it, so they were all right with it.”

Olivia smiles, despite herself, at Eliza. “Well, I suppose I don’t have to worry about it. I took Muggle Studies anyway.” The girl shrugs a bit, pushing all thoughts from her family from her head. It isn’t that her family is horrible, per se, but she doesn’t seem to fit in her family all that much. “I suppose I’ll manage my way through my Muggle clothes project well enough,” she comments, coming back to her original comment as she carefully begins restacking her books alphabetically again. Her parchment is now quite dry from her notes and she packs it away carefully in her bag, which is also rather neatly organized. “Thank you for your help with it, ma’am.’

The ‘ma’am’ draws another grin from Eliza despite herself, but all she says is, “Let me know if you need any more help.” She reaches down to retrieve her own Muggle book off the top of her stack, and kicks her legs up, swinging them around to drape herself sideways across the chair again. “Good luck, Baxtor,” Eliza says, tilting her head to give one last smile over her shoulder to the younger girl. “See you around.”

Another ‘thank you’ is emitted from the younger student as she picks up her books and bag and heads towards the stairs, on her way up to her quarters. Olivia looks a bit less perplexed and concerned and soon vanishes up the stairs towards the girls’ dormitories.

Though it has been rainy during the whole day Andy Carver and Briony Wexler have combined to meet at the deserted quidditch pitch after lunch to have a training session, as both of them recently joined the team and want to improve their skill and routine on their proper positions. Andy shuffles along the fairly muddy path towards the stadium, having his battered broom in his right and the broom shed key in his left hand. He cowers a bit as a short wet breeze lashes over him and pulls his collar up to protect his neck. He decides to wait for Briony at the door of the shed, which provides a rather dry and windless place.

“Hullo, Andy,” Briony calls with a rather exhuberant wave. It being muddy as it is, this causes the young Gryffindor to slip, and she falls right onto her rear end in the muck. “Oops,” she says getting up and trying to shake the mud off. Her black robes are well splattered with the dark brown mud, now, and none of her shakery is fixing it. “So, do you want to try to make goals, and I’ll try to block them?” the second year asks, setting her broom down on the ground to tuck her robes. After all, she doesn’t want them to get caught in anything.

Andy just unlocked the broom shed as he notices his housemate coming down to the pitch. “Hello, Bri-” Andy begins to greet, the keyholding hand stuck halfway in the air, and makes a commiserating face as Briony falls down. He would have gone to help her but she was too quick in getting up again, as the rain also contributed its part of holding him back. “Are you alright?” Andy asks, looking at her muddy robes. “At least the inhibition to get dirty is gone now.” he adds with a chuckle. “Sounds good. I think we should do some stretching and then start with me only attempting to score at one particular hoop and then widen the range until I try it on all of the three.” Andy states, sticking his head into the shed to locate the balls case and the backup quaffles.

“Getting dirty is no big deal. After all, clothes come clean again. My mum gets stains out in a jiffy.” Briony giggles and stands out in the rain as she waits for her teammate to get the balls out. “I’m going to fly a little bit so I can get limbered up,” She announces and orders her broom UP! The girl gets onto her broom and is soon on her way around the pitch, doing a couple of laps while she waits for Andy to pull out the supplies that they’ll use for their small practice.

After Andy has collected three quaffles and finished to bring them onto the pitch, just near the middle hoop on one side of the field, he starts with some stretching exercises, watching Briony doing her rounds. A few minutes later, as he thinks that it would be enough and he even did not want to sit and do further exercises on the ground, he commands UP!, mounts his broom and flies towards Briony with a quaffle in his hand.

Finishing her laps, the girl takes her place at the hoops. “Alright, Andy, whenever you’re ready.” She can’t help but be nervous. After all, they would soon have their first game versus Ravenclaw, and she wanted to do her best, of course! “Let’s start out a bit slow, though. Just to make sure.” Of course, Ravenclaw won’t be going slow with her to start, but Briony is not thinking of that just now. She just wants to survive the game.

“Ok, here we go! I’ll try to limber you up first.” Andy accelarates and heads towards Briony, doing slight curves and pondering where to shoot, to let Briony have the chance to save his attempt. Getting into shooting range Andy lifts his arm and throws, not as fast as he wanted to, so that the quaffle’s trajectory bends down and flies towards Briony’s lower left side, a bit under the actual hoop.

“Alright,” She calls back, watching her fellow second year swerve back and forth. When he tosses the ball, Briony dives for it, but it takes her several moments to catch it, and she is almost to the ground before she regains her handle on the ball. She flies back up and tosses the quaffle back to Andy. “Here, go again! I’ll get it faster next time, I promise!” She readies herself a bit more, determined not to depend quite so much on her broom to make the saves. “Go it again!”

“Sorry for this one. It slipped away a bit.” Andy excuses the miss and catches the quaffle sent by Briony. “Ready?” he calls and starts his next attempt. This time he flies straight to Briony’s right, aims at the upper left quarter of the ring, strikes out, fakes a shot into this direction and then quickly tosses the quaffle towards the opposite section of the hoop.

“Uuungrrha!” Briony shouts as she dives for the Quaffle. She misses, and it flies through the hoop. She flies down to catch it and tosses it back to Andy. “Alright, I can do this, I can do this,” she states quietly to herself then glances to Andy. “Alright, I’ll get this one, I swear. Don’t go easy on me!” She grits her teeth and now has both hands off of her broom, though her legs are twisted around it for balance and safety. “Gimme what you got!”

“Woo!” Andy cheers smiling, as he has overcome his housemate. “You almost got it, it was kind of mean.” he animates her and grabs the swooshing quaffle. “I’ll try something.” Andy announces, overestimating his skills. He accelarates again and suddenly leans to the left side to try a roll. “Uaaah!” As he is upside down he cling to his broom with both hands and the quaffle drops towards the ground.

“Oh, are you alright?” Briony calls, though he hasn’t fallen to the ground. “Don’t fall! I don’t want to get into trouble or anything. We are allowed to be out here, right?” The girl doesn’t seem really interested in the question, more that her teammate is alright.

Andy struggles back up onto his broom and takes a deep breath. “Yes, nothing to it.” he settles, still being very blushed and adds “I’m not going to try this once more for now.” Having arranged his robes again, Andy starts downwards to pick up the quaffle and rises again to Briony’s level. “Should we proceed with maybe two possible hoops to score at? I could enlarge the distance first, if you want.” he proposes.

“Whatever you like,” Briony answers and makes her distance from the hoops a bit more so that she has more room to guard them. “Come at me whenever you’re ready! I’ll get it this time, I will!” The girl readjusts herself on the broom and watches her teammate carefully, starting to cotton on to how she needs to be on the broom now for the best ease. She’ll learn, of course, though so far, it is slow going for the Gryffindor Keeper.

Andy smiles as he notices the keeper’s determined will. Acting a bit reserved after his almost-drop Andy is on target for the right hoop and sling the quaffle to the central one. Though it describes a slight curve and trundles remarkably Andy thinks, that it should be an easy prey for Briony.

This time, Briony does manage to catch the Quaffle, holding it up joyously and tossing it back. “There we go,” she calls with a laugh and readies herself again, feeling more comfortable in the air than she had been a while earlier. After all, one has to sometimes give it a few moments to gain bearings. “Go again,” she calls and watches Andy as he maneuvers with the Quaffle.

Andy chuckles as Briony catches his shot and calls over. “Well done! Next time I’ll get you.” Curving back to his starting position, Andy throws up the quaffle from time to time to get a better feeling about how to handle, hold and catch it best. Then he performs a narrow turn and rushes towards the hoops again, swerving to get his keeper uncomfortable. This time he delays the toss and throws it hard to the upper part of the right hoop. Andy brakes and watches Briony’s reaction.

Seeing how Andy is swerving does throw Briony off a bit, and she watches carefully as he approaches, trying her best to get up to the top hoop in time to block the shot. Her fingertips knick it, causing it to fly up, and bounce off the top of the hoop. A successful block, if nothing else. “Good one, Andy,” she calls, and begins to look for where the quaffle landed. “I’d better go get my homework done if I’m to have time to practice again later,” she finally admits, shrugging a bit. “Maybe we can practice a couple more times before the game, that way we’re at our best for the Ravenclaw match.”

Smiling and panting Andy admires Briony’s last save. “Oh, nice one, Briony.” he calls over. “Yes I’ve still got to do an essay for Professor Rathe, either. I think we’re getting better, aren’t we?” Andy tries to encourage himself and his friend, while landing on the wet grass near the hoops’ poles, where the quaffles lie.

“I sure hope so. I want to beat Ravenclaw. One of the girls in Ravenclaw house was teasing me in class that their seeker would catch the snitch so fast that we wouldn’t even have a chance to score.” Briony pauses. “I hope Nova’s fast at finding it; I do so want to win!” Sighing, the girl lands on the ground and strides over to the broom shed, quite wet and still covered in mud, Briony‘s first destination is likely a bath. “I’ll see you later, Andy, after I’ve cleaned up a bit. Perhaps we can compare notes. I’m not sure I got all mine down fast enough. She was giving us so much to write!”

Andy nods. “Nah, I don’t think that Ravenclaw has such a superb seeker. Nova will do her best, too.” He opens the shed and lets the quaffles drop into the mud. “Alright, I’ll just clear up the shed a bit, it’s really a mess. See you in the commons, then!” he says with a wave and grins. “I think it would be really appropriate to exchange some ideas this time.”

“But theirs is an excellent flier, so she is rather good. I saw them practice once for a little bit.” Briony shudders a bit and sighs as she returns her broom to its rightful place. “Oh, well, we can do our best. That’s all.” She nods solemnly then peers outside and sighs. “I guess I ought to go cleanup before I catch cold and mum gets angry at me for being so careless.” Yes, there were definitely disadvantages to having your mother at school with you. “I’ll see you later, Andy,” the girl tells him and trots out of the shed, headed for the school, praying that the caretaker doesn’t spot her before she gets to the bathroom.

On notes throughout the castle, eight pointed stars suddenly flash and then darken to a dull grey. If watched, a rather intricate script begins to spell out, “The hour is almost at hand for cloaked figures to seek the stars.”

The text on notes everywhere fades out again, the eight pointed star with it. The papers remain blank a moment, and as clocks and pocket watches throughout the castle read eight fifty-five in the evening, words appear again: Come, or be forever lost to SEA.

Deep as night at the nine oh clock hour is this Hall of the Stars. The tapestries provide the only light, and even then many of the stars are dimmer than usual. Although curfew has not yet been called, something is unnaturally silent, footsteps muted against the floor, any voices reduced to a hush. In the darkness, forms are shadowy, the light cast from faux stars not brilliant enough to reveal detailed shapes and faces.

Keelan Walsh is nestled against a corner of the wall, cloak drawn close about her, hood already up. She practically blends directly into the wall, merely more darkness. Watchful, she waits for more figures to arrive, barely moving save to breathe. No, Professor Walsh won’t say a word for now, but will wait. Yes, she shall wait.

Rhian Brecon comes the stairwell. She had every right to be out and about at this hour, even after curfew, as a Prefect. While she didn’t wish to get anyone in trouble, she was still curious about this whole thing. In her regular school robes, her wand hidden in her robe and the darkest cloak she had, a nice midnight blue around her shoulders, and her hood up, but hiding her face, she comes into the Hall of Stars, seeing if there was anyone else that had arrived before her.

The usually boisterous second year Briony Wexler almost tip-toes into the Hall of the Stars, ready to bolt for the Picture Room should this turn out to be a hoax. She doesn’t dare say anything, but seems to be trying to disappear altogether in her robes as she makes her way into the Hall of Stars, lurking far back from any other people already queued up in the hall. After all, she doesn’t want to get into trouble if this ends up being a bad situation.

Clavicle Gravely comes in wearing a brownish grayish cloak, of deep earth tones. He steps in quietly and looks about with a curious gaze. His near skeletal frame is hard to recognize beneath the fabric.

Marie-Anna Greyton quietly walks in, making little sound or, for that, hardly any appearance as her black, hooded cloak is drawn up her. It is with care that this prefect makes her way into the room. Eyes dart about to see if she can disern who else may have been invited to thise most secret meeting.

Yeegads! It is a dementor! -Not. It is just Landon in an extreme large robe with his good up. The excess fabric hangs like curtains off of his thin frame and some drags behind him as he walks. He seems to have magically altered the front, though so he won’t trip. Who knew the tailor genes would come in handy!? Presently, he is leaning against the wall in his usual nonchalant manner. Or, at least, that’s all one can assume. With his hood pulled as it is, he could be smiling from ear to ear and nobody would know. That would never happen, though.

Walking almost on tiptoe, Aisling O‘Cormac endevours to make no sound as she enters the room, her ploy somewhat ruined by the slight rustling her robes and cloak make. Glancing around, she drifts over to one of the walls, trying to make herself even smaller than she already is, and attempting to fade into the wall itself.

Scurrying through the hallway and pushing into the shadows, a small form in school robes and a plain hooded cloak catches its breath. Stealing as silently as possible to the meeting place, Astra is dressed like every other student, her hood pulled over her hair to hide her face. Grinning to herself in a mischievous fashion, she’s out for a bit of fun tonight and hopefully no one will recognize her immediately for who she really is.

A lofty form sheltered in a thick black cloak that is just barely too small for her, Clementine Duncan enters the Hall of Stars. The almost deafening silence of the place and the girl’s incredibly desire not to disturb it forces out a raspy little cough. “Sorry.” She excuses herself in a whisper, moving against the wall as well. The tall third year smiles nervously, but no one can see that ideally.

Cloak on, hood up and hanging over his face, Evan Geroff is in that way a copy of every other person showing up tonight. He says nothing, arriving as silently as possible, curious excitement hidden by the same dark that hides his eyes and the hood under which a grin might just be made out, if the dim light managed to hit it. Upon spotting the collection of shadowed shapes, he turns back partway, one hand spread out toward the group as bobs his head to a second figure with him.

“We’ll get into trouble,” the girl hisses quietly, instantly regretting having said anything, given the silence that is resounding in the area. She instantly silences herself, hanging just outside of the group that is gathering, though not so far as to stand against the wall as some people appear to be doing. While she doesn’t voice this, Olivia finds herself wondering very strongly what it is that she’s been dragged here for.

Lyre King purposefully flows into the room. His raven black robes curl behind him on the barest of breezes, showing how fine the silky material is. He adjusts his hood to hide his dark eyes, which he scans the room with. He takes note that there are two adults in the room. He breathes a sigh of relief, assured that he will not get in trouble for being here.

Cloaked and hooded, Martin Foster pads into the room–each step purposefully silent. He peers about the room in continued silence at the students in attendance–all dressed like himself. He raises his index finger to his lips as if to prevent himself (or somebody else?) from speaking. Curiously, the Head Boy’s eyebrows furrow as he crosses his arms comfortably over his chest.

Keelan Walsh steps forward from her corner, not lowering her hood. Eyes well adjusted to the dim light of the room, but she is no better at discerning hooded faces in nearly complete darkness than most are. “I suppose,” she begins quietly, “I should first explain why you have all been invited.” It’s not really a question, and Keelan pushes her glasses up her nose. “It is to teach, yes, but not a subject commonly taught within the walls of our fine school. Not, in my opinion, studied enough either. No, not lectures or in all liklihood books, although they make have their place. I wish also to learn.” She stops, and her tone changes, “How many of you know of the secret passage ways of our school? How many have been into the Forbidden Forest or dared dream of the secrets concealed within these very walls?” Her voice hushes, though she still sounds very grave, “How many of you are aware of the world outside this school? How many… have even read a novel? Fiction, not facts, dates, figures.” Her tone brightens by a small degree, “I mean to teach the art of adventure, as I myself learned it right here in Hogwarts.”

Rhian Brecon turns as she notices someone moving other than the students who showed up, and starts speaking. She knows that voice… and it’s not the voice of a child either. One of the professors? Teaching them the art of adventure? This will be interesting. She says nothing though, not invited to speak, nor apparently the desire to reveal herself since the purpose of all this was to remain hidden from the others, and professor.

Listening quietly to the Professor, Aisling brightens a bit at the mention of adventure, and at the query regarding books. Having read anything she could get her hands on, she has read a few novels in her time, often wishing that her life could be adventurous as that of those in the novels. Still silent, she turns so that she has a good view of the speaking figure, and also of many of the others in the room. Well – as good as a view as the dim light provides.

Clavicle Gravely tilts his head and listens. His eyes narrow a touch as he tries to place the voice. He’s not sure if it’s a seventh year or a teacher. But he nods. Beneath his hood he had the forethought to wear a mask, a carnival mask of a Coyote. As his head raises, the snout emerges from the shadow.He answers “Laughing Coyote Agrees.”

Evan Geroff shakes his head at Olivia, exaggerated a bit so she has some hope of seeing it. Leaning over, in a whisper to barely reach his own ears, he whispers, “We won’t. We’ll just take a look..” Even the whisper stops as Keelan begins to speak. He has moved no closer to the group than Olivia, staying at her side, but he looks over toward the center once before looking back at her and grinning. “See?” Despite the whisper his voice remains in, the word comes out too quickly to be anything but pleased with the beginnings of the night. Keelan may not completely have to teach him adventure, but that’s no reason not to remain and enjoy some of it. And he hasn’t been in some of those places.

Not daring to speak for fear of blowing her cover, Astra hunkers down in her cloak and makes sure the hood is well pulled up to obscure her features. Standing on tiptoes, she hangs back far enough to scamper off again if she doesn’t feel comfortable, but right now, she’s just grinning from ear to ear. Excited and amused, she raises a hand to her mouth and lowers her head to suppress a laugh, whether from nervousness or something else she does not share.

“Adventure!” Briony hisses, noticably excited at the idea. Somoene who sounds like an adult is telling her that she’s going to learn to embrace adventures. The girl claps her hand over her mouth quickly, though, noticing how quiet the hall still is. Learn to keep your mouth shut, Briony! Looking around finally at the group happily, Briony‘s face, were it more visible to her peers, would be a bright and excited one. She can hardly wait. And she who always loved finding adventures!

Marie-Anna Greyton ponders the questions quietly, but she dares not break the silence. Therefore the prefect stands stationary, hidden by cloak and hood.

Eyebrows still furrowed, Martin Foster shifts slightly as Keelan speaks. The professor’s voice is familiar, but the Head Boy can’t place it. He continues to have his arms crossed. Adventure? A little unconventional, but interesting none the less. Biting his lower lip, he continues to stare at the speaking hooded figure, skeptical about the whole affair.

“Adventures?” Olivia whispers dubiously, trying to see over a particularly tall person in front of her, trying to find out why it is she recognizes that voice. She is certain that it will become clear soon, who it is exactly, and that it will make her feel more at ease. The silence which all of those gathered are employign unnerves her a bit and she takes a step behind Evan, just a bit, not feeling entirely at ease.

Thankfully, her own hood is large enough to keep Clementine‘s large snout concealed. She stays quiet as Keelan begins her introduction and continues through it, unconsciously taking a few nervous steps back towards the wall. She doesn’t pay much attention to whether or not there is anyone there already.

The person speaks and Landon doesn’t move an inch. As those who know him probably know, his eyes moved toward the person but nothing else. If anyone was low enough to see up his hood, they would see his eyebrow arch upwards, but he doesn’t speak. When a few people around him start to close in, Landon pushes off of the wall with the foot he was leaning on, and he slides towards everyone else in one, silent, fluid motion.

Lyre‘s grin looks almost like a sneer, though it isn’t his fault. He is practically shaking with excitement at the idea of knowing all of the secrets of the castle.

Clavicle says, “Laughing Coyote wants these secrets you speak of. What must we do to earn them?” he asks…speaking in a gruff voice in an attempt to disguise himself. “We’re quite interested indeed.”"

Keelan Walsh responds with what is if not delight than a tremor of excitement(a quality which her students are not likely to recognize when not raving about plants), “Laughing Coyote, I see you have chosen a name… you must, however, have patience.” Her lips tug into a smile, “Nothing we will have to do, of course.” She moves her hand a bit and the stars subtly begin to brighten, though they do not cast much light even when they are at full force. Her full height is visible, rare enough in a female, “However, yes, adventure. After all, you were invited to the Society for Exploration and Adventure. It will be, I assure you, more than a simple title. However… to become a true member, you must all swear to secrecy. It would not do for certain individuals to discover what we will be up to.” She pronounces this as though she has people in mind as the enemies of adventure. As the room reaches it’s normal level of light, Keelan observes, at the least, the sizes of the people here. “First we have to decide–do we see each other, or do we not?” Her hood remains up, although it’s unlikely that there are any other five-foot-eleven glasses wearing persons with that particular tone of voice. “There is a certain appeal to some amount of anonymity, but this is a society, not a classroom. Come on, I want to hear opinions–and why!” Another smile, just barely visible.

Aisling O‘Cormac looks towards the voice. “Anonymity ensures that no one can tell on us, because they don’t know who we are.” She offers quietly. “But on the other hand, for a society, especially for adventure, we need to have at least a degree of trust in each other – and would we, not knowing anything about the next person?” Having said this, the young girl looks at her feet, turning over the options in her mind, wondering what the others think.

Rhian Brecon clears her throat a bit then speaks up, but changing her voice slightly so it might not be recongized. “I say we do, so that if messages must be passed, we know who we can give them to, and who we cannot. But what if we each know about two others in the society, then we cannot reveal everyone.”

Clavicle says, “Laughing Coyote says there is truth in anonymity. In that truth, one is allowed freedom behind a mask one is not allowed face to face. It allows one to be free of the consequences of that truth. Laughing Coyote advises secrecy. ” the Coyote snout bobs as it’s wearer speaks in the gruff voice. “Laughing Coyote thinks we should take on names. So we have a life of two faces, one here and one the teachers know. Laughing Coyote sees truth in this, and hopes you do as well.”"

Marie-Anna Greyton nods quietly. “Perhaps we each only know one or two people, no two people knowing the same person. For example Person A knows Person B and C, person B knows A and D, C knows B and E…” she offers in a quiet manner. “Or, perhaps, we stick with the method in which we where invited here… only the host know who the members are…” is given in a quiet tone.

Speaking is not something Astra is willing to do and so she keeps her mouth firmly shut, lifting her head as she listens to the students and their opinions about secrecy. Tugging at her hood, she then drops her hand away and slips back a step to stand off to one side.

“Don’t worry,” Evan whispers back to Olivia, one hand moving in the darkness to fold behind his back instead of hang at his side, though he does no more with it. “It’ll be fun.. and you won’t be forced into anything, I promise.” At the question, he glances back toward the center, calling out quietly yet much above the whisper he’s been using, “See. After swearing the oath. At least,” he picks up on Marie-Anna’s idea, “some other people, for safety.”

Like Astra, Martin says nothing. He’s still not entirely sure what to think of this entire affair, and feels no need to offer an opinion at this time. Shrugging his shoulders, the Head Boy sinks further into his hood. He frowns at Clavicle’s alternative name suggestion, and after clearing his throat, breaks his own silence, “Knowing only a few other people adds to the mystery.”

Clavicle says, “Laughing Coyote Sees the wisdom in that one’s way. She advises what is known as a insurgent cell structure. If captured no one can reveal the entire cell membership. Laughing Coyote thinks that person is wise.” He smiles “An enchanted scroll could be made…that by putting our mark, the maker would be hexed for revealing secrets.” ”

Eyes dart from person to person as they speak. Landon, however says nothing. It isn’t that he’s worried about remaining anonymous, he just doesn’t feel like talking, which is frequently the case. He straightens up, slightly, though, as he peers around at the other occupants of the room. The large robes will conceal his identity, though, standing straight up, or crouched down, he still won’t look like much more than an heap of fabric.

Clavicle Gravely points to the hooded figure who spoke of knowing only one or two names

Clementine Duncan continues to stay quiet, nodding along with those whom she agrees with and not with those she doesn’t. Of course, it isn’t very clear whether or not she is for or against secrecy. She keeps speaking to a minimum, as she would in class, really. The idea of picking names does appeal to her, even a little more then the idea of adventuring. She’s torn, and so, can’t speak out for herself. Secrecy is important. Someone should know who the members are, though. After Marie-Anna’s explanation and Laughing Coyote’s agreement, Clementine points to the hooded figure as well.

Gingerly, Olivia spies Evan’s hand and grasps onto it, feeling a bit of relief as she gives his hand a tight squeeze, perhaps a little harder than necessary. “Shouldn’t we know one another. Aren’t societies for comradery as well as their function?” Olivia speaks up, an unusual demonstration for the Hufflepuff girl. She steps back out from behind Evan and glance around, trying to discern the faces of those around her. All the hoods up make it difficult, as well as her own limited peripheral vision due to her own hood. “But we don’t have to–” she adds slowly, as if stating the desire for a bit less secrecy within would oust her from the group before she even found out just what kinds of things they would be finding out.

“Maybe we should have code names, like what he’s got!” Briony pipes up, perhaps a bit loudly. “And then we only call each other by them when we’re talking about matters here.” The girl beams at the idea and tries to make her way forward a bit, though she can’t make out anybody’s face at all, regardless of how she tries. It is simply too dark in the hall. The quiet atmosphere seems to have subsided just a bit as many of the folks present voice their opinions.

“Excellent points, one and all. Although…” Keelan pauses, musing it over for herself. “There is merit to taking on alter egos, though I would rather, I admit, it be knowing everyone or knowing noone. I… doubt there will be any matter of danger, as far as that is involved.” She looks at the figure in the mask, easier to pick out now than before, “I assure you that I have every intention of keeping this quite seperate from schoolwork.” Another twitchy smile, and she adjusts her glasses again, “Perhaps masks for us all, and code names? Then,” she smiles warmly, if only dimly visible, toward Olivia, “we may have a semblence of the comraderie so vital to a society, and retain our daily identities as well.” It doesn’t sound like a descision, and she looks about the room again. Somewhat accusatory comes, “Not all of you have spoken.”

Rhian Brecon has already spoken her opinion of what could be done, so now remains silent to see what others think of.

Marie-Anna Greyton remains silent, along with Rhian, seeing as she has already had her say.

Martin Foster is quite proud of his speaking now (he would have rather not spoken altogether). His lips curl into a small smirk behind his cloak. Oh the excitement!

Evan Geroff sqeezes back, only gently, as Olivia takes his hand, then holds on gently as well. “If it’s everything or none,” Evan pauses, voice pitched to address the group again, clarifying his opinion though he did speak before, “I’d rather know people. Names will be put to every-day faces eventually anyway, as we get to know each other here.”

Backing up another step, the would-be student looks to her right and then to her left, as if seeking out some sort of support from the few others who have said nothing. Shrugging her shoulders, Astra then chooses someone taller and close by, settling on one of the many hooded students. The person’s she’s randomly chosen is Martin, but she still is not aware of that fact and so tries to slink behind him or at least closer to him.

Clavicle Gravely watches Astra now…as the ‘student’ begins slinking about. “Laughing Coyote thinks some are frightened now. And before anything else is said, those who have had second thoughts should be allowed to leave. After they have left, Laughing Coyote thinks we should move as well, before the head mistress comes.”

Clementine Duncan retracted her pointing hand soon after jutting it out, but takes a hesitant step away from the wall, “I think it’ad be be’er if we all started off on an equal playin’ feild persay. If we were to know who eachother truly were. It might ruin that. Biases ..such ‘s class rankings… prefects and whatnot.” She thinks sadly to herself that she’s going to end up having to have some type of bird-mask, what with her nose. Her long arms cross tightly under her cloak. Behind her hood, she blushes hard, not having really paid enough attention to what she just said.

Stepping even closer, looking about as people begin to pipe up even more. “Doesn’t being here obliterate the biases? We were all of us invited, after all,” Olivia states in response to her classmate, though she doesn’t realise that she knows the female voice speaking. She pays little attention to those inching about, as if trying to get out, more interested in hearing what everyone has to say and how the gathering will form.

Clementine Duncan turns to Olivia, “Not entirely.” She motions to the hooded figure who is obviously the leader of this outfit to them at least, “But there are other biases, then that…” Her voice implies that she’s almost hurt that anyone disagreed with her, “You and I could hate eachother, you know, and right now we have no idea.”

Lyre King speaks up against Olivia’s statement. “Some people are unable to rise above their faults. These people will find something to pick at in their fellows, regardless of what honors have been placed on them. I say anonymity is key. Not knowing who could counter you also makes the misuse of whatever we learn here.. Dangerous.”

Clavicle says, “Hoka-Hey. Laughing Coyote sees truth in Anonymity.”"

“They should learn to overcome that,” Briony retorts, shaking her head. “But can’t we still have secret names? It would be so brilliant. And if we’re going to go on adventures with one another, I would certainly want to know who with so we can talk about it later,” she giggles a bit, then stifles herself. “Well, in private, of course. When you’re sure nobody else can discover the conversation. After all, secrecy.”

Clementine Duncan claps, hissing excitedly, “Oh! Oh, I do want a secret name. And a mask!”

Keelan Walsh waves a hand, “She won’t bother us, I’m sure.” Either by request or distraction, Keelan certainly had to the foresight to secure the area, “Even if she did, I am here. I’m sure you have all realized by now that I am a Professor?” A soft smirk, and then a softer sigh, “If anyone cares to leave, they should do so. Should you wish to return to us at a later date, you need just arrive.” Keelan waits, then, before continuing, “For now, as some of you seem concerned, let us don masks. A bit of a spell ought to do the trick–hmm, though it may be tricky for some of you. Think of something… interesting, and if you can’t make a mask, have someone help. You can all trust each other enough to help with this?” Her wand is flourished and the spell, “Cero personatus!” said. For Keelan, it is a crude wooden thing in the vague shape of a tiger, black paint striping across it. The mask materializes in the air in front of her and she has to catch it before it falls. Putting it on carefully so as to not disturb her hood, she still has to tie it on over the hood. This looks a touch silly, but oh well.

Clavicle Gravely pulls out his wand. And he attempts the spell. But not being an expert yet, His crude wooden thing looks like half spider, half coyote, half raven, and an odd resemblance to Astra Rathe in the chin. Now how did that happen. “Err.. Laughing Coyote…says Oops.”

Marie-Anna Greyton nods a little bit before pulling her wand out from her cloak. The same words used by Keelan are used by her as well, resulting in her own crude wooden mask. This mask is rather simple, in manner, simply that of a lioness.

Rhian Brecon nods as she listens to this and she casts herself a mask on her face. It’s an elegant thing, one that she wore years ago to a Holloween festival that was designed by her boyfriend when they first met. It displays a lioness’s face, but with appropriate eyeholes and doesn’t have a lower job so they could see Rhian‘s jaw move as she speaks. With the mask, she lowers her hood, glad to get that off her head.

“Cero personatus,” Olivia chants with her wand in hand, and a bland, rounded mask appears in her hand, with no eyeholes. “Hmm. That can’t be quite right. What did I do wrong?” she whispers to Evan, releasing her hand from his to examine the mask more closely. “Can we do it again if it doesn’t work quite right?” Olivia asks, disgust becoming more apparent with her failed first attempt at the mask. Charms are not her forte.

Clementine Duncan pulls out her wand, motioing with it but stopping short of attempting the spell. She hesitates before actually going through with it, “Cero personatus.” She squeaks, summoning up a puff of thin yellow feathers that fall right through her fingers, which were expecting a mask to fall into them. A bird mask, preferably. “I’m afraid I’m not very good at things like this…” She admits sheepishly, gulping, “Could someone maybe just make one for me?”

Evan Geroff slips his wand out of his pocket, pausing before raising what would usually be his off hand. Just as if in class, he practices the motion he saw Keelan use once, and the second time through repeats the spell. The mask he catches doesn’t quite resemble any animal in particular. It has ears that stick up, large round eyes, some sort of tuft over the chin, possibly a whisker or two unless those are just freckles, and the color in spots varies from yellow to orange to dark brown and green. “Hmm.” He looks at it for a moment, then over to Olivia. “I’ll be re-doing mine when this is over tonight. But you might want to see still. Don’t worry about the look for now, just concentrate on the eyes…?” It’s a possibility, anyway. And they can sit around together redoing both until they look right. Fun, neh? Olivia having released his hand does allow him to tie his mask on as he whispers to her, which he does.

With a flip of his wand, Landon breathes the spell out almost without speaking at all. IN his hand appears a simple, black mask. Rounded on top, but it covers the nose and cheek bones. Only the chin, mouth, and lower jaw are visible. Landon then proceeds to reach up his hood and fix the mask over his face. Once it is in place he pulls the hood back just enough so he can peer about properly, but not even so much as a blonde hair is visible.

Clavicle Gravely goes to grab the mask…but it scurries off to a corner. “Er… Double oops?”

Hovering behind the student she’s decided to stand behind, the ‘student’ heaves a very soft sigh at not having to speak. Listening quietly, she turns and draws out her wand, casting under her breath as murmurs the words. An additional spell ripples its power within the inner part that would cover her face. Slowly and methodically she works. While not as fast as some of the students, eventually Astra turns around donning her mask. Her chosen form is that of a mongoose.

Lyre King lifts his wand and calls out the spell in a clear voice. “Cero Personatus!” a thin, smooth mask settles in his hand, the barest shape of a face visible, like a half carved statue. In yellow paint, a broad four pointed star is painted on his left eye, while a huge red gash is painted across the mouth area, like an ancient greek comedy mask. Lyre slips the mask easily under his hood, and it hangs there as if by magic.

Keelan Walsh actually laughs slightly, “Yes, you can of course try it again if it is…” here she puts out down a foot to stop Clavicle’s oddly mobile mask. Crunch. “Unsatifactory. Just make sure to tap the old one with your wand to destroy it.” She bends, briefly, to scoop up the mess Clavicle made, and gives it a sharp rap, and it vanishes. “Laughing Coyote, you have a mask already,” she reminds him gently. Surveying the group through her tiger-mask eyes, she says, almost to herself, “We’ll need names.”

Marie-Anna Greyton ponders potential names, looking at the now masked students through the slitted lion eyes. The girl waits for inspiration to strike her as she glances around.

Performing the spell with surprising success — well, it at least resembles a mask shape, eye holes, stopping over the nose, plenty of space for her mouth to move, something very important for Briony. The mask she has conjured is a dark gray, and has whisker-like hairs pointing up all over it and ears rather shaped like a cat’s. Perhaps the mask is a bit heavy on the whiskers and light on any other resemblance for a cat. The odd mask suits Briony just fine, however, and she fixes the mask to her face and stands for a moment, attempting to think of a name for herself.

Clavicle says, “Laughing Coyote’s mask wants a mask too.” he settles back against the wall and grins a touch. The trickster part a role he is adopting far too well.”

Clementine Duncan wrinkles up her nose, trying the spell again deciding that her originaly vision was far too complicated. It’s after her third attempt that she gets her mask. As she slips it over her face, it’s no animal that she slides over her face, but a plant. A long wooden branch stems out for her nose with smaller twigs, knots, and knobs here and there. Clementine is now… a tree. She doesn’t push back her hood all the way, for fear that her wild hair might just really give her away.

Olivia Baxtor taps her first attempts at a mask and it vanishes quickly. She repeats the incantation and this time, the mask more closely resembles an actual mask. It is a half mask in an emerald green color, and this time has eye holes. She smiles a bit and holds it out, “Much better.” It is a decree rather than a statement and she fixes the mask to her face, glancing around as everyone else manages masks. “What name are you going to use?” she asks Evan quietly, being careful not to use his name, lest she give his identity away.

Rhian Brecon thinks to herself and tries to come up with a name. She knows that she is wearing a lioness’s face and so thinks she might use that to start a name. “Stalking Lioness?” she looks to the person next to her to see if that would be an appropriate name.

Clavicle Gravely does a small turn and walks about looking at the different masks. His mask is a rather realistic looking Coyote mask, Bought at a Carnival most likely. “Laughing Coyote is how I am known. ”

Landon thinks. . . He will have to think of something later. Right this very moment, he just stands, looking snazzy in his mask. He’s bad with thinking up things on the spot, and he doesn’t want to have to live with some stupid name because he just up and spit one out without putting any thought into it.

“Preferable to my rainbow colored cat-owl, I’m sure.” Evan smiles at Olivia, then glances down for a moment in thought. “I don’t know; something to do with a sphinx, perhaps. Do you have a name in mind?”

Clavicle says, “Think thank thunk, A coyote in a trunk, he runs around, adventure bound, until his tail is sunk.”"

“I think I’ll be … Fitzcordia,” the girl announces, rather proud at thinking of such a name. Briony beams as others finish their masks and fix them to their faces. “I wonder if we’ll be able to go on any adventures tonight. What happens if we’re late for curfew?” She doesn’t sound overly concerned as she voices these statements, but rather admires the few masks she is able to see. The girl is forced to push back her hood just a bit, to allow the whiskers on her mask to protrude up as they are wont to do.

“I haven’t thought of one yet,” Olivia responds, looking over Evan’s mask curiously and thinking of what names she could pick. “Maybe… maybe I could use…” Her voice trails off and she puts a finger to her chin thoughtfully. “How does Nanaea sound? I think I read it in a History book sometime. It’s kind of pretty, don’t you think?” The girl looks to her friend, pondering on her name suggestion and then voicing another. “No, Persephone. That’s very regal.” She gives a closed-mouth smile, having more or less decided on this name.

Sifting through her memory, Astra latches upon a name from her childhood. Speaking through her mask, her voice is warped and fractured, but still clearly understandable. Either the spell that created her mask is broken in some way or she’s added something to it to do precisely this, hide her voice as well as her face. “Rawhead and Bloody Bones,” scouring the legends and nightmares of childish boogeymen, “Rawhead am I.”

Clavicle Gravely ‘s attention suddenly turns at the Bloody Bones reference. His hand rubs at the snout a bit thoughtfully. A cousin here? Impossible.

Clementine Duncan looks to Rhian, nodding to the other girl’s choice of codename, “I can’t think of anything good…” She peers around through the eye-holes of her mask at the others, “I suppose… Hmm.” She turns back to the other girl, “I’m the Wand Tree.” She giggles a little.

Keelan Walsh ponders for a long moment, seemingly oblivous to the relative chaos as people chose masks and names. “Alright! Does everyone have a mask on, then?” Waiting for the murmur of assent, she presents a simple spell-”Lumos!” However, this seems to be the key to getting a proper amount of lighting, as the light flickers from the end of her wand to an overhead setting of the moon. Odd, that’s not a normal feature of this room. Still, suddenly the shadowy students take a more solid form, and masks are thrown into compartively bright moonlight. “I do believe it’s time to introduce ourselves. I am known as Bengale.” No kidding.

Evan Geroff nods once to her decision. “Persephone. I like it.” He stops, back to his own thoughts, whispering to her off and on as he goes. “I just don’t know what to place with ‘Sphinx..’” “Towering, Mighty.. Orange.. Turquiose?..” His whispering trails off as Keelan draws the group together again, with a final murmur to Olivia, “Perhaps that will be good enough.” He’ll wait to actually introduce himself, give him another minute at least to be sure.

Rhian Brecon nods as she finally sees everyone in full light as much as she can at least witht he masks. Her’s is starting to get annoying, but she’ll live with it. “I am Stalking Lioness, or Lioness for short…” She looks around when it comes to her turn to introducing herself.

Keelan Walsh adds, “If we’re late for curfew, I expect you’ll do your best to avoid detection,” with a smirk.

“What about just Turquoise?” the girl suggests quickly before Keelan speaks. She watches with interest, and before very long, it’s her own turn. “I’m Persephone,” she states rather quietly, then glances around at others as they begin to share their names. Almost as if it’s a reaction, she reaches towards Evan’s hand, still slightly nervous as she hears someone’s voice, which has clearly been altered, and which sounds rather frightening. Or perhaps it is just that Olivia is easily frightened.

Clavicle says, “And that would be a secret passage?” he asks. As he tilts his head out, and aer pokes out to listen toward the woman. “Is that something we see tonight?”

Lyre King thinks quietly for a moment, pondering the image presented by his mask. “I suppose… The Harlequin Jack will do. I am Jack Harlequin.” His mask has an eerie, puppetlike smile, and strangely fits this title.

Landon decides that he doesn’t want just eh plain black mask so he taps the side of it and the sides instantly flair out, becoming leaf-like, and the mask turns a vibrant shade of leaf-green. His forehead, nose, and the upper part of his cheeks are covered, but his mouth is free for speaking. The bright green tones of the mask seem to be reflected in Landon‘s pale skin, though because his chin, lower cheeks, and jaw pick it up, disguising his skin tone. A slight smile graces his features. A slightly mischievous one, too. It is gone as quickly as it appeared, though. He has decided on the name Puck! After the adventurous forest spirit! When it is his turn to speak, he does for the first time, but he doesn’t say much. He points to himself and says “Puck.”

Now that there is enough light to see by, Astra takes in the sight of the students. She too is dressed in the plain black school robes of a student and a hooded cloak of the same shade. Poking out from under the hood, her mongoose mask is quite visible and she turns her head to look over those assembled. “I am Rawhead.” As before, her voice is warped by magic but the words are unmistakable.

Clementine Duncan toys with the rims of her hood, as if torn still on whether or not to remove it. “I’m the Wand Tree.” She introduces herself with a light curtsey. She crosses her arms once more, keeping her hood up over her massive hair.

Marie-Anna Greyton is of the same thought as Landon is about her mask. Before the light comes out she quietly disperses of her current mask before repeating the motion to create a new mask, which turns out to be similar in appearance to that of a mermaid, with feathers for hair floating in water. “I am Aquarius,” she introduces, hood still slightly pulled over her head, covering her hair.

Evan Geroff hesitates, taking one last second to think before announcing his name after Olivia does hers. “I’m Turquiose the Sphinx,” he states, not quite willing to give that up and just be a color, “but will response simply to Turquoise.” And he’s prepared for everyone to just forget the Sphinx part. It’s for his own benefit only. As Olivia reaches he slips his hand back around hers, offering another quick squeeze simply to say “hello again” as any smile at her would be effectively hidden by his rainbow cat-owl mask. He will have to redo it.

“Call me Fitzcordia, please,” Briony announces with a giggle and then stifles herself with a cough, attempting to appear serious as many of the others are. She watches with interest as the others announce their chosen ‘code names’. Briony is having a very difficult time disguising her sheer excitement at the whole thing. Secret names, masks and adventures? It pretty much has made the Gryffindor’s year.

Kelly Pantall seems to be quietly dwelling near the fringes of the group, expression hidden behind her generic mask – her emotions, however, are clearly expressed by her abrupt movements, turning often to peer over her shoulder with an uncharacteristic edginess. Of course, if they’re endeavoring to be anonymous, being uncharacteristic is probably a good start. When she speaks, however, it is with a loud and clear tone. “…I’m Marie Jeanette.” Something seems to be nagging at her for a moment, and she can’t help but offer further explanation. “You know, like that Ripper victim. She was the most interesting.” Because talking about Jack the Ripper is really anonymous. Yay, she wins.

Bengale nods as each of the masked figures speaks, a smile just barely visible through the mouth of her mask. “Tonight we shall not discover any secret passage ways… first I need to know that I can trust you, one and all. In my past,” she gestures with her hands, “a grand secret was lost forever because formarly trustworthy persons let it out to too many people…” It almost seems as if the mask itself grimaces. “A secret is no longer a secret if the world finds out.” She shakes her head, suddenly grim again.

Marie Jeanette widens her eyes noticeably behind the thin slits offered by her generic pale mask before looking down at the ground, slipping back even further, trying to avoid notice. She gently nudges whoever happens to be closest to her, leaning across and whispering quietly, “So, that means we can tell a couple of people, right? I mean, what if someone asks? It doesn’t count as me telling if someone asks, right?”

Aquarius happens to be not too far from Marie Jeanette. “No,” she hisses. “You tell no one, even if someone asks. Not even if you suspect them to be a member,” is stated before she turns to Bengale and nods a little, listening again.

“Should we take an oath?” the girl suggests, looking around with slowly adjusting eyes at all the masks. She has ideas that she might recognize a few of the people present, but lest she break secrecy, she doesn’t mention anything, standing close to Evan, and trying to stay away from the person with the rather sounding voice. “Maybe one of those promises that you can’t break?” Persephone looks to the person in charge, Bengale, hopefully.

Bengale raises her eyebrows behind her mask, “Aquarius is right, Marie, the S.E.A,” Bengale is not about to be saying ‘sea’ all of the time as though they were marine oriented, “is a secret society. If inquiries are made by anyone–even Professors– make up a story about a knitting club, Gobstones club, study group… something everyday.” She looks at Persephone, “Ah… an unbreakable vow is a bit steep–” not to mention rather over Keelan’s head, “However, an oath?” She looks around, and this time her mask does change expression. Can a tiger look inquisitive? It certainly tries, “What does everyone think?” She’s trying very hard not to be in charge.

“Not an Unbreakable Vow!” Marie Jeanette shrieks, eyes widening even further, jumping back from Persephone in whichever direction she can. “What happens if you try real hard to keep it a secret, but you just can’t, and you die? That would be horrible. I don’t want to die.” Her eyes seek out someone who will comfort her, assure her that she’s not going to die, though her panic is considerable and she doesn’t look like she can easily be reassured. “Well… well, I just don’t want to die. That would be awful. And what if it’s someone real important that asks you, not important like a Professor, important like…” she appears to be trying to think of anyone in Hogwarts more important than a professor. “You know, someone real, real important?”

Aquarius eyes Marie, again. “It’s a secret, Marie. Secrets don’t get told, particullarly one of such importance as this,” she notes. “A group is only as strong as it’s weakest link, will you be that link?” she enquires in a challenging voice. Indeed, will Marie Jeanette be the weakest link? No matter the answer to that question her attention is turned to Bengale, again. “I think an oath is a good idea.”

Biting her tongue over what she’s thinking about an oath, Rawhead mulls the situation over until there is the yell from Marie Jeanette. “Oh don’t be silly,” the so-called student speaks. Gathering up her own words, what she really is doing is trying to recall how she spoke as a younger student, “No one is going to make us recite an Unbreakable Vow in a group like this. We aren’t a bunch of dark wizards.”

For the first time all night, Turquoise actually is a bit hesitant. He promised this wouldn’t get them in trouble, coming.. so how strong an oath are they about to take, and what could be the future consequences? He hadn’t even known anything about the group before tonight. “An oath certainly ought to keep it secret,” he replies to Keelan. It is being led by a professor after all – she’d know what was OK. “If what we do is of that importance, then yes.”

“An oath is perfectly fine by me,” spoke the one with the fox mask. Leon Fox peered through the narrow slits in his mask, gazing at the rest of the gathering. “And we can always use…what’re they called? Those memory charms to make those we suspect of being too weak…simply forget about the S.E.A. Couldn’t we?”

Although someone calmed by the words, Marie Jeanette seems to still be rather suspicious. “If I was a Dark Wizard, I’d tell people I wasn’t too.” The logic seems perfectly evident to her, even if no one else can comprehend it, and she folds her arms across her chest grumpily. “Okay, I’ll try to keep it secret, but if someone real, real, REAL important asks me about it, I might accidentally tell. But only if they’re real, real, REAL important. Like, more important than a professor. More important than the Head Boy, even.”

Clavicle says, “I suspect a charm could be made to hex an oathbreaker with a terrible case of the Bat Bogey Hex.” He loves that hex. “I can devise an alteration, if you trust me to try?”"

“I don’t know that I’d like to take one of those anyway. You never know what’s going to happen,” Fitzcordia responds to the suggestion of the unbreakable vow. “Maybe just a really stern promise will do the job.” She hopes so, anyway, and looks around as eveyrone puts in their choices. “I, for one, am willing to keep it entirely secret.” She nods decisively, her whiskers swaying as she does so.

Aquarius nods a little bit. “I’m with Fitz,” she states. “I’ll take whatever oath is asked of me, and I’ll keep it a secret, in it’s entirety…” her tone is low as she speaks, but all the same, she says it.

Bengale snorts, rather tigerishly, “There will be no obliviating of S.E.A members who wish to discontinue their enrollment in the society.” Her head shakes, “No, a spoken oath at the most. Should it be broken… oh for goodness sake.” The woman is getting a bit irritated, and it’s obvious, “When I say that a secret is to remain a secret I am not suggesting hexing, cursing, charming, or otherwise harming someone who can’t keep it. I merely wished to impress upon all of you the importance of not blabbing around the school the location of any secret passage ways or rooms. Lest you wish to suddenly find our adventures turned into necking rooms.” Another shake of her head, “That’s not the spirit at all. Your word is all I require. I’m sure that simply revoking the right to join in our adventures and restricting access to former secrets would suffice.” Goodness.

“We’ll just have to promise really hard to keep it secret.” The girl nods as she looks from person to person, many of whom seem to be voicing the same opinion. “I hope everyone wants to have the same fun. It wouldn’t be as fun if someone told the secret,” she comments, looking up at Evan with a grin. “You’ll have to make sure I keep the secret, E– Turquoise,” she tells him giving his hand a ginger squeeze again. Persephone smiles closed-mouthed at everyone.

Marie Jeanette seems positively mortified at the idea that telling would turn the secret passages into necking rooms, and she puts her hands on her hips and stands up all the straighter as evidence of how affronted she is. “I wouldn’t tell anyone who would do something GROSS in there.” The pitch of her voice as well as the volume is raised considerably at this point. “I said I’d only tell someone REAL, REAL, REAL important. More important than, than the Head Boy.” And the unspoken point here is that there are so few people more important than the Head Boy of a school that it is pretty much impossible that any of them would be asking Marie about the secret places. “And none of them would tell. Or… or do yicky things.”

Turquoise nods slightly at Bengale. It sounds much less worrisome the way she describes it than with all the students jumping to ‘we’ll kill you if you tell’ level conclusions. And the way she described it works for him. “I don’t mind giving my word, I have no intention of telling.” Turning, he grins back at Olivia, and perhaps part of the movement could even be seen through the mouth-hole. “Of course. We’ll watch each other, Persephone.”

Rocking up on her toes again, Rawhead sighs greatly and then drop back onto her heels. “I’m quite happy just giving my word not to purposely reveal the secret. I don’t want to have to worry about hexes and spells and charms.” Smiling behind her mask, she again looks around to those assembled before adding a nod to Bengale.

Clavicle says, “Upon my word I swear this secret shall be safe with me.” he states with a formal bow. ”

Bengale smiles again, and relaxes visibily. “I, too, give my solemn vow,” she can’t help but make it sound flashier that it is, “to hold the secret of S.E.A’s adventures and discoveries in my heart of hearts and not to tell a soul outside the confines of our meetings.” She puts her hand up to her chest and nods her head, but seems content to let everyone make the promise in their own way.

“I’ll keep the secret, I promise,” Persephone ventures, looking as many people seem to be volunteering their word in their own ways. “If we happen to know of someone here, can we chat with them about it at all outside?” she asks, just to make sure how far she must go to keep this secret concealed.

Aquarius speaks up now. “I swear to hold the secret of the S.E.A close and let no one know of our adventures,” she notes in a voice clear enough to be heard by all. With that she looks around at the rest of the gathered masks.

Clavicle says, “I ask for one Caveat to this oath….”

Fitzcordia nods, popping her right hand up and waving it a bit. “The secret is safe with me!” She looks around, crossing her arms and smiles brilliantly at those around her. “I can’t wait to begin adventuring, can you?” she comments to the person to her left, a quiet giggle escaping from her lips as the second year can hardly stand still.

Clavicle says, “In the event our adventures lead to something dangerous, or a life is in danger, I ask permission to bring the appropriate professor in for assistance.”"

Bengale blinks, but sounds slightly amused, “Is that so, Laughing Coyote? After you have made it, you look for a way out?” As he explains, she frowns, “You think I would allow such a situation to arise? You think I would not be able to handle it?” Actually, she sounds rather offended and angry.

“I vow not to share any of the secrets of the S.E.A., or tell a soul of our adventures. Unless they’re real, real, REAL important. The soul, not the secrets. And, you know, if they ask me. I won’t just randomly tell people. Well, not on purpose.” Guess who. Marie Jeanette looks around, seeking approval from someone, spying someone who has a prefectly or professorly vibe to approve of her vow.

Leon ,who from his last speaking had since gone quiet, speaks up again. “I vow to keep the secret of the S.E.A.” The boy then proceeds to visibly bite his tongue and fade back into the group of people–though he did pass a glance towards Clavicle just prior to his receeding.

Turquoise bows slightly as he begins his own vow of secrecy. “I solemnly promise not to break the secret of..” hearing Clavicle, he pauses in the middle with an attempted reassurance. “It isn’t that you are doubted, by anyone, I’m sure. It’s just.. isn’t it better to have it in there, knowing it won’t ever be needed, just for safety?”

Clavicle says, “Adventure sometimes leads to the unexpected My dear Bengale. Especially in the forest. ”

Startled into surprise, Rawhead doesn’t say anything more until Bengale speaks. “I think we’re going to be okay. Adventure is fun, but I don’t think that we’d do anything stupidly dangerous.” Tapping her foot nervously, she looks over her shoulder to look out for anyone who might be coming. “I think Bengale will take measures to make sure we’re okay. Why else have the club?” The mongoose-masked person tries to express her support with her tone alone, not having facial expressions to fall back on.

Bengale is beyond cross, “I am a Professor and I damn well know that adventure leads to the unexpected. Especially in the forest. I listened to a girl’s dying screams in that forest, boy.” The sneer on her face is audible in her tone, “Do not lecture me, any of you, on that prospect. Should it come to the matter of safety, I am sure we are all able to tell the difference between keeping an adventure and saving a life.” She’s a bit venemous, fists clenched. Rather a harsh reaction to a twelve year old’s innocent query.

Persephone gasps, clenching Evan’s hand rather hard as she watches Bengale lays into Coyote boy a bit, looking up at Turquoise in shock. Now she is nearly certain she knows who it is, though she wouldn’t dare to state out loud just who. Secrecy, after all. “Oh, my, I imagine it’s a bad idea to get her angry. I can’t imagine why he chose to speak to a professor that way!” Persephone whispers to Evan, unable to conceal the shock on her face, though part of it is hidden by the mask.

Quivering from head to toe, Rawhead stands there and listens to Bengale’s lecturing words. Struggling at hearing what the woman has seen, she stands there helplessly and decides the better course of action is to keep silent. Shivering under her plain woolen cloak she pulls it tightly around herself.

Clavicle Gravely shrugs and just shuts up.

Leon winces outwardly, his head turning quickly to pass a constricted gaze around the group again before he snuck around people, worming his way behind the people closest Bengale–the tiger mask suited her greatly. Vicious. Ultimately, the boy wound up behind Rawhead, peering out just over her shoulder.

Turquoise takes a careful step back, his hand tightening also, regretting having spoken up in his attempt to smoothe things over. “Does seem that way,” he whispers to Olivia, looking first at her and then back down the hall, away from the group, in the direction the two had originally walked in from. His expression, of course, is completely unreadable due to the mask. “But I..” he pauses, to make sure his voice will NOT carry anywhere beyond his companion, “I think.. especially seeing this.. he may be right. Even though we don’t expect anything to happen here. We’re not a tiny group.. harder to keep track of perhaps.. and I’ve heard stories..” He shrugs, pausing, not daring to say anything louder and mostly just curious as to Olivia’s reaction. Will she she his point, or has he begun to take this far too seriously?

What an anticlimactic end to what could have been an interesting show. Student versus Professor. Fitzcordia had never seen anything like that before, but finding that the confrontation is now over, she returns to the idea of why she is here to begin with — adventures! “So, will we be able to go on an adventure tonight? Or do we have to wait until we get — er, well — the sign?”

Bengale just breathes for a moment, struggling to regain her composure. It isn’t often that she explodes as such, and much more rarely that she does so in the sight of people she does not know very well. So it’s a long moment in which her breathing slows and she shuts her eyes. When she speaks again, her voice is thin, “Suffice to say that I am prepared.” Her expression, what little of it is visible, is closed. “And that before any of us were to take a journey in which there would be a slightest chance of such danger, we would also be prepated. I am not stupid,” her voice is even, hollow, and she addressed the assembled students, “I know some of you are young yet. I assure you I will not be placing you in harms way just for the sake of adventure. If you are to be members, you must trust me to know what I am doing.” A small pause, “I don’t know, Fitzcordia, whether you are ready for adventure tonight.” Or, her tone suggests, whether she is currently up to it.

“What have you heard?” Persephone asks, her voice raising a bit as she leans away from him a small bit, trying to get a good look at his face. “We’ll be alright, of course, with the teacher there.” She says this almost as if to calm herself down, though her grip on his hand could hardly get much harder, signifying that she doesn’t entirely feel at ease. Hasn’t she been told to lighten up a bit, though? Persephone is trying, at the very least.

“Oh, alright,” Fitzcordia answers, the disappointment in her voice very apparent, but she says nothing to question the decision otherwise. After all, Fitzcordia had seen what Bengale was capable of, and she certainly did not want to be subjected to it. “I’m so excited to see what our first adventure will be,” she mentions to the person on her right, though none of the people around her seem very interested in responding to her comments, however excited she may be.

Turquoise shakes his head faintly – that, at least, can be seen, more than just his eyes and part of his mouth. He looks straight at Olivia, so she can see at least that much of his face, though at the same time raising a finger to his lips. “Things happen, that’s all..” he whispers back. “Nothing I’ve seen.. nothing about the professor. Of course she does know what she’s doing. It was just such a harmless request, no reason not to grant it once it had been asked, common sense says we’d better be doing it either way.” He turns his masked face away for just a moment, looking back down the hall one more time, and shrugs. It wasn’t so important yet that he wants to turn and leave, certainly not after getting Olivia here. So he simply turns back and tightens his fingers around her hand quickly. “If I ever think there’s real danger, I’ll let you know, and I’ll take care of you. Until then, let’s enjoy it.”

“Every teacher here is quite capable, otherwise they wouldn’t be teaching here at all!” Rawhead speaks more to herself and her immediate companions, that being Leon Fox and she gives a little shrug. “Don’t worry,” she speaks to Leon, “We’re going to be okay. No one is in any danger and I doubt that we will be. The teachers are here to take care of us, not kill us.”

Clavicle Gravely moves back against the wall and lets the hood come over him again. He doesn’t exactly know what he said this time, but apparently it was bad enough to scare him something fierce. “I apologize.” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to offend or imply any inability on your part. More, I was merely… making an admission that sometimes we don’t know. Something I am sure you are aware, founding this club as you are. Rather, i was attempting to assure you, that pride and hubris would not stay my tongue should others need to be made informed for the safety of the founder and the memebers in the event of an unforseen emergency. Last semester…I witnessed the effects of such an act. It endangered friends of mine. I will follow your lead…of course.” he tries to find a shadowed recess, to slink back into.

“I’m not worried about the adventures at all. I’m gonna be asking Professor Rathe about extra Defense tutoring–so I can get ahead in her class. I plan to do well.” Leon pauses in his whispering, finally moving from babble to his point, “I’m just… …afraid the tiger’ll act like a real one and start biting people’s faces off.” The fox-masked boy dipped more behind his ‘shield’ for a moment, his feet tired of keeping his heels elevated.

Lifting a hand to the mouth of her mask, Rawhead suppresses a laugh as Leon Fox speaks to her. “Oh I doubt that Bengale will do that. She just wants us all to know that she can take care of us and that we won’t get into anything too sticky.” “It seems like it will be a grand time, don’t you think?”

“Well, alright,” Persephone concedes and smiles a bit at Evan and looks up. What time is it? Likely later than curfew, but Persephone finds it hard to be worried with a Professor present. After all, couldn’t she get a hall pass if she truly needed one? The girl says nothing, rather hesitant to ask for such a thing when she’s supposed to be adventurous and let her curiosity be her guide rather than rules.

Bengale sets her shoulders back, suddenly resolute to be cheerful (which is a horrible condition for Keelan). The Professor says in a rather falsely steady voice(but it does the trick), “You know, I have just remembered a semi-secret. Some of you may know.” A forced smile and the mask looks rather.. grimacey still. “However, with our merry attire.” Later, it will occur to Keelan that she has never before said anything remotely as stupid as ‘merry attire’, but for now she just doesn’t want all her precious S.E.A kids to think she’s a monster. “and our new names, we should cavort,” another unKeelanish word, but she’s had her fair share of silly stories where the characters talk as such, “through the halls and down to the cellars where a painting awaits our fair touch.” Gag. A pause, and then, “Besides, being Bengale is hungry work. Follow me, oh secrety society members. And recall the vanishing stair on the third staircase to the left because I’d hate to have to rescue you so soon.” She starts off without much look back.

Standing at the head of the class room, looking rather fiendish, Bonnie quickly straightens her desk. The classroom is spotless, as it had been at the start of the year. It looks almost as if there were never any people in the room to begin with. Many a diagram decorates the chalkboard, of various crystal balls, and each desk holds two crystal balls, one for each student. The rainy weather casts a dim atmosphere over the generally cheerful classroom, and various candles are lit to provide additional light.

Amy Windlebee climbes into the classroom quietly as usual and takes a seat at the first desk available. The crystal ball is reflected in Amy‘s thick lenses as she stares into it. “Oooh thease are pretty.” She muses to her friend who comes to sit next to her. “I whonder if we can get some of thease for the girl’s dorms”

Elianna Marleean clambers up into the classroom, perhaps making more noise than necessary, but, at any rate, she makes her way to a desk. Sitting down, somewhere nearer the back of the room, Elianna casts a subtle glance around the room.

Quintus Helit edges into the room, peering about uncertainly, glaring at each student he passes in turn as if he suspects they have committed some heinous crime against him but have yet to be found out, before finally turning to Bonnie. A hooded cloak is around his shoulders and he pulls the hood over his head, concealing his identity as he speaks. “I don’t have a class at the moment,” he offers, gaze directed about four inches to the left of her head. “Do you mind if I sit in on your lesson? Get an idea of your ‘technique’?” The last word is said derisively, and his gaze falls to the ground, not daring to actually look his coworker in the eye.

Lara MacLennan drifts into the classroom, looking happy and carefree. The Huffle, a tall, willowy sort of girl with dark blond hair and bright brown eyes, took a seat near the front, putting down her bag carefully. She looks with interest in the crystal balls, staring into one, trying to decipher the shadowy figures drifting within.

“Why is this tower so darned far up?” Maggie Opheal hisses, somewhat out of breath after making her way finally in to the Divination tower. A terribly, terribly Irish young lady, with dirty red-brown hair, green eyes, pale skin and freckles as far as they eye can see, Maggie the sort of girl who could stand to probally put down a few pounds, or grow a few inches. One or the other. Never the less, it’s fairly evident that she’s not in peak shape. Huffing a fairly deep breath, she sheds her annoyance with a small sigh, resumes her usually happy expression, and moves over to the nearest seat. “Oooh, they are, aren’t they?” She replies to Amy, having heard her comment. “Quite pretty, indeed.”

“Take your seats everyone. Immediately.” There are no games to be played in Bonnie‘s classroom today. She picks up a stack of parchment, glancing at all the students as they file in noisily and then to Quintus. “Feel free, Quintus. Melvina took that seat in the corner there.” She waves to said seat and glances around as everyone gets settled. “Hush. Quiet. I don’t want to hear so much as a peep while I’m talking today.” My, who put acid in Bonnie‘s pumpkin juice? “Do not touch the Crystal Balls until I say so. Now.” Bonnie glances around the room, waiting for everyone to comply, then continues. “These essays that you all handed into me are abysmal. I’ve never seen a worse written essay in my life.” A slight fib, but effective, nevertheless. She begins walking around the classroom, slamming down the essays rather harshly on the desks of each student. “You will be rewriting these essays, and I am tacking on four inches to this one. This is in addition to the homework that will follow today’s lesson.” Her face is stern, and there is not a single sign of her softening very soon.

Elianna Marleean sits quietly, as commanded, by the professor, making not even a little face as to the newest addition to their homework. Instead she simply accepts her homework when it’s handed back to her, no arguement given.

Amy Windlebee looks utterly horrorfied by her essay and she thinks for a momment on raising her hand and seeing if there must be some kind of mistake. Just as she is about to though her friend elbows her in a warning and she decides to let sleeping Hypogriffs lay with a sigh.

Ansley McGowan is absolutely shocked by the marks on her essay, but says nothing as she quietly writes down her assignment for next class. Readying her quill, she waits patiently for what is sure to be a long class.

Quintus Helit stalks to the indicated seat, though he evidently does not feel comfortable sitting for he merely stands behind it, leaning on the back with an ugly expression, turning his hooded head and shadowed eyes onto each student in turn. Female. Female. Female. And that says everything about his opinions on the subject of Divination. He remains mostly silent for the time being, though he does offer a disdainful snort at the horror some of the students are undergoing as they spy their work. Well. Serves them right for writing such awful essays, see?

Lara MacLennan takes a casual look at her essay. It’s bad. But not as bad as the professor’s tone and desk slamming would indicate. She shrugs her shoulders, then quietly takes out her parchement, quill, and inkpot. Nothing to do but to keep quiet, pay attention, and try not to screw up. So much for Divination being easy.

Maggie Opheal blinks, dropping in to her seat with wide eyes. Professor Kensington’s mood obviously catching her off guard as her essay is handed back — cringing almost immediately as she notes her score. She almost immately turns her gaze up to Bonnie with a horrified expression. “In addition?” The words fall out her lips in a heartbeat rush, but she immediately regrets it, reaching up to clap a hand over her mouth in an appologetic way.

“Quiet!” Bonnie snaps, pointing to Maggie blatantly as she stalks back to her desk. “I am very disappointed in you all right now. Your essays are meant to reflect not only your reasarch ability but also what you learn in class. Not one of you displayed either ability. So, you are expected to review last class’s chapters and rewrite your essays. Now, if everyone would take notice of the board. Copy it down.” With this, Bonnie takes her seat at her desk, pulling out her copies of the assigned fourth-year books, and opening all to certain chapters. She busies herself doing this while — she expects — the class copies down what she has previously put onto the board.

Amy Windlebee stares at the teacher for a momment and begins copying down the board wrigting down on the margin of her parchment. “Note to self …. never cross the Divination Professor.”

Lara MacLennan starts taking note dutifully. She writes in a neat, loopy kinda of script, filling up way more of the page than she has to, and instead of dashes as bullets points she draws happy little stars and moons. Girls.

Elianna Marleean nods slightly as she dutifully takes down what the professor had previously written on the board. The young Gryffindor takes care to ensure that her every word is precise, obsessive much?

Not wanting to upset the already irritable professor, Ansley commences her near perfect copying of the notes on the board. She takes her time however, and is going almost at a snail’s pace, trying extra hard to keep her handwriting neat and legible.

Still standing at the back of the room leaning on a chair in his hooded cloak like a big forboding shadow, for the first time Quintus seems to approve of one of his female co-workers nodding his head slowly as he watches her – or rather, watches the air right next to her. His dislike of being caught staring seems to not apply for whatever reason to the students, and his eyes flicker to each of them in turn with a certain degree of contempt. Exactly what it is that has him in such a bad mood is uncertain – then again, perhaps he simply doesn’t like sitting in on a Divination class.

Maggie Opheal cringes, violently, as Professor Kensington’s finger lands upon her. Slinking back in to her chair with an almost childish whimper, her pale, freckled cheeks turn a rather brilliant shade of pink. With a small, involuntary squeak, she begins digging through her pack and pulls out her parchment and a quill, jotting down things a bit more quickly then she should in order to keep her writing legiable.

Standing again, Bonnie looks around the room, to see if everyone has finished. Whether they have or not, the professor stands and looks over one of the books. “Alright. Please take a look at the crystal ball in front of you, but do not touch it.” This is said in a stern, no-nonsense voice. “Admire its attributes. See how the crystal shines — don’t touch it!” She looks sternly at a Ravenclaw boy and then back to the rest of the class. “The base is solid, and it does not rock back and forth. If you can see cloudiness in the globe, you have a bad ball and need to replace it. Tell me, who can tell me what other important attributes a crystal ball must have?” Bonnie‘s anger seems to have mostly subsided, at leas vocally.

Amy Windlebee peers again into her crystal ball looking for any cloudyness but all she can see is white smokeyness. Amy raises her hand slowley hopeing to answer the question.

Elianna Marleean peers into the ball, though refrains from touching it, as instructed. After a bit of looking she raises her hand.

Maggie Opheal draws a deep breath, obviously somewhat frightened of Bonnie Kensington. Turning her gaze forward, looking in to the ball carefully. Her eyes somewhat wide, her lips parted. She stares, but she doesn’t raise her hand, considering obviously doesn’t understand what she’s looking for. Glancing briefrly, she looks to Amy and then Elianna, as if to try to figure out what exactly they’re noticing, but coming up just as empty.

Quintus Helit seems not to take kindly to the students raising their hands – but, by the same token, he remains silent, presumably realising it is not his class to dictate such things to. However, his opinion on handraising remains fairly evident, for he glances to each student in turn with a derisive little sound in the back of his throat, before lowering his gaze down to the seat of the chair he stands over.

Ansley McGowan is still copying down the notes at her consistently slow pace. She hears the question, but is too absorbed in her note taking to think of an answer. When she finally finishes copying, Ansley looks straight into the crystal ball and strains her eyes to see if there’s something in there. Satisfied that there is nothing important going on in her crystal ball, she waits patiently for an answer to the question.

“Amy first, then Elianna, and then I think we’ll hear from Ansley. Mmmm.” Bonnie continues with her trend of calling on those who do not entirely seem to be paying attention. She leans against her desk gently, holding one book to her front as she awaits the answers from those she has designated.

Amy Windlebee smiles and sits up straight. “Its very important for a Crystal ball to be perfectly round and smooth. Any little scratch or imperfection can seriously scramble any information that the ball reveals. Also … and I don’t know how tru it is but my Grandmother says that you should never let a Crystal ball be touched by sunlight and that you should set it out in the moonlight after every few uses.” Amy sinks a little lower in her chair. “But I don’t know how… true that is.”

Elianna Marleean nods a little. “Miss Windlebee said part of my answer,” she notes. “But, also, I believe a crystal ball is supposed to be clear, not have any cloudiness in it’s natural state,” is offered to the professor by the quiet girl, though she speaks loud enough to, hopefully, be heard.

Obviously unprepared for the question, Ansley quickly tries to come up with an answer. “Well, yes, I agree with Amy and Elianna, but, perhaps this is a bit obvious, doesn’t the globe need to be made out of crystal, not just any clear stone?” She secretly hopes this answer will suffice, but trys to scan her notes for any signs of another appropriate answer.

Maggie Opheal seems terribly glad that she didn’t get simpled out, though as the others give their answers, she gazes in to her orb as if to try and identify those things mentioned.

“Very well, all that is true, save for what your grandmother told you, Miss Windlebee. Crystal Ball readings may be done in sunlight, and indeed, one must have sufficient light to do a correct reading. Dimness makes the ball difficult to see through.” Bonnie nods and sets the book down. “To get better acquainted with how the balls were originally made — before the technique was refined — read chapter four of The Secret is in the Crystal, and write an essay for me about the properties and how they evolved. It must be at least twelve inches. I would not complain about more.” The woman pauses and glances around. “You may now touch the crystal balls and examine them. Please take the cloths I have provided to wipe them clean of your fingerprints afterwards. A spotty ball does nobody any good.”

Amy Windlebee sighs and whispers. “Well gramma’s a muggle… makes sense.” As she pick up the ball and looks over it still stunned by its beauty. “I whonder if we get to use them today…”

Elianna Marleean examines the ball a little more, before gently touching her fingertips to the surface of it. She doesn’t make any sudden movement with this particular item, for fear she may break it.

“Alright, take your time and examine the globes as long as you need. Please take care with them, though. Those are painstakingly made and do not come cheap.” The woman strides around her desk and sits at it, closing the books and putting them back into her drawer quietly. “Remember, revision of the essay, as well as the essay I assigned today. They are both due tomorrow, and I expect them to be up to quality this time. And before anyone says anything, yes, I am aware that you have other classes and that this weekend is a Hogsmeade weekend, so I expect you will arrange your time appropriately.” Bonnie nods curtly, scribbling some things onto a length of parchment in front of her, while discreetly watching the students handle her crystal balls.

Amy Windlebee takes the cloth and carefully wipes the crystal ball clean of finger prints and dust before setting it back down. She takes down her assignments with a half sigh whondering why teachers assign homework so close to fun events.

Elianna Marleean does similar to Amy, carefully cleaning the crystal ball, doing her best to ensure every imperfection that she put there is gone. That done she takes a note on the same page that she previously was writing, ensuring she knows what homework is to be done.

“Ms. Ribouet!” Saphia calls, the first sign of her approach as she dashes across the grounds, holding a copy of the Daily Prophet in her hands, “I have an idea to improve the Ravenclaw team!” As she skids across the still slightly damp grass, she hits the fine turf of the pitch and slips suddenly, skidding toward Noémie looking a bit dazed and then, after a moment’s recovery, bright red with embarassment.

Noémie, who has been flying over the pitch rather absent-mindedly, nearly topples over her broom as Saphia comes racing onto the pitch. “What’s that, Saphia?” the Quidditch Captain asks as she slowly flies down, regaining her usual balance. “What did you say? I didn’t quite hear you.” Noémie steps off the broom and strides the rest of the way to Saphia, who seems a bit red in the face.

Saphia Bona blushes as she picks herself up, trying to brush off as much mud from her robes as possible, “A new broom, Ms. Ribouet! A new broom!” She thrusts the newspaper toward Noémie, the headline on the page in question reading “Ollerton Brothers return to Broom Making With New Sports Broom”. Saphia burbles happily, “They’ve opened a factory, Ms. Ribouet! The Cleansweep Broom Company are making brooms en masse, not just one by one — They’ll be cheaper, more reliable, and since it’s the Ollerton brothers, very high quality! If we could get the team on these brooms, we’d run rings around the opposition!”

“Well, that’s a great idea, Saphia, but…” Noémie trails off, studying the girl thoughtfully as she stands with her broom hanging in her arm. “How are we supposed to afford those brooms? Even if they’re cheaper, I don’t know that we could afford to get them for everyone.” Still, Noémie can’t help but appreciate a good idea. “I wonder if there would be some way we could pool money together for them.” This last is said more to herself than to the girl facing her.

Saphia Bona still beams, cheerfully happy, “If there’s any way I can help, please let me know. I … ” her smile fades a tiny bit, “I know I’m not very good with Quidditch… or co-ordination in general,” she blushes, again trying to knock the mud from her robe, “But I still want to help however I can.”

“Nonsense, you just need a bit of practice; that’s all.” Noémie reaches out to pat Saphia on the shoulder, then sets her broom down, reaching up to secure her rather wind-blown hair. “I’m just not sure how we could manage that, without some real coersion.” She shrugs a bit and glances at Saphia. “What made you think of that? What’s so different about this Comet broom?”

“Well, I’d first wondered about it last year, when the brothers infamously stopped taking orders for new brooms…” She cites, seriously, “And I remembered wondering what project would be so large that all three Ollertons couldn’t keep working? So I was always on the lookout for this.” She smiles, “And really, I think their name speaks for themselves. The Ollerton Brothers have always been among the finest broom-crafters in Britain, and indeed, the world! The Cleansweep won’t be up to their handmade brooms, I imagine, but even so, the chance to have genuine Ollerton brooms would be fantastic. We don’t know what charms they use, trade secrets, but I’d be wagering they at least employ some sort of variation on the Sectum Ventosus charm, because otherwise…” and at this point, unless forcibly stopped, Saphia will undoubtedly fill the rest of the afternoon with trivial, yet very well informed speculation.

Noémie Ribouet can’t help but stare as Saphia starts blathering on about the brooms. “Okay, yes, Saphia. Er. Well, how exactly do you propose we get them, though? I’m sure I can’t afford to buy them for the whole squad; my parents don’t gift me with quite that much pocket money.” Noémie picks her broom up, having finished fixing her hair and looks down at Saphia curiously. “We could suggest everyone get a new broom, but I’d rather not receive letters from angry parents who just recently bought new brooms.”

And with that, Saphia comes to a dead halt. “Oh. Um. Well, I… I confess I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I only just read this fifteen odd minutes ago.” She blushes slightly.

“Well, it’s a good idea. It’s interesting that you immediately thought of that, though.” Noémie chuckles. “Do you often spend time just thinking about Quidditch?” Even Noémie doesn’t spend all her time thinking about Quidditch, though she does spend a great deal of time considering it, especially being captain now. “We could perhaps have a chat with Professor Morgan about it. Maybe she could think of something to make it possible.”

Saphia Bona blushes, and whispers, “I… I think about a lot of things. A lot,” and then, a little softer, “I have trouble sleeping. I’ll be up at night trying to relax, when I’ll start thinking about how something might relate to something else, and then I’ll think of a book that might have the answer.” She sighs, and whispers again, “And then I can’t rest until I’ve checked the book.” A moment passes in pause, “I don’t sleep well.”

Saphia Bona blushes, and whispers, “I… I think about a lot of things. A lot,” and then, a little softer, “I have trouble sleeping. I’ll be up at night trying to relax, when I’ll start thinking about how something might relate to something else, and then I’ll think of a book that might have the answer.” She sighs, and whispers again, “And then I can’t rest until I’ve checked the book.” A moment passes in pause, “I hate my brain.”

“Well, ah,” Noémie replies, seeming a bit speechless. “Well, thank you for coming to me with that. It is a very good idea. I’ll just have to think of how we can manage it.” Noémie nods, glancing around for a moment. “You know, I think I’ll go have a chat with Professor Morgan about it just now. Thanks, Saphia.” Noémie smiles down at her and start striding over towards the broom shed. “I’ll let you know if we decide to do something like that!” Soon, she disappears into the shed, and rummaging is heard while she puts her things away.

Saphia Bona follows Noémie as well, grabbing a pair of training quaffles left on the ground, “I’m glad to help, Ms. Ribouet.” She smiles brightly, “I really would love to see Ravenclaw pull off a double-cup year — House and Quidditch cups.”

“I’m hoping for it, too. I plan to work the team hard so we can prepare ourselves for everything.” Noémie chuckles and finishes storing things away. She strides out, waiting for Saphia to exit so that she can close it up. “You’ll be at practice tomorrow, won’t you? I am hoping for the Junior Squad to be quite successful as well.” She smiles at the younger Ravenclaw, leaning against the side of the building casually.

“Y.. yes…” Saphia hesitates, but quickly adds, “Although if you really want it to be successful, I think you’d best leave me as signwriter for the cheering squad. I’m good at writing.” She emphasises, trying to hide her self-deprication in self-praise.

“Well, as I mentioned, practice makes a big difference. I’m sure if you keep coming to practices, you’ll see a marked improvement. After all, even I was horrible once.” She winks a bit in the true style of her uncle and closes the door to the shed, starting to walk towards the castle. “Tell you what, we’ll work on it extra this year, and you’ll see if you get better or not.” Noémie glances to Saphia again while she continues towards the entrance to the castle.

Saphia Bona hestitatingly smiles at that, but nods… “I… maybe I should play Chaser instead of Seeker on the juniors. That way I’ll have two others to cover for my mistakes… Besides, you’ll be playing seeker on the team for at least the next three years. Well, I suppose at mo… for three years.” She finally finishes.

“Well, barring any catastrophe, I certainly hope to,” Noémie responds with a ringing laugh. The fifth year finds herself at the door to the castle and turns to Saphia. “You come to practice tomorrow, and we’ll see what we come up with, alright? Nothing saying you couldn’t make an excellent seeker and chaser. We’ll see, alright?”

“Alright.” Saphia smiles, “And if nothing else, I’ll make some excellent signs for matches.”

“Yes, sure,” Noémie responds with a chuckle and strides inside. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” she waves over her shoulder and skips up the stairs towards her commonroom, to work on homework for the evening.

His broom slung across his shoulders, his arms raised so that his wrists dangle off the length of the Windwalker’s shaft, Riley yawns wearily as he strolls out on to the pitch. The dark circles under his eyes are slightly more defined than they had been recently, and he seems a bit pale. His long, brown-red hair hangs loose in front his features, and his beader bat swings lazily from a leather strap on his left wrist.

Yawning after a long day of classes, David walks to the pitch, wondering what the team captain has in store for today’s practice. Fortunately, the weather is not as dismal as it could be in that period of the year, even if it is a bit colder than what David would have liked. Gripping his Moontrimer tightly, the boy smiles as he reaches the spot of the pitch where the other players are already standing, waiting for the practice to start.

Jogging up to the pitch, auburn ponytail bouncing merrily behind her, Kara heads straight toward the shed where the school brooms are kept. Again some time is spent looking for her favorite broom, the first year beams when she finds it, jogging back toward where the others are circling up. Idly inspecting her broom as she waits to hear what she needs to do for practice.

Noémie Ribouet strides onto the pitch, her broom in hand, and rather than just her usual show of carrying the box of Quidditch balls with her, she also has a bucket, filled with rather small white balls. “Hello, everyone,” the captain calls cheerfully, setting down her equipment onto the pitch. “Everyone up and take a lap or two for a warm up!” She kneels down, opening up the box and taking out the quaffles only; she leaves the bludgers and snitch in the box, then takes to her own broom to get the feel of it and warm up a bit.

David greets the team captain with another smile, and happily complies with her order. Last year, a practice session would have begun by a few laps running around the pitch; flying the laps would be *much* less tiresome. David puts his broom on the ground, orders “Up!”, and is soon in the air flying happily around the pitch.

Kara Raine nods toward the captain, offering her a grin and a cheerful ‘Hello’. Listening intently, Kara nods before quickly arranging herself on the school broom, up and away just a few moments behind David. Giggling, the first year leans forward, her broom picking up speed as she zooms around the pitch.

Clavicle Gravely comes in carrying the Sandsweeper 25. He grins and mounts the broom. “Up!” and rises. He begins to comply with the quidditch captains order too! He grins and nods to the Captain as he does so.

Riley Markham tosses his broom to the ground, though it doesn’t seem to require a command to make it pause in midair. Shaft shane with the ground, about waist level to Riley, the second year grabs his broom and kicks up. Flying was easy, flying he could do.

Coming running at a sprint onto the pitch, Bailey stops by the captain to catch his breath. “Sorry, got held up in potions. What’s up first? Laps?” Eyes glancing upwards toward where the others are circling, he doesn’t even wait for Noémie’s reply, instead hops straight on his broom and soars upward, joining in the formation.

As she finishes several laps of her own, Noémie stops down on the ground and beckons for everyone to join her, waiting until the whole team is on the ground with her. “Alright, everyone. I’d like you chasers to head up in the air and play against each other, trying to score more goals. Van, of course, will be trying to block shots. You have to go halfway back to the pitch and back again if you intercept the ball, to make it more realistic. Beaters, I’m releasing one bludger in a moment, and you’ll each try to nail one team of chasers. Please do try to avoid me. Now, Kara, thanks for coming to this practice. What I’d like you to do is throw these golf balls up in the air. I’ve charmed them so that they won’t go too far, in case you end up missing somehow.” The fifth year smiles at the first year. “I would like you to lob them up in the air in random areas, and I’ll try to catch them. It will be good practice for us both, me for my seeking, you for your arm. Riley, take care that you aim, then hit; we don’t want anyone to get injured today.” With that, she claps her hands. “Alright, everyone back up into the air, save for Kara. Here’s your bucket of balls. Just signal to me somehow when it’s empty.”

Van Douglass comes charging up behind Bailey, equally out of breath, cheeks slightly flushed and make-up a bit mussed, though unlike Bailey she doesn’t think to actually provide an adiquette excuse. With a somewhat sheepish look, she flashes Noémie a slightly embaressed smile and leaps on to her broom to perform the laps. Once further instructions are given, she nods and moves to take her natural place at the hoops, competative spirit returning some of her flustered focus.

David nods to the captain, then walks towards the Quidditch box and takes out the Quaffle, before mounting on his broom and flying in the air once again. “Okay… let’s begin, then!” he says, looking briefly at the Beaters before tossing the Quaffle to Clavicle, and flying towards him to take it back, as if he were a player from the opposing team.

Kara Raine circles back down to land, a huge grin upon her features. She listens intently as Noémie explains what is going on, offering the older girl a smile. “Not a problem, glad I can help.” Eyes dart over toward the bucket, before back toward the captain. “Understood.” The first year girl takes the bucket with a grin, holding it in her left arm so that she can toss the balls up with her right. She waits until Noémie is ready and then tosses the first ball up, as soon as it is gone, she darts to another section of the pitch, tossing up another, keeping to a quite random pattern.

Clavicle Gravely comes zooming in. The Sandsweeper is a pretty quick little broom, as oddly shaped as it is. He nods as he listens. He grins as he looks for the quaffle. He slides upwards and into the air and adjusts his gloves. As practice really starts, he does a quick turn and a dip to catch David. And then he’s off like a cannon shot. At first Clavicle is testing the Sandsweeper25′s speed against David’s broom.

Bailey Williams sweeping back down, he waits a few feet off the ground, listening intently to the instructions. Bailey grins as he notices that Clavicle has the quaffle, and in a blink he is off, joining forces with the second year against David. Swinging past the Sandsweeper, Bailey yells out. “I’m with you, and then I’ll switch and play with him.” Two on one, got to love them odds.

Riley Markham cringes as he’s singled out, though he doesn’t soubt it’s warrented. Swinging his bat in to his hand, he pulls back in to the air with a small sigh. All his practicing after class and with the junior team had started to pay off, though he still had a long way to go. “Don’t get nervous, it’s just a bludger.. Just a bludger..” As usual, his flying is somewhat reckless but brilliant. Fast, smooth, and careless. It seems somewhat less so now, however, as he scans the sky for the bludger.. picking it out as it zooms toward Clavicle. Leaning foward, he grits his teeth and zooms toward it, streaking just over David’s head to put himself in to position — pulling up and out, performing a barrel roll, overhanded turn that would seem to keep him on his broom only by grace of centrifugal force, he brings his bat instinctively at the bludger targeting Clavicle.. meaning to aim it at David, but sending it instead blazing toward Bailey.

“Watch it, Riley!” shouts David, as he feels the wind of the air displacement provoked by the second year as he flies by. David looks warily at the Bludger, fearing for a moment that he might need to pull an evasive maneuvre, but apparently the Bludger isn’t for him. Looking back at Clavicle, David realises that he wasn’t as fast as him, and would have to resort to tricks to get him. Deciding to make good use of his broom’s superior behaviour in higher altitude, David pretends to aborts his pursuit and climbs, deciding to take a shortcut and fly directly towards the goal post, hoping to go down towards Clavicle, with a higher speed, when Clavicle would be ready to shoot.

Clavicle Gravely is running a bit of a guantlet to try to avoid capture. He sees Riley’s bludger hit and cries, “Good one Markham! Thanks!” he grins and blinks…not seeing he is being pursued. And in this excersize, there isn’t a ‘wingman’ to toss off to so he leans forward, pouring on the speed. David and he will meet right at the goalpost.

Van Douglass floats in front of the posts, watching both Clavicle and David with ready eyes. Her reason for being late forgotten (even if her cheeks are still somewhat flushed), she is focused entirely on the game now. Waiting.. Waiting was half of her position.

Seeing Kara start tossing the balls, Noémie dives for a couple, narrowly missing taking on in the head while she nabs another, and one falls to the ground. “Make sure you’re spacing them out a bit!” she calls to Kara and tosses the one down that she’s caught, turning quickly to fly up for one that has just flown far, far above her head. She manages to catch it, but missing how many for it? She tosses that one down near where the other one she had caught landed, and watches the first year’s technique as she throws the ball. Yes, the girl would make an excellent chaser with some practice.

At the shout, Kara glances up distracted. Eyes narrow as she focuses on the bludger for a few moments, before shaking herself silently. “Don’t watch them toss the balls up for Noémie.” The captain and seeker is nodded at, as the first year retreives the ‘caught’ ball, and moves off again, taking care to space out her throws and practice just ‘how’ she tosses them up into the air.

His instincts sharpened after playing on the past house team, Bailey easily dodges the bludger, diving down and twisting to the right before turning back to rejoin Clavicle. As the other boy seems to be doing well on his own, he gives David a yell, “I’m switching sides, joining you now. Lets go get ‘em!” One finger pointing toward Clavicle.

Having now reached the highest part of his intended trajectory, David pushes his broom forward into a dive, heading directly towards Clavicle, and getting ready to intercept the Quaffle should he throw it towards the Keeper, or otherwise try to snatch it from his grip. A frontal pass… David would have to be quick, there would be no second chances if he failed to grab the Quaffle.

Riley Markham cringes again, as the bludger goes sailing off the wrong direction. “Damn it!” He hisses, under his breath, before shooting David a slightly annoyed look, almost as if it were his fault that the bludger had somehow magically darted off the other way instead of attacking the third year as he had planned. Besides which, David’s shout before didn’t set well with him. Saying something unkind about third years and bludgers that gets lost in the wind (which is probally for the best, as he would feel terribly guilty later had anyone actually heard it), Riley darts upward once more. Leaning forward on his broom, it streaks like lightning. He really was quite the savvy flier, brilliant, even. It seemed to accent his reckless nature. But pulling about and clubbing the bludger again, trying to send it toward Clavicle and instead simply sending it toward the ground, his aim seemed to be hardly improving. Sweating now, he frowns deeply. He was getting nervous. He had no reason to be getting nervous. And he knew it was throwing his game.

Clavicle Gravely hurls the quaffles right as a blue flash goes by, knocking it away. “What the blazes?” David made the block! Clavicle hmmfs and dives after the boy, trying to catch him. “Bother!”

Van Douglass shifts her gaze toward David, somewhat impressed by the speed and accuracy of his block, though looking no less ready for his attack than Clavicle’s. She was, after all, the only keeper guarding the only set of goals in use. One chaser or another having the quaffle meant the same to her. Drifting somewhat toward the left, perhaps anticipating an attack on that side from David’s angle, she never strays to far from the center hoop.

The second year did indeed send the bludger toward the ground, very close infact to the spot where Kara was preparing to toss Noémie up another ball. At the sound of the incoming bludger, the first year reacts as normal, she dives toward the left landing on the ground with a soft thud, balls spilling out of her bucket and going everywhere. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, Kara glances up, mutters a few words no grown wizard, much less a first year should even know, and glances up to wave a fist at Riley. “Go after the ones in the air not on the ground!” Eyes glance over waving toward Noémie and pointing towards the spilled bucket. “Give me a minute to gather them up, before I start tossing them to you again.”

Bailey Williams cheers as David makes the block, tossing a grin over toward Van as he flies near her, “Not bad.” With a little salute to the keeper, the fourth year heads over to keep pace with David and Clavicle.

Having caught the Quaffle, David makes his way towards the centre of the pitch, making a swift 180 turn once he gets there. David then surveys the pitch, trying to assess the situation. The third year suppresses a laugh as his eyes catch the little scene happening on the ground, even if he can’t actually hear what Kara yells from his height. Okay… Clavicle is probably mad now, so David would have to escape him; and Bailey could be dangerous, too. David decides to feint them, flying in a straight line towards the side of the pitch. David‘s clear intention is to use his lesser speed but greater maneuvrability to his advantage when they would be close to him.

“Yeah, yeah!” Riley hisses down at her, as the bludger sails back up toward him, obviously not terribly happy with a target that zoom about in the air. “Sorry! …brat,” he mutters the last word under his breath, however, softly enough to get lost in the whoosp of air around him as he again moves to meet the rising bludger. Concentrate. Focus. These are your mates. You’re fine. Ease up. Untense. “David! Fer you, mate!” Make it a challenge, focus.. Not so hard with the bad, don’t over-extend the arm… CRACK! Again Riley‘s bat connects with the bludger, but this time it seems to actually cooperate. The aim isn’t spectacular, but it at least sails in the general direction of it’s target, hopefully enough to make David swerve off course.

Clavicle Gravely is slowling a touch now…and decides at the quarter way, to run interference…he slows and watches David.. ready to change direction to match the man. He slows to 1/4 speed, this will give him extreme maneuverability, but he will have to floor it top catch the boy when he catches up to where Clavicle is. He watches David carefully.

Shaking her head, Kara finally collects all the escaped balls, offering Noémie a small wave before the girl starts lobbing them up toward her again. Just to be on the safe side, she also intends to keep an eye on the bludger again.

Bailey Williams does an impressive turning maneuver, swinging high on his side while he turns back toward the center of the pitch. A grin is tossed in Clavicle’s direction as the fourth year leans forward, picking up speed, eyes focused on David and the quaffle.

Feeling the tension grow, David gives himself a couple of seconds to come to a good position, then pushes his broom forward and dives to convert some potential energy into kinetic energy. As he dives, he also turns to the left to fly directly towards the goalpost. If he is quick enough, he might be able to lob the Quaffle towards the goal.

Clavicle Gravely gauges the boys approach and zips off back towards the goal, He flies by, attempting to SNAG the Quaffle as he zips by David at full speed! Even if he misses, he hopes his flyby will cause David to wobble!

The second year chaser is fast indeed. David decides to not wait for him and throws the Quaffle at the goal, trying to give as much force to the red ball as he can, but he is still a bit too far away from his best shooting distance. Still, he is reasonably satisfied of himself as he sees the ball flying towards the hoops. He might have a chance…

The sudden throw slightly surprises Van, it was earlier than she expected, but it fails to catch her off-guard. She’d been watching David like a hawk, waiting for a sign of movement, so it doesn’t take much for her to get in to position. His throw is somewhat wider than she’d originally thought, though, and she manages to catch the quaffle — though only by the tips of her fingers, just before it sailed through the left hoop. Turning on her broom to share an impressed nod with the third year, Van tosses the quaffle in to the air and spins on her broom, using the brush of her Freefloater 18 to toss the red ball back out to about middle-pitch. “Nice one, Mildred!” She has no doubt that had she not been watching him as she was, he’d have gotten it past her. He’d improved a lot since last year.

Bailey Williams laughs, David’s throw catching him off guard as well. A thumbs up is given toward Van before racing off in the direction of the tossed quaffle, throwing a complete roll in there to show these new players a bit of how it is done.

Flying here and there as Kara makes her throws, calling out praiseas as Kara’s throws get more challenging for her, and more varied. “Great, one! That’s great!” She zooms around, breathing heavily as she continues heading out for the golf balls, then after a great many catches and a great many misses, she comes to land. “Alright, everyone! Come to land when you like! I’ve got homework to attend to, but I’ll do some of it just over here and keep an eye on you. Good shot, Riley!” she calls to the beater as he makes a particularly deft shot. “You’re doing really well, Kara. Your throws were very challenging for me. I think you’ll make a terrific chaser. Perhaps a keeper, if you’re inclined to that. We’ll se next time, hmm?” Noémie sets her broom down and pulls out her wand, calling all the outlying golf balls to her with a summoning charm.

Alright, so it wasn’t a complete waste. He’d managed to pull off a shot or two, at least. But Riley couldn’t help but feel somewhat dissapointed as he drifted lazily toward the ground, withdrawing his wand and Stunning the bludger so that it could be put back in to it’s case more or less without injury (to those trying to put it away). He was looking terribly tired, and now that the light had dwindled, even more pale. And now his brow was creased in thought, trying to work out a better quidditch game for himself.

Kara Raine jogs up to Noémie, mostly empty bucket in hand and helps gather up the balls. “Thanks! It was really fun, I decided toward the end there to start changing the way I was tossing them, and I can really see a difference in how they went.” A red blush spreads across her cheeks, “Oh, thanks Noémie. I’m not sure yet, but I have always liked the chasers.” She hangs around for awhile to see that everything is put up, before jogging back off toward the castle.

Clavicle Gravely does a tight bank and goes to get the quaffle before returning to Noémie. He is the last to land and grins as he does so. “That was a brilliant hit Riley!” Clavicle apparently misses the subtleties Riley was shooting for and was just glad not to have a bludger to his head.

Bailey Williams circles down in a lazy spiral, coming to land gently beside the others. “Hey, good job there at the end Riley, you are really starting to get the hang of hitting them.” An appreciative nod is cast in Clavicle’s direction too. “Good job as well. It turned out to be a great practice Captain.”

Van Douglass almost immediately lands once they’re dismissed, jumping down off her broom a good way before it has reached the ground. As soon as she has collected herself, she’s moving back toward the castle at a brisk pace. Obviously, she has things to do and people to sno–see. “Great practice, all!” She calls back, warmly, before dashing off.

Riley Markham nods to both Clavicle and Bailey, smiling weakly to both in turn, before guiding the bludger back in to the case with the tip of his wand. Once it’s latched in, he exhales a soft breath. “Thanks guys,” he mutters, but after collecting up his broom, he starts up toward the castle alone. A lot on his mind.

Left to clean up on her own, Noémie picks up everything, piling it all back into their appropriate containers before making her way back to the broom shed to put things away. Another day, another practice. Noémie waves as each player exits and makes her way back into the castle alone, intending, of course, to see them in the commonroom.

Putting down a red-inked quill atop a stack of parchment sheets, Avery Fallon sighs as she looks up to Tommy, sitting across from her at a rather large table. “There, finished,” she says happily, stretching her arms out. Checking her pocket watch, Avery‘s nose wrinkles a little as she says, “a couple minutes late, as usual,” with mock concern. “Don’t you think it’s funny that Kalika sets the times for lunch dates like this and then can’t make them?” Although Avery seems to find this quite amusing, Tommy only nods with a kind of half-smile.

Shuffling his feet quietly, Lindsay Fallon cannot think of anything but the work he has to do. But his sister has arranged for the family to have lunch, and he agreed to come, so he has come. He slides towards Tommy and Avery and has a seat at the large table. “Still not here yet, is she?” He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “I hope her dolt husband doesn’t show up… ” he mutters.

Having grown up with the moderate flakiness of Kalika, Tommy isn’t quite as entertained by the fact that Kalika can’t make her own times. And it wasn’t that he was in a bad mood about anything. He was just so tired. Sometimes, having so many children just sapped his energy. How has his parents done it? Having to put up with Tommy‘s own antics, Kalika’s constant chatter and Lindsay’s lip. Christine was probably their only relief! Kissing Eva on the side of her forehead as she settles in, Tommy shakes his head with a laugh. “But, we really didn’t expect her to be,” he says.

“I’m sorry I’m a bit late,” Eva states as she strides in, looking as if she’s begun packing on a bit of weight. Again. “Hullo, Avery,” she greets the woman and sits down next to Tommy, tucking her arm in under his rather affectionately. She glances around the Leaky Cauldron, marveling at how different it is from the Hog’s Head, where they have mostly spent their time. “She isn’t here yet?” Eva comments casually, not seeing the woman for whom they are all gathered.

The door to the Leaky Cauldron opens as the bubbly curly-haired Kalika Fallon-Wexler strolls into restaurant. Fashionably late, as usual. Larger looser robes line the young woman’s changing body. Her skin emits an unusual glow, highly uncommon for Kalika in general. A yellow and red scarf is wrapped around her neck. “Sorry I’m late,” she chimes as she tucks one of her curls behind her ear. “I just got… I was…” She presses her lips together and then decides not to go into details as her lips curve into a small smile. “Quite the fall weather, isn’t it?” she sits in a chair next to Avery as her cheeks flush slightly.

After having waved to Eva as she sits down, Avery takes a quick glance at the menu in front of her before hearing her cousin’s chipper, familiar voice. Smiling as Kalika finally arrives and sits down, Avery pats her cousin on the shoulder, looking her full in the face. “You’re looking well, Kalika,” Avery comments, tilting her heat just a little. “Right then, we’re all here,” Avery announces before studying the menu some more.

Lindsay Fallon follows Avery’s actions and stares at the menu as well. “What to eat?” At the sound of Kalika’s voice, the reporter quirks an eyebrow. “Well isn’t the word I would use,” he states matter-of-factly as he examines his sister carefully. “No, well is far from appropriate.” He blinks several times as he eyes normally petite sister’s loose fitting robes. He glances at Tommy, Kalika, then Eva. “No Gilbert?” he finally asks while fighting the grin growing on his lips.

“Appears not,” Eva comments, glancing over at Lindsay, knowing how much the Fallon brother dislikes her own brother. Of course, Eva cannot entirely forgive him of this, but she chooses to ignore it for the most part. “What’s good here? It’s been ages for me. It isn’t like we have much time to go out.” Is that an inaudible sigh? Perhaps, but Eva isn’t expressing any upset over the situation, no matter how much she might feel.

Tommy Fallon closes his menu after looking at it for only a couple seconds, glancing quickly to Eva before giving Lindsay a rather scathing look. “Lindsay, what’s your point?” he asks, sighing. “You do look well,” Tommy assures Kalika, though if he were honest, he really didn’t think she looked much different than she always did. Kalika was Kalika, excitable and enthusiastic. Looking back to Eva, he points out an item on her menu, resting the same hand on her back after having done so. “Steak sandwich,” he says with a boyish grin.

“Uh… Gilbert is… well, he’s… he just… he couldn’t make it,” Kalika smiles at her brother. “And thank you, Avery. I feel well. Sincerely. Better, now, anyways.” She shoots Lindsay a quick glare and then turns her attention to Eva, “Get a sandwich. They make delightful sandwiches–you won’t regret it. I promise.” Biting her lip she nods at Tommy, “The steak is very good. I’ve been eating a lot of them lately. Steak in general is just pleasing…”

“You’ve been eating steak a lot?” Avery asks, a little incredulously. Kalika, appetite-like-a-sparrow was eating a lot of steak? Although this is an immediate red flag to Avery, having been there (and likely is to Eva, too,) Avery doesn’t say anything, but smiles wryly as she closes her menu, too. Ordering a sandwich, the waitress having come around, she hands her menu up and looks to Lindsay. “I’m sure it’s none of your concern where Gilbert is, is it?” says the woman, though not in a chiding manner.

Eyeing Tommy, Lindsay shrugs, “Nothing much. Just…” He cuts himself off as Kalika stutters over her husband’s location. “OH! I get it! He’s like Thieras! Too busy for his family–the moron!” He turns his attention to Avery, “For the record: you’re better off without him. I never liked him, anyways.” He eyes Kalika, “First he got you fat, and now he’s ignoring you because you’re fat!” And then he turns to Tommy, “See! That’s what I meant!!”

“What?” Eva snaps, looking in Lindsay’s direction with firey eyes. “Don’t you dare compare my brother to him.” The statement is spat as if even mentioning him by proxy in a sentence is awful. She takes several deep breaths for a moment, then returns to looking at her menu. “Maybe I’ll have the steak sandwich after all. It does sound appealing,” she comments quietly, trying to remove her thoughts from Lindsay’s comments.

Removing his hand from Eva’s back to point to Lindsay, Tommy shifts forward in his seat a bit. “Lindsay,” is all Tommy begins with, in a warning tone he likely uses with his young daughters when they appear to be heading for trouble. “You can’t go around just calling women fat, let alone our sister! What’s wrong with you?” Oh, this surely wasn’t the first time Tommy has asked Lindsay this, and it likely won’t be the last. The young man had such a way of igniting the issues (which is probably why he was so good at his job)…

“I’M NOT FAT, I’M PREGNANT, YOU DOLT!” Kalika yells rather loudly, “WHAT KIND OF MORON ARE YOU, ANYWAYS?!” Right after the words escape her mouth she places her fingers over her mouth and her cheeks redden. Several silent moments in the restaurant pass as complete strangers do not know how to react. Finally, the action begins once again. Quietly Kalika whispers, “I didn’t mean–I mean… I didn’t… I’m sorry you all found out this way…” her face continues to flush beet red.

Surely not expecting to be discussing this over their quiet Sunday lunch (though, were the Fallons ever quiet?), Avery is hit rather hard by Lindsay’s mention of Thieras, and Eva’s indignant response at her brother being compared to him, as if he were an awful person. Because he wasn’t. Glaring at Lindsay, Avery retorts, “I was better off married. This is just what had to happen. I can’t have my children grow up thinking a dead marriage is the norm. I– what!” Avery stops dead as Kalika begins shouting, and Avery‘s eyebrows raise as her cousin’s cheeks redden. Avery knew it! But as always, Lindsay had turned the situation into something awkward. “Congratulations,” she says, a little slowly, after having turned to Kalika.

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?! Thieras was trash, wasn’t he?” Lindsay begins as he drums his fingers on the table. “And no, you weren’t better off married. Your garbage marriage did nothing for Jamie. Or … the other one.” Yes, he forgot Katherine’s name. When Kalika has her outburst, Lindsay just stares at her. After several moments he mutters, “Great. Little Gilberts and Kalikas. That’s all the world needs…”

“What, really?” Eva responds, gawking a bit at her sister-in-law. Of course, Eva‘d had a hunch, but she had supposed she was imagining things and perhaps that Kalika just had a cold. “Well, that’s wonderful!” Eva‘s face brightens as she intentionally ignores Lindsay’s comments. She leans over to her husband, however, and states, “He’s really very awful, isn’t he?” she whispers, mentally wondering what it is that Lindsay thinks about her, if he blatantly hates her brother so much.

“Kate,” Tommy supplies, his hands upturned in disbelief at Lindsay. “Lindsay, you can’t say things like that. Avery’s marriage was a good one at first. And Thieras was a good father… when he was there.” Tommy really can’t defend the man much. After all, he didn’t need to work as much as he did, but Tommy thinks Lindsay is, as usual, being too harsh. Leaning in towards Eva, he nods. “Always has been. I think he’s missing a part of his brain that tells him what is completely inappropriate.” This is not spoken in a whisper as Eva’s comment was. He’s made no effort to lower his voice at all.

“You weren’t supposed to find out this way… I mean… I … we… Gil was supposed to be here when … well…” Kalika stutters. “I wasn’t going to say anything because he couldn’t come! I’m a horrible wife,” her voice crackes as she buries her face in her hands. She sobs loudly into her hands. “And I AM fat!” she squeaks.

Like Eva, Avery ignores Lindsay’s last round of remarks, Tommy having reminded him of her daughter’s name, for heaven’s sake. This is a whole new low for Lindsay. As Kalika begins to cry, though, Avery slides her chair over, closer to Kalika as she pulls back a bit of curly hair from her cousin’s face. “Kalika, you’re not fat, you’re pregnant, like you said! Don’t listen to him,” she says, her vindictive tone very foreign to her voice. It was times like these when Avery understood all to well why Kalika had gone so many years without talking to her brother.

“Yeah. Kate, fine. Whatever. The point is he wasn’t there. Isn’t there. Doesn’t make an effort to be around. That’s what matters. That’s the point.” Lindsay sighs and glances at the menu. “And no, I’m not missing that part of my brain. I’m missing the part that feels the need to flatter anyone and everyone. I tell people the way things are.”

Eva stands and moves to the seat next to Kalika, putting her arm around her sister-in-law. “Don’t say that! Remember when I was pregnant?” As if it were so long ago. “I wasn’t small, either. And you’re not supposed to be.” She reaches around to put her hand on Kalika’s stomach. “It’s a little person, and I don’t know anyone who could have a person inside them and not look like a house.” Perhaps not as comforting as she would have liked. “Anyway, the point is that it’s beautiful. I’m almost certain Gil must have said as much.” She smiles at Kalika and gives her a little squeeze.

“The way you see them, you mean. Well here’s a newsflash for you Lindsay. Have you got a quill? You should take this down: you’re not always right. The way you interpret things is just that… not necessarily the truth.” Even though Tommy agreed with what Lindsay said, some of the time, and in varying degrees, someone had to tell him. “So learn to shut up. Not everyone is interested in your truth.”

Sniffling, Kalika raises her face from her hands. “Really, I’m not fat?” she wipes the tears from her cheeks. “I’m just so tired all of the time. And I was so sick for like… awhile.” She sniffles and wipes her cheeks with the sleeve of her robe. “Gil does love me,” she answers with a small smile as Eva pats her stomach. She sniffles again. “My emotions are all over the map. It’s so scary and exciting. And Gil’s making this crib, but he’s not a good craftsman, but it’s really sweet and so I didn’t want to discourage him, but what if when the baby gets put it in it it breaks?” She raises a hand to her forehead. “I don’t think I’m making any sense.”

Grinning at this, Avery says, “That is sweet of Gilbert. I’m sure things will be alright. After all, it’s his baby, too. He’ll make sure it’s safe… I’m sure…” she says. The hint of hopefulness in her voice may not instill a lot of confidence, but the woman shrugs. “It’s a crazy time, of course,” she says, “but Kalika, you have a large network of support. You’re not the first Fallon or Wexler to have children,” Avery says, laughing loudly.

“Interested or not, everyone needs a solid dose of reality,” LIndsay spouts back at Tommy. “You’re so boring, I wouldn’t take your advice. Ever. Not anymnore, anyways.” Shaking his head, Lindsay stands to his feet, “The Fallon legacy,” he begins and then points to Tommy, “Domesticity,” he then points to Avery, “separation,” and he finishes by pointing to Kalika, “and complete nonsense… cheers to us!”

“That’s so true,” Eva laughs and pats Kalika on the back, returning to her seat. “Don’t worry about that, once you get used to it, it’s easy.” A pause. “Well, it’s easier. I won’t say it’s a walk in the park.” The woman smiles and absentmindedly rubs her stomach, as she so often has done while pregnant. “Ugh,” is all she says in response to Lindsay, glancing at the clock. “When are we going to order, anyway?”

Tommy can hardly believe his ears! “G-get out!” he says to Lindsay, standing and pointing with his whole arm towards the door, his voice trembling with anger. He was a father, now. He couldn’t deck his brother in a pub even if he deserved it. “Now!” Tommy‘s face is quite red, his jaw set.

As Lindsay points at her, Kalika is rendered temporarily speechless, but then she nods to Avery. “It’s true, I’m not alone in all of this, I guess. And Gil is wonderful. The crib is a sweet thing, I just hope I can convince him not to put the baby in it… and yes! Let’s order! I want a steak sandwich!” Her eyes widen as Tommy demands Lindsay leaves. “Boys… I didn’t mean to… Please calm down…”

Sliding back in her seat after having comforted Kalika somewhat, Avery is hit anew with Lindsay’s most recent declaration. “Go,” is all she can say to her cousin, reinforcing Tommy’s demand. Separation will not be her legacy. She’d done it for the children. She wouldn’t be hurt about this. But the emotions were all so recent and raw. Trying to focus on the happier matters (Kalika was pregnant, and it was wonderful), Avery sighs, looking to Eva and Kalika but not saying anything.

“You don’t have to tell me! I was already on my way!” Lindsay counters as he marches angrily towards the door. “Goodbye Fallons. Good luck.” He smirks ironically, opens the door, and exits into the cold.