Pretty [little] P.istol; [C]

[Michkayela Drakonas]

[x][x]
I've got a crush on a pretty pistol
should I tell her that I feel this way?
Father told us to be faithful

Pinch. Pull. Pinch. Poke. Curse. Mutter.

“Fuck.” Michkayela had been fairly successful at ignoring the needles that had pierced her skin thus far, ignored the mutters about her gaining weight, ignored the pinching and twisting of her skin as the woman worked over her body, the needles sticking out of the fabric wrapped around her making her resemble some sort of haute couture pin cushion. The tiny, dark woman bustling around her midsection was in fact, still muttering under her breath; her long, thin fingers pushing more and more needles into the fabric as she pulled them from her between the clutch she had on them with her teeth. It was something she’d grown used to over the years. The annual gala meant Madame Rosmerta prodding and poking every inch of her body for two weeks as she made the dress that Michkayela would wear. She’d even managed to get used to her cousin’s snide, sideline remarks as she underwent all of it. That culprit was currently stretched out along the couch in the far corner, idly flipping through some magazine or another, looking up infrequently to make some comment or another. Thankfully this was the second to last fitting though, so it would only have to be endured once more after this. For the time being she set her mind to other matters, planning her escape even as she felt yet another needle pierce her skin underneath the midnight blue fabric. Madame Rosmerta took dislike to all new levels, it was unsurprising. The fact that she still harbored resentment over something that had happened nearly eleven years ago was ridiculous though, though Micha knew well enough by now that complaining or trying to reason with the woman would only result in more bloodshed. And going to her grandmother about the woman? Unheard of. The old witch had been doing dresses for the women in her family for only Merlin knew how long, tradition reigned here as in everything else in the house. The sunlight outside was streaming through the open shutters unrestrained, announcing the midday mark joyfully unto a room that held no appreciation for it. “You eat too much. Much too much. Nothing to work with her. All fat and breasts and bottom. Shaming your Lady’s name. I don’t know how to work with you!” The exclamation that burst forth from the little woman sounded more like an explicative, and no different from anything else she’d been saying this entire session. Micha’s lips stayed shut however, she could already feel the woman sliding the fabric down her skin and there was no point in arguing. “Obviously exercise hasn’t been a priority for you Cousin.” …and in came her input as she stretched on the couch, her back arching up off of it as she threw the magazine down onto the coffee table in front of her, her legs swinging over the edge of the couch as she prepared to come take Micha’s place. Insolent little bitch. She would never understand why her grandmother insisted that the two of them get fitted at the same time.

She wasted no time once the fabric was completely off of her skin, stepping down instantly from the raised platform she’d been on and walking towards the double doors at the far end of the parlor. ”Leaving already?” She didn’t spare any words as she pushed her way through them, closing them definitely behind her and leaning her back against the wood even as her fingers went to turn the lock. She wasn’t fat, she knew that much. She wasn’t even larger than Kariana except maybe her ass. And that wasn’t something she was going to feel bad about. But standing on that platform for close to three hours as the two other women picked at every corner of her consciousness they could was almost more than even she could stand. Where she was fire her cousin was ice, an ice that was insanely jealous of the position that she was going to inherit in the family, and one that sought to demean her at every turn. Not that she could find absolute fault with that, but enough was enough. It wasn’t until her bare skin started to prickle with goose bumps that she pushed away from the frame and moved further into the interior of her room, casting a glance at the clock on her wall as she did so. She had maybe an hour before her grandmother returned from her brunch to escape the preparations that were underway downstairs as well. The clothes she’d lain out before the other two had joined her were laying haphazardly across her bed, a blotch of black on the otherwise completely white bedspread. She made her way to the edge of the bed slowly, her fingers working to undo the braided bun she’d put her hair up in earlier that morning to provide better access to the vile dressmaker. It wasn’t until she felt the weight of her hair on her back that she hastened to pull her undergarments on, followed quickly by her black jeans and fitted wrap sweater, her movements growing quicker with a practiced ease. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to get dressed quickly to escape this house, growing up here she’d become an expert at it. Even with the length of time she’d had away from living there it didn’t seem to have diminished.

Her flats were on her feet before she even approached the jewelry armoire, her eyes running critically over her appearance. Her hair had fallen in soft waves down her back and she found herself relieved the time of having to do anything towards it… and though she had nothing but a small amount of eyeliner and mascara on she found she was loathe to do anything else as well. It would be her luck after all were her grandmother to come through the doors right as she prepared to leave. The bracelet she’d been wearing when she arrived was clasped once more around her wrist, the matching bow necklace fastened with just as much haste as she sought around for her octopus earrings, her free hand digging through a jewelry chest clumsily. The minute they were clasped she found herself walking back towards the doors again, scooping her purse up as she went, absentmindedly sliding black and silver bangles onto her other wrist as she opened the doors and entered the other room. Kat had assumed the position she’d been standing in earlier, though with much less muttering and poking from the looks of it. Her cousin’s blue eyes connected with her sea green ones in the mirror, an eyebrow arching sarcastically above her right one. Bitch. ”You look like a gothic whore Cousin.” The soft menace lacing the words did nothing to help Micha’s responding annoyance, her own eyebrows climbing up a bit higher as she surveyed her cousin. To say that the dress didn’t already look stunning on her would be a lie, and she was above petty rejoinders anyways but she couldn’t help her feet carrying her over to where it was that Ana was standing, her face tilting up as she came to stand directly beneath her, turning so her back was to the mirror. A small smirk played out of her lips as she tilted her head to the side, eyes dancing as she leaned in a bit closer. “Your jealousy is showing cousin, you might want to look into that.” Before she could reply she was walking away again, her legs carrying her out of the opposite set of doors than before, ignoring the angry retort that followed her out. She didn’t have time to pause and quibble. Not if she was going to get out of here.

Down the flights of stairs and out into the foyer she paused once more to look at the mass of house elves and hired help that were putting together the decorations, removing the sumptuous red velvet curtaining and drapery and replacing it with something more fitting. She was sure it was only a matter of time before her grandmother had been going to require a redercoration anyways- no respectable woman let someone be entertained more than twice with the same color schemes. Her hand went idly to her scalp, brushing the hair back from her brow bone, her digits running through the mass of waves before she turned out of the front doors, her step quicker than it would have been in another situation. She wasn’t running exactly. And power walking was ungainly. Her steps were just longer, her stride a smidgeon faster as she exited the mansion and started her walk down the steps leading up to it. It wasn’t until she felt the barrier of protective spells fade from around her that she turned on the spot, her form disappearing from the watchful gazes she could feel upon her back.

With a soft woosh of air she felt her body reassemble, the sounds of midday traffic in Alzubra Alley greeting her as she reappeared outside of the public library, her eyes running over the crowd disinterestedly before she disappeared inside, her legs carrying her the familiar route to the third floor’s back corner. It was an area she’d found by luck in what she was guessing, if she was remembering right, had been her third year at Galaxia. The library had been a good escape during summers when she wasn’t abroad and her grandmother was being even more demanding than usual. It was almost hidden between two bookshelves, a kind of corner that appeared closed off from first look. The area wasn’t large enough to boast more than a small table and three comfortably worn sitting chairs, all mismatched. And Micha counted it a sort of second home. The window gave just enough light for the lack of other lighting in that corner to be acceptable and she found herself thankful that she’d escaped as early as she had. She slid into the chair backed into the far corner, pulling her legs up under her and grabbing the book she’d brought with her in her purse out.

She needed a break after all… and she wasn’t willing to go get the coffee she was craving either, she had every intention of being her for as long as she could manage.

[Robert O'Conner]

TONIGHT, WE ARE YOUNG

[/font]
we can burn brighter, than the sun
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/center]It was a very rare treat indeed for Robert to be allowed into Alzubra alley. It amazed him each and every time that the same place he had grown up in as a child was so alien to him now. His mother used to go shopping on a daily basis, dragging all of her children from store to store picking up this or that, sometimes just shopping for nothing at all. His mother had always hated sitting at home or doing anything remotely motherly. She was a social butterfly everybody knew that. Alzubra Alley had once been a place that was like home to him, a place where the shop keepers knew his name and frequently gave him free candy or a knut to throw into the fountain in the square in front of Gringotts. It amazed him how fast people turned on him once they had found out that he wasn't one of them. Robert wasn't ashamed of what he was in the least, he felt that he had done very well for himself and the fact that he couldn't cast even the most simple of spells didn't bother him in the slightest. He was more than happy to overcompensate with his wit and charm. There were more muggles in the world than magical folk, and if they all managed to make a living just fine, so could he. He had been brought into 'town' today on business. The Dark Lord thing was starting to get out of hand, and the line between muggles and wizards was getting blurred. That's where Robert came in. It was by far one of his more favorite aspects of all of his jobs. Getting to talk to the minister and the whole Wizarding Law Enforcement floor. He had taken the day off of his Magistrate duties in favor of sitting in meetings all day long. He needed to know what could be done on the muggle side. These house burnings were getting out of control. While most of the acts were just petty vandalism and arson it had to be building up to something else, somethingmore and there was no way that the Ministry was going to survive another attack like the one on Gringotts.

He had been sitting in a make shift conference room for the better part of the morning, at least three or four hours. His hind end had fallen asleep long ago, and he just knew that whenever he did finally get a chance to stand up, he was really going to regret this meeting. For now though, he just needed to focus on the fact that he was sitting in a room with the Minister of Magic, and more than one Department head. If only his mother could see him now, what would she say. The son that she had shunned for so many years because he wasn't worthy of her surname had really made something of himself. Of course, their definitions of success were vastly varied. She would think that anything that had to do with the Ministry was only adding insult to injury. They were far more interested in the acts that Robert and the other people sitting around the table with him were trying to prevent. He was still proud of the work he was doing, that was all that anybody could really ask for. As the meeting went on, he was asked to give his presentation and he did. His personal part in all of this was over fairly quickly but what he learned was far more vast. He would be able to have something to tell his friend whenever he got to visit him shortly. Ever since his promotion, Robert hadn't seen much of Tristan Stavros, one of his childhood friends. Which would have been fine since they both worked so much, but Robert really missed the free season passes to all of the Quidditch matches. Shortly after Callista gave her speech and all of the notes were taken, the meeting ended and everybody filed out. Robert, went on down to the first floor of the building hoping to convince his friend to have lunch with him. Or at least do something that would give Robert and excuse to prolong his time where in the Wizarding world. He missed it.

Knocking on the glass panel of the door to Tristan's office, he twisted the knob to allow himself entrance instead of waiting to be invited it. “Ello chums” He only really liked one of the blokes in the room. The other was a bit of an egomaniac and far too tall for his own good. Of course, Wentworth had been nice enough to him every time that they had been forced to work together but the stories that Tristan had told him about the man were enough to make Robert not like him by association. Letting himself into the room and closing the door behind him he moved forward. He almost wasn't able to see them due to the large stacks of paperwork on their desks, but he could see tufts of hair on their side, and knew enough that he needed to head toward the blonde side. Tristan Stavros poked his head out around the side of the stack of papers and grinned. Judging by the bags under his eyes, it looked like he hadn't smiled in a long time. Not that he could blame the man, Wentworth could be a bit of a stick in the mud sometimes. At least, until he had a few pints in him. “Well then, roll on out the welcome wagon yeah?” His thick irish accent spinning his words but they were none the less clear. Stavros managed to squeeze out from behind the desk and clap Robert on the shoulder. “We're a tad swamped, but it's good to see you. You're welcome to sit” Nodding once, Robert pushed a pile of paper out of the way and went about making himself at home. He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. He assumed that Tristan would have a lunch break soon and then they could catch up, he was happy to wait until then. Slouching a little in his chair he lifted his legs until his feet were perched on the edge of the desk and crossed at the ankles. The room would have been an awkward silent, but no sooner had he really settled into the chair than some strange buzzing went off and forced him to twitch and fall right on out of his chair. “What th-”

His question was answered before he even got to finish it. Both men were up and moving about the already cramped space, paper was flying every which way. Wentworth's badge seemed to be pulsating some color or another and seemed to be the source of the buzzing sound. “It's Rutherford, don't worry Stavros, I'll handle it and you can stay here with your boyfriend” Both Tristan and Robert rolled their eyes at the same time. It was a lame joke, and even if Robert was willing to take the insult so that he wouldn't have to spend the upcoming hour wandering about by himself, there was no way that Stavros was going to pass up whatever it was that was calling him out of the office. Guess he couldn't really blame him. “What? Let 'im go it alone then?” Robert inquired. Having grown tired of listening to the grown men squabble. It wasn't every day that he got a day pass into Alzubra and he had wanted to spend it with his best mate and instead, he was just an awkward third wheel to their lovers quarrel. Stavros shot him a sympathetic look, and muttered something about a rain check as the men rushed out of the office, That left him alone. A sigh built up in his lungs and left his lips very slowly. Picking his tired body up, he might as well go out into the fresh air and find something else to do. “Well Shit” he muttered to himself. What was he supposed to do now? His feet led him back out of the office and down to the lobby. They carried him out through the grand doors and out into the fresh air of the day. It was bright enough and he relished in the sheer mass of people toiling about aimlessly. He had thought that given the meeting he had just come from, there would be less people or at the very least faster paced walking. People felt oddly safer in the daylight he supposed. Robert stopped only long enough to purchase a coffee from the very small kiosk positioned outside of the Ministry doors. He should have asked Tristan to spot him some Wizarding currency since most of what was in his wallet was muggle euro's. Well, at least with the coffee he wasn't going to need to stop and get anything else to fill his stomach for a little while. He didn't like to eat alone, and while the thought of bothering the pedestrians for company was appealing, he didn't think that he was going to be very well received.

He didn't want to go home yet, that was for sure. Just the thought of staggering back to his flat empty handed was saddening. At the very least he needed to take some some sort of memento to commemorate his trip from today. He passed in front of a few store fronts, but most of the places that he had the will to go into weren't going to be open until after dark. There certainly was no way that he was going to be able to go home without a shot of firewhiskey in his gullet at the very least. He couldn't exactly get it anywhere else. Taking a sip of his coffee he strolled aimlessly down the cobbled streets, waiting for something to jump out at him so that he would have his task for the day. He only had a few more hours here and he didn't want to waste a single one of them. Deciding that window shopping was going to be his best bet, his feet turned into the first doorway that he came across. Only to his surprise whenever his eyes finally adjusted to the darker lighting in comparison to the bright sun that he was greeted with not racks of robes or sporting goods, but books. Pulling his sunglasses from his face and holding them in the same hand as his cup of coffee he moved into the store, allowing the door to shut behind him with a soft ding to let the shop owner know that somebody else was here. At least, he thought that it was a shop, perhaps it was a library. Either way he didn't recognize it as one of the places that he had come into as a child. Why should he had? Reading was never his mothers forte. Glancing at the edges of the bookshelves he tried to find some genre that might catch his eye. He could spend hours in a place like this. He couldn't help but wonder what would happen if some little old muggle lady got her hands on one of these books. A dark arts one especially. He could just picture some woman reading the book and the incantations by mistake and all of her whispy blue hair falling out in shock. A grin slowly spread across his face at the mental image. Yes, this would do very nicely to pass the time. If nothing else, he could get caught up with all of the things that had been going on in the wizarding world since he had last been able to set foot in here. At least it was a good use of his time, maybe even find a book that would teach him how to brew his own firewhiskey without inadvertently blowing up his flat.

Might as well start at the top and make his way down. With a new goal in mind, he jogged up the stairs one at a time, feeling slightly winded whenever he reached the top. The library only had three floors, he hoped. He knew how strange this wizarding buildings could be, they could have enchanted it to where there was a whole other separate staircase in the back hallway that lead halfway up to the moon or some other such rubbish. Taking another drink of his coffee his eyes scanned the shelves on front of them. They were arranged in a strange fashion but it gave them character, he liked it. There seemed to be listening booths on the very far side, or maybe they were just privacy booths for sound proof reading. He knew from experience that the books enchanted to read their text to you, could be ear splitting loud. Moving slowly so that he wouldn't make very much noise he spotted what looked like musical theory, some fiction works but nothing in cooking. At least he assumed that he would need cooking. Was firewhiskey considered a potion? He should know that. He could ask somebody, but that would draw attention to the fact that he really shouldn't be here alone. Wizards were so touchy whenever it came to his kind, no matter how pure of blood. Everybody felt better than a squib. Plucking a random book from a shelf to give his mind something else to focus on, he spotted what looked like hair on the other side of the bookshelf. Intrigued, he inclined his body closer to the mass. It certainly smelled nice, reaching his hand through without thinking of what sort of consequences his actions might have, he pulled ever so slightly and the mass moved smiling he extracted his hand quickly and considered shoving the book back into place to put the blame on something other than himself, yet for some reason he didn't. He stared at the black hair until it turned to look at him, it was human. Of course it's human you git He thought to himself. Why he could have thought it was a cat or a furry book was beyond him. “Oy, sorry 'bout that lass” His green eyes lowering themselves to make contact with the set on the other side of the bookshelf “Say, how do you get into that hidey hole there?”



Tags: Michkayela
Words: 2,417
Wearing:This
Notes: None, you're awesome. Hope this was alright.[/blockquote][/size]

[Michkayela Drakonas]

[x][x]
I've got a crush on a pretty pistol
should I tell her that I feel this way?
Father told us to be faithful

She managed to pull herself up into the chair, feet sliding out of her sandals before she pulled her legs up under her, tucking her toes into the back corner of the cushion. Something felt off though, and it wasn’t the fact that she was craving coffee like a recovering alcoholic did a bottle of old scotch- although that was tearing in the lower section of her belly, gnawing away at the back of her conscience. It wasn’t the book that she had recently pulled out across her lap either, even though she had yet to open it to her saved page. No- she was… on edge? Although over what she had no idea. Kariana’s comments hadn’t really bothered her; she knew they were superficial at best, borne of a long standing jealousy and bitterness over their respective situations. It could have very easily been her in Micha’s position after all, they had both lost their parents at a young age- but the Lady still chose the eldest, maybe for that particular reason it wasn’t like she was getting any younger herself. It was something she was sure was on her cousin’s mind frequently. Just a small shift in one person’s decision could have had her placed in line to inherit the family titles and responsibilities, something one would have to be a fool to pass up. Instead the younger was stuck at the Lady’s elder sister-in-laws set only to be married off to the most suitable match and left to procreate and rot in her own subordinate, insignificant existence. Which in their family meant still possessing some sort of political power, still a large name- and undoubtedly increased by whatever spouse was chosen for her, but it was still less than, and that was something Kariana would have difficulty accepting- if she ever even got around to that stage. So if anything, Micha understood her younger cousin’s animosity. It didn’t make it any less of a nuisance to deal with, and it wouldn’t make her relax her guard around the girl any- but she could see where she would be coming from, could understand the inability to accept second best, to acknowledge inferiority. She could follow her logic and see it, but she didn’t much care for her opinion all the same, didn’t give a damn what she thought of her- Drakonas was not a name that bred strong familial bonds. And the Madame was someone she’d been dealing with annually, and sometimes more frequently depending, for as long as she could remember.

She was just discontent…

Something that she couldn’t allow or afford at this time. To do so was open herself up for a weakness, and it seemed that lately she had everyone she knew searching for one- for some way to undermine or change her. Her lips parted to let a sigh escape them, her fingers sliding reverently over the cover of the book as she stared unseeingly down at it. Discontent bred change, which could lead to failure, something she wasn’t all that well versed in. A single misstep could cause her life to be altered drastically; one hair out of place could tear down the whole façade she’d been living so well in these last few years. The Lady Catherine Drakonas did not deal in failure; she did not acknowledge it in her own servants, much less her bloodline. The consequences of such were likely to be dire, something she had no intention of ever finding out. Maybe the stress was finally getting to her after all. The thought prompted another, more aggravated sigh- her free hand going up to run the length of her face, fingertips digging into the flesh just slightly with the movement. She hadn’t come here to worry more over what might or might not be coming- it was already a constant reminder in the back of her skull, threatening to break way were it not for the iron control that she exercised. She had come here as an escape from all of that, to get away from it all in her book. How that turned into an in depth perusal of what was fucking her brain up recently she didn’t know, and she didn’t intend to analyze it any further. With a small, definite shake of her head she opened the book up about midway, flipping through the pages idly until she came across her bookmark. With a slow, deft movement she slid it out of its placement, her eyes running down the page until she found where she had been forced to pause before, picking back up where she had left off. A. Collins always did manage to capture her attention completely. Maybe not a well-known author, but still a favorite nonetheless. And just as quickly she was lost within the plotline.

______________________________________
An hour at least had passed since she’d first opened the book- her legs were now thrown up over the arm nearest the window, her back to the bookshelves behind her, the small of her back supported by the other arm. The plot line had since developed further, her eyes having already perused a good half of what she had had left in the volume, the black ink holding the rapt attention of her eyes. Her bottom lip had since been pulled inside her mouth to be bothered at, her body tensing on the chair as she followed the actions unfurling within her mind. The climax was just around the corner, unfolding before her with a sure few more twists left to uncover. It was as she was reaching the peak of that particularly tense section that she felt something tugging at her hair. Her body snapped to the present with what felt like an elastic shot, her shoulders tensing as she held all she could not to jump several feet in the air. In her mind she was imagining the story unfolding her in reality, the touch some sinister twist that the author had felt needed to prolong the conclusion. With the contacts that her grandmother kept, and she in her own turn, it wouldn’t be surprising if there was some sort of monster behind the innocent movement. It was with a slow will that she made herself straighten up from her position, twisting her waist around so that she could see what it was that had interrupted her reading. What was staring at her through the other side of the bookshelves was decidedly not what she had imagined though. No fangs or claws in sight, nothing sinister about the figure, except maybe his good looks. At least what she could see of him was pretty. When really she had no business thinking that- just because she had... well just since Ashton didn’t mean she got to be some mega whore or anything. She didn’t want to be a mega whore anyways. What the hell was up with her hormones, she felt her irritation growing, and not just because of her obvious chemical imbalance. Who reached in through a bookshelf to tug on someone else’s hair?! Her eyes narrowed slightly before she managed to smooth her face out into a neutral expression, one eyebrow going to arch over her eye.

And then he spoke. Something about the cadence of his tone and his accent was vaguely familiar though she couldn’t quite place it. She felt her head tilting to the side as it was wont to do when she was trying to puzzle something out, her lips quirking slightly as his vaguely familiar eyes came into better view. Maybe she’d seen him around Alzubra, that was always possible. “Hidey hole?” Not exactly what she had thought to name it, the amusing dubbing helping to assuage her minor irritation. She bit the corner of her lips for a moment, deciding how best- if at all- to answer his question before lifting her right hand to gesture to where the two book cases met. “You see that faint line over there where the bookcases look like they’re converging?” Her lips curled up as she remembered her surprise the day she’d fallen through it- officially discovering this place. “They don’t really. There’s a space big enough for someone to fit through if they bend their waist a bit.” She found herself wondering if he was going to check it out for himself, maybe prolong the encounter. Which was almost equal parts intriguing and disturbing. Why did he look so familiar?

[Robert O'Conner]

TONIGHT, WE ARE YOUNG

[/font]
we can burn brighter, than the sun
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/center]
She seemed surprised, as well she should. He doubted that anybody had pulled her soft tresses since she had been in grade school. If ever, she looked like a biter. The kind of child that the others avoided because she would always win her play yard squabbles. Once again, his imagination was want to run away with him. “Hidey hole?” “Ay, yer fort.” He stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world that he would want to come and join her. His face was blank, expectantly waiting. He should have realized that it was a strange request and she most likely was in such a hidden local because she didn't want company. Most people did their best reading alone and all. It took her a moment, but she finally replied and he almost jumped whenever she did. “You see that faint line over there where the bookcases look like they’re converging?” She certainly was a looker, he didn't have to look twice to know that. She was, exotic to put it simply. His eyes followed her fingertip as it pointed to what he assumed would be the entrance to her fort. Had she built this for herself? If so he would be both very impressed as well as a little disappointed he had gained entry so quickly. She could at least have had some sort of password for him to shout. “Ay” he remarked, hoping that she was going to continue speaking so he could follow the sound of her voice at least. If there wasn't a small labyrinth for him to wander through to find her, he would admit to being at least a little saddened. He took a single step backward, his back arching to attempt to see the place that she was speaking of without actually walking over there just yet. “They don’t really. There’s a space big enough for someone to fit through if they bend their waist a bit.” Without another word, he put the book in his hand back into it's resting place and thus cutting off his communication with her. He jogged over to the place that she had referred him to. Sure enough, if he turned sideways and did exactly as she said, he would be able to hold his breath and fit through. Delighted at such a small wonder he inhaled deeply, rearranging his chest for just long enough to fall into the space.

As he exhaled, he fell forward, his hands jutting out in front of his body and catching onto the plush arm chair in front of his body. It seemed to be made of the fabric that he would think a gypsy would make her carpet bag luggage. Righting himself and smoothing his shirt back down he grinned at her. His eyes widened slightly as he really took in the sight of her, no doubt in comparison to her he was downright comical. She looked photo-shopped. Blinking a few times in rapid repetition he nodded a hello to her and jumped over the back of the chair his hands had been resting on. His backside hit the springs of the chair, hard. He was assuming that since it was soft on the back, that it would be soft to sit in. Apparently he had been mistaken. If he hadn't been in the company of a lady he would have placed his hands on his butt and attempted to rub out the sore feelings. Instead, he was forced to make a face and shift uncomfortably. Lifting a finger he pointed at her and then down to the cushion that he was sitting on. “Ye could have warned me, no?” he scolded, but not meaning it “Downright rude is what that is” now that he was so close, he could have sworn that he had seen her before, somewhere or from another time in his life. She had a pair of eyes that he knew was familiar. Somehow. Perhaps it was strange to some people for a stranger to be for friendly, and while he would have liked to claim that his mother had just raised him right, that was just very far from the truth. In fact, his mother had a stick just about as far up her ass as any other person he had ever met. She could make ice seem warm. Perhaps that was a family trait. All the better that he was no longer considered a part of the family. Ever since he had been pushed out at the age of twelve he had been on his own. Forces a man to grow up quick. He had to learn all of his life lessons and how to support himself in a very short time. While he had started his life out with a golden spoon in his mouth, he could hardly afford a spoon at all for the rest of his life. Made his skin thick, and he was a better person for it. He was a kind man, who loved people. He was as far from the rest of the O'Conner's as any pure blooded man could ever hope to be. Not that many people did of course.

Placing his hands on the tops of his jean clad thighs he rubbed his hands up against the fabric, where to start. He didn't get uncomfortable, just sometimes in the company of such stunning good looks he had trouble picking a launch point. He was a lot for some people to handle. Jutting out his right hand, no longer caring that he had interrupted her reading. If it was all that important to her she was free to kick him out. “Robert” he stated simply “Or any form of Robert that ye can think of, but please not bob. It's too 'normal'” He grinned waiting for her to accept his hand or to slap it away. With his other hand he pointed at her again, and his mother's voice resounded in his skull. Scolding him, admonishing him because it was rude to point. He hadn't spoken to the wench but more than once a year since she had kicked him out like he was last season's shoes and yet her teachings were with him all of the time. He couldn't ever get away from her nagging, nasal intonations. “You, lass look a might familiar” he eased back into his chair carefully, he didn't wish to become any more friendly than he already was with the chair that he had chosen to park himself on. “Mind telling me why that is?” He brought one let up, and positioned it to have his ankle rest on his opposite knee. Lacing his fingers together he brought his hands up and behind his head, letting his head cradle itself in his hands, resting. This really could go a few ways, either he did know her somehow, which would be strange considering that wasn't a face that he was likely to forget or he had never met her in his entire life and was just horribly bothering her. He wasn't a stranger to getting slapped in the face if that was the case. Not everybody liked a friendly Irishman.

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Tags: Michkayela
Words: 1,210
Wearing:This
Notes: None, you're awesome.[/blockquote][/size]

[Michkayela Drakonas]

[x][x]
I've got a crush on a pretty pistol
should I tell her that I feel this way
I've got love songs in my head
that are killing us away

Her…fort? Her amusement grew once more, lips twitching at his idiosyncrasies and child-like enthusiasm. It appeared that he was indeed going to try joining her in there, though she wasn’t completely sure he would fit, from the looks of it he was a good deal over her five foot and a half of an odd inch frame and she had to bend to get in, but then again she didn’t know how far up it really went, only the width for sure. It was a good thing he wasn’t overly hefty. She watched as he disappeared mostly from her view, following, she supposed her instructions. The hand that was thrust back to put the book back in its place was well shaped, the veins protruding enough to hint at muscle tone that would more than likely continue up his arms. His fingers were long, tapered, and appeared to be slightly calloused which could come naturally, or from a history of working with his hands. So he had pretty hands too, hands spoke a lot of a man’s character- something she’d learned over the years. Maybe it was a bit odd but if they didn’t have pretty hands she couldn’t stand it, and blunt fingers just plain freaked her out. It took him only a moment before he reappeared back in her sight, her eyebrows raising as he appeared in her ‘fort’ as he’d dubbed it. Maybe not the most graceful entry, but then the first time she’d stumbled upon the place she’d fallen in too, and managed to flip over onto her back as well- she never was one to just fall like a normal person. Twisting in an attempt to change her course or stop it completely, that was usually her style. So she gave him some sort of point for making it in without falling on his ass, or more accurately flipping over the chair that he managed to catch himself on. She had to repress a what she could only suppose may have been a giggle at the imagery that it cast forth in her mind, her hand going up to smooth over her lips before closing her book, replacing the bookmark she’d almost discarded earlier, stuck in the shoulder of her shirt at the moment. The book however, she didn’t relinquish. Who knew how long he would be here, and if he was just passing through for a moment she didn’t want to have to dig around once more for it. It was rude to read while someone was in the room though, and abrasive as she might be- rude was not among it when she was first meeting someone.

So it didn’t hurt to smile a bit as he vaulted over the back of the chair, her mouth opening just in time for him to land on the seat. Well, she had been going to warn him, but he moved too fast. She did smirk slightly as he pulled a face, his expression almost comical. “That chair’s the most uncomfortable out of the three,” she deadpanned it easily, her eyebrow going up in a challenging expression. Her lips twitched once more and she gestured to the one she was sitting in before including the one directly in front of the window. “These two aren’t so bad though.” Her lips did tilt into a full smile then, mischief dancing across her features as she crossed her ankles over the chair, turning her body to face him a bit more. “This one,” again indicating the one she was stretched across, “is the most comfortable actually, but seeing that I wasn’t expecting company and this isn’t really my place to play hostess, I don’t think I’ll be offering it up.” And anyways, though it had been some years since she had perched in the one he was seated himself in now she could still remember the harsh lines in it, and her bottom could well remember that she couldn’t last in it for more than half a moment even with the extra cushioning she had… although if she were to listen to Madame Dressmaker from Hell she might have more now than she had back then. She took the moment of silence as he ran his hands over his jeans in what appeared to be a stalling technique to study his features. There was something oddly familiar about him, that she hadn’t imagined. It was in the set of his face and cast of his bone structure but more so in the green depths of his eyes. It wasn’t something she was just imagining either, she knew this man but the where was evading her. He didn’t have the cold calculations that most of her grandmother’s clients possessed. And the pretention was nowhere present as it was with the majority of her former house mates. Her tongue darted out to run over her bottom lip, smoothing out the creases in the pink flesh. She didn’t think that she would forget someone who looked like him though.

Although she was forced to call into question if she really did find him as attractive as she was recognizing at the moment. Ever since she had actually lost her virginity it seemed that her hormones were on overdrive- and the fact that Ashton was unlikely to be a repeat didn’t help matters. The fact that it had been some time since her first night back here and the subsequent actions of the night didn’t either. It almost made her understand how her little cousin could be such a whore. It also caused her to reevaluate the man before her in more detail. He looked to be roughly a foot taller than her, meaning that she had been correct about the entrance stretching up taller than she had imagined, obviously. And he was in good shape, really good shape if she were being honest. Even under the layers of his clothing the muscle tone was evident, which was always nice when looking at the opposite sex. And his face? The cut of it was almost regal. Fucking Ashton Wentworth. She bellied a sigh with a small smile, her mind wrapping up the inventory within seconds. Categorizing people without their knowledge and in short amounts of time were in her job description after all.

Robert… well there were a few of those, although something in the back of her head rang at the name, her body extending with her arm as she leant forward, clasping his hand with her own. He really did have pretty hands, pretty, much larger than hers hands. She couldn’t help the laugh that came from her lips as he uttered the rest of his words, his finger pointing at her in an accusatory manner. “Well I could say the same for you actually.” She paused, squeezing his hand with her fingers in the manner she was accustomed. Handshakes said just as much, if not more, than hands did. That was something she had learnt from her grandmother, and only reinforced over time. So hers were strong, not overpowering, but not just an idle clasp either. She let her fingers linger for a moment more in his grasp before sliding her hand across his skin and back to her own space, her body leaning back as she tried to ignore the electricity that sparked across her flesh. “Michkayela Drakonas.” The Spanish fluidity crept into her voice, something she’d done well at tamping down since she’d been a child, though now it was hardpressed not to creep in. Her name wasn’t the most average one on the block. She found herself looking him over once more now that he had confirmed the misty connection and had to ignore the electricity once more. Which was weird. Whatever the strange electricity was though it wasn’t a bad feeling, the opposite actually, it felt almost as if it were flushing her skin.

[Robert O'Conner]

TONIGHT, WE ARE YOUNG

[/font]
we can burn brighter, than the sun
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The fact that she wasn't staring at him like he has suddenly sprouted warts or multiple heads was a good sign, or at least he hoped it was. He didn't have very much experience with witches but he felt like they were fairly similar to muggle women whenever it came to manners. He hadn't ever been anything but well received so he was hoping for the same outcome here. He was even willing to try a little harder than he might have otherwise in her case because he just couldn't shake the feeling that he knew her some somewhere. Not just in a fleeting respect either, but something certainly a lot more than that. He felt like she was a part of his life and that wasn't a feeling that people just came across every single day. “That chair’s the most uncomfortable out of the three,” “Obviously” he agreed with her, shifting for what had to be the fifth time in just as many minutes. He had tried to get comfortable in that seat, really he had but it just wasn't working for him no matter how hard he tried. It was just his luck, he was a firm believer in Murphy's law. Anything that can go wrong, will. He was a living breathing example. Just like the worst thing that could happen to a dodgey old pure blooded Irish wizarding family would be to have their first born son be born without a lick of magical talent whatsoever. His hands moved to the arms of the chair once more, using them to hoist his bottom off of the chair. Lifting his body weight wasn't much of a task for him due to his job. Exercise was a job requirement and in this case it was helping to keep him comfortable. He didn't like the way that the springs were attempting to invade his body and needed to do something to fix the problem, and soon. “These two aren’t so bad though.” He turned to look at her, still holding his bottom just above the poor excuse of a cushion. At her smile he found himself laughing, just a chortle but it was real. “Ye don't say?” He let his feet fall to the ground until he was standing, a hunched over stance but standing none the less and shifted over to the other chair in question. He didn't think that she was going to give up her chair for him anyway.

The second his arse hit the cushion he could tell that she wasn't lying and his face reflected it. “I was about to have te make that chair buy me supper” he chided, kicking the chair for good measure. “Was a bit too forward” he winked in her direction, still smiling. “This one, is the most comfortable actually, but seeing that I wasn’t expecting company and this isn’t really my place to play hostess, I don’t think I’ll be offering it up.” He leaned back in his chair, yes, this would do just fine and he had an even better view of her and at least this time he wasn't as close to her feet. Nothing against her feet individually, they looked perfectly dainty in her flats but he didn't feel the need to be close to any feet. “Tsk tsk tsk. Selfish.” he hung his head, lifting his eyes to look up at her. “Why wouldn't ye give up yer chair for an almost stranger?” The longer that he was in her company, the harder it was for him to keep his eyes off of her. It was also slowly becoming less about the fact that he would swear on anything that he knew her and more about something else. There was something about the fact that nothing he did seemed to phase her in the slightest, like she had just been expecting him to pop up out of nowhere and start tugging on her hair. So laid back, it was refreshing she wasn't doing anything to encourage his attention and that just made him want to capture her good graces all the more. Her handshake was firm, impressive. He couldn't stand it whenever women would greet him with what he called the noodle shake. They would offer their hand up like he was supposed to kiss it, which would have been fine but on the occasions that he would bend to do just that they would look so offended. He didn't even know how to shake a hand that wasn't sticking straight out, it put him in an awkward position and he didn't very much care for situations that he didn't know how to handle. There were so few after all. Luckily for him, this raven haired beauty didn't make him have to work for it.

Whenever she let go of his hand, her heat lingered he could still feel her hand in his even though they were no longer touching. It left a smile on his lips. Bringing his hand up, he stroked at the stubble that had formed on his face over the past week since he had been in the office. Normally, whenever he was at his post he had to shave but since he detested it so whenever he was given assignments at the Ministry of Magic, he grew out his beard in a small protest. “Michkayela Drakonas.” If his hand hadn't been already covering his face she might have seen the surprised 'o' formed by his lips as soon as she muttered her surname. It certainly did ring a bell, it rang a whole choir of bells in fact. It gave him the advantage. His eyes scanned her form once more, the years certainly had been good to her. Never in a million years would he had thought that he would have been around somebody that he had known so well in his youth. His family had done everything in their power to sever all of his ties with that world. They didn't even like it whenever he came for holidays and wouldn't permit it if he wasn't such a great example of what could happen if one of his siblings pissed off the family. Slowly, he eased himself back into the chair he had changed to. “Ay, that does explain it” He nodded, the smile falling from his face without meaning to. He put his hand on his chest “Robert O'Conner” he stated bluntly as a matter of explanation. He hoped that it didn't make him look like an ass and that she could remember. Sure there was a lot of O'Conner's in the world but not many that ran in her circle, certainly not many with a mouth like his mother had. Thinking about the connection, forced him to erupt in laughter, reaching forward and tapping her knee with his hand. “Christ it's good to see you.” he nodded to her figure with his head “And that” if she didn't catch on he had a whole banquet of memories to choose from, some a little more thrilling than the others. He just hoped that she wouldn't be like the rest of his family whenever she found out what he was. He wasn't ashamed, but knew how cruel others could be.

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Tags: Michkayela
Words: 1,222
Wearing:This
Notes: None, you're awesome.[/blockquote][/size]

[Michkayela Drakonas]

[x][x]
I've got a crush on a pretty pistol
should I tell her that I feel this way
I've got love songs in my head
that are killing us away

It was hard not to laugh at the way he was squirming around on the old chair, hard not to recognize the fleeting glimpse of familiarity that tickled the back of her mind once more. The fact that he was holding himself above the cushion as if in insult was not helping matters any. “I do say.” She nodded solemnly, her lips still twisted though as she watched him start to transition to the other chair, her finger going to her chin as she replayed his voice in her head. Irish, that much was obvious, but she couldn’t detect the exact region from his accent alone- she hadn’t been back to Ireland in Merlin only knew how long and it was difficult even when going regularly to distinguish between the North and South, much less the East and West and all the clans and factions inbetween. She did finally giggle a little as she watched his face relax into a pleased sort of surprise when he sat, her fingers hurrying to cover her lips, the tips pressing into the flesh as if they could recapture the sound and swallow it back. “It would be hard,” again her voice was at odds with her expression, the seriousness almost overplayed, “from the looks of its wear it doesn’t have that much money to spare.” Which was definitely the truth no exaggeration. She didn’t understand how that chair, with the other two relatively respectable looking, had ended up in this hidden alcove. The one she was seated on was almost even pretty, the fabric soft, the colors warm and vibrant with a very minimum wear. She spared a distasteful glance at the hideous chair in question, her eyes resting on it for only a moment before returning to her companion. “So you’re Irish?” Again fishing to try and place where she knew him. “Not that it’s terribly obvious or anything.” It was nice to know that a day cramped up with the Monster Madame and her equally monster like cousin didn’t do anything to steer her towards their attitudes; if anything she was somewhat lighter having been here, less … restricted than she would have been otherwise. And she hadn’t even had a drink, interestingly enough. The sarcasm was still evident but in a more gentle form than she might have used in another setting, the cadence of her words almost teasing.

She almost felt her eyes roll skyward, the reaction tamped down when his gaze left hers briefly only to come back from a different angle. Speaking of strangers, there should be some law against him looking at one that way, from under his lashes like that. Especially an overly hormonal one- not that he would innately know that, hopefully, but still. She shook her head almost defensively her lashes blinking once, twice, three times to try and clear her head of that imagery. “Not selfish exactly, an almost stranger may not have the same idea of comfort as I do for one.” And so the reasoning came into play, not that any of it was actually behind it. The truth of the matter was that she was comfortable, she’d been here first, and she couldn’t imagine turning over her chair. It was almost possessive in a way. “For another, hospitality, as I said, only applies when it’s one home… not a public domain.” Her lips tilted once more as she rose one shoulder delicately, a half shrug- a half ‘so what’ kind of gesture. The fact that his handshake had been solid didn’t harm him either. And the electric feeling? She was slowly starting to identify it as attraction. Not something she was terribly versed at herself. She was fleetingly attracted to other people in a not-so-forward way. She could appreciate beauty in the human body like anyone else. Attraction itself on a cellular level wasn’t something that happened often though. Once in school, and Sam had been so gay nothing more than the occasional makeout session had been borne of it, and Ashton… well Ashton had been recently and while she didn’t regret it the lasting after effects of a one night stand was not something she enjoyed over much. The electricity was different though. With Sam it had been like a slow burning flame, comfortable and never overreaching. With Ashton it had been like a flash fire, instantaneous and burning, but over soon. She was sure embers would still spark, but something told her it would never go beyond that one drunken night again. With Robert it was comfortable, but not in the way Sam had been… and it was electric, something neither of the other two had been, almost a shock, an undercurrent that was running through her veins. Then again maybe she was imagining it all, it wouldn’t be the first time her imagination had run away with her.

Her brows drew together at his comment, the smile leaving her face as well as she tried to discern unsuccessfully what he was talking about. Shit- if he were someone that her grandmother had done wrong then she was just—her thought process was cut off instantly as he announced his surname, her eyebrows shooting up as far as they could on her forehead. O’Conner. Of course, one of the few Irish pureblood families around here, and in close connection with her own. But Robert O’Conner. She hadn’t seen him since… well since he was eleven or twelve at least. His mother had just up and shipped him to some pureblood special academy because of his ‘prodigious’ leanings, and when they came to any of the events after that he was always away. She doubted he’d ever even been home much with how much that school had required of him. And after graduation? Her face was still frozen in shock as he leaned forward, his hand connecting with her knee and forcing the electric current to center, zapping somewhat of a reaction into her. “Roberto?” Half question half statement and she found herself laughing with him this time, her fingers going to splay across her lips in a surprised fashion. “Jesus. You’re supposed to be dead!” As her brain caught up with her actions she felt herself slapping his hand, her eyes drawing into a kind of narrowed amusement mixed with irritation. “Or married to some muggle hooker that your mother disowned you for after you finally graduated that preppy school. I can’t remember, but you should be dead.” She was still smiling, still amused, though the undercurrent of irritation was clear. “You don’t visit, you don’t write… refuse every invitation sent your way by all of the families! Up and disappear out of any sort of …well anything!” Her brain was already scrambling to come up with an explanation. Maybe he was married, three kids, to the hooker muggle… beneath him surely, but she found herself scanning his left hand anyways relieved to find it was devoid of any gold band. “What have you managed to do with yourself these past few years?”

[Robert O'Conner]

TONIGHT, WE ARE YOUNG

[/font]
we can burn brighter, than the sun
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/center]
Somewhere between the time that he had pulled her hair, and put the book back into it's resting place he had managed to lose his cup of coffee. He didn't even remember putting it down, or even recall where it could be. Was he willing to leave this newfound sanctuary and go looking for it? Not in the least. He did know that at the time he had been so excited about the prospect of finding a secret clubhouse that anything was possible and the probability of him finding that styrofoam cup again before the contents were too cold to enjoy were slim to none. He was just going to have to be resigned to the fact he was going to be coffeeless until much later in the evening. Although, for her company it seemed like a fitting exchange. He shifted in his chair so that he was sitting on the front half of the cushion with his feet about a foot apart, bending his torso forward he rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together, bringing them in front of his face, cupping his chin in his palms. There was something mesmerizing about her eyes, something about the green depths that he just couldn't place, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to because as soon as he did, the excuse for staring at her was going to be gone. Of course he couldn't see it, but there was a twinkle in his eye like he knew something special that he wasn't ready to share yet. “Not selfish exactly, an almost stranger may not have the same idea of comfort as I do for one.” He felt his head shake, the short curls on his head shifting slightly as he did so. "I don't buy it" He grinned wolfishly "Comfort is universal, yer just making up excuses now" He had no problems with calling her out on anything that he felt nessecary, even if they didn't know each other well enough to be this comfortable. “For another, hospitality, as I said, only applies when it’s one home… not a public domain.” His eyes narrowed, he glanced around the small space, he never would have found this place if her hair hadn't given her away. He doubted that there had ever been a circumstance where she had come here and found anybody already reading here. He was willing to bet that this was her place and she was just attempting to shift responsibility away from herself. Then again, if she wasn't willing to claim this place, he was. It was a wonderfully well kept little area with just enough light to be cozy.

The look of surprise on her face as sudden recognition finally took root in her mind was amusing. He felt himself smile far more wide than the situation really called for. He couldn't help but wonder which memories were playing her her mind. Now that he knew today was not the first time that he had been pulling on her raven locks he wanted to know if she was recalling the very same thing. He had spent a good portion of his youth with her. Well, not her in particular but with her family and her very powerful grandmother. Such was the way of pure blooded familys, though they hailed from different continents and vastly different cultures they had been more or less raised together. That was of course, until his mother had deemed him less worthy than a house elf in her eyes. Her expression was curious, so if she wasn't recalling how horribly he had treated her in their youth, he wanted to know what it was that his mother had told her family, she looked like she was looking at a ghost, real surprise there. “Roberto?” If he had been standing, he would have bowed in aknowledgement to her little nick name for him. Why she had put an italian spin on his name he had never really understood but since she had been the only one to ever do so he hadn't ever complained. “Jesus. You’re supposed to be dead!” Now it was his turn to be shocked, his breath choked in his throat and he sputtered. "Dead?" He wouldn't put it past his dear old mum. She would have said anything to save the family name from such dishonor as having a son like him, the eldest male too. It was the worst kind of shame in her eyes. He had hoped that Micha was just exagerating, but from the look in her eyes there was a glimmer of truth to it. There was something else though, something that he couldn't quiet understand “Or married to some muggle hooker that your mother disowned you for after you finally graduated that preppy school. I can’t remember, but you should be dead.” "Hooker?" His accent spun the long o sounds in the word and he couldn't stop from laughing. No, although it wasn't a bad story. He was proud of the life that he had made for himself but that would have been just as fulfilling he supposed. At least then he wouldn't have to work.

“You don’t visit, you don’t write… refuse every invitation sent your way by all of the families! Up and disappear out of any sort of …well anything!” At her words, his faced darkened for the first time since their reunion. He didn't like to talk about things of a serious nature and whenever it came to his family it was all very serious. Was she really upset? With him? She had no reason to be, it wasn't his choice to leave all of his friends and family behind and it certainly wasn't his choice to be forced to live in a world that he didn't understand with people that he had never met. He had heard of course of the blacked out limbs on every pure blood's family tree but he had always assumed they were just horror stories to keep the children in line...until he became one of those blacked out faces. is hands rubbed together, wondering where he could possibly start and actually make sense to her. "Is that what she told ye?" Lowering his hands until they were dangling out in front of him he slouched back into his chair, his arms moving limply whereever his shoulders dragged them. He could only imagine the sort of lies that posionous woman had spread about him, what sort of rubbish she had said just so that she could feel better about herself. “What have you managed to do with yourself these past few years?” Since he was already leaning back he fished into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a shiny badge with a firm leather backing. Exhaling onto it he rubbed the golden surface against his chest so that the fabric of his shirt could polish the words on the badge. Moving again held the badge with his job title out to her. The words 'Head Magistrate' were engraved into the metal. Why he felt like she was going to need proof he wasn't really certain, but he felt like he should show her anyway. He was proud of his job, and while it was a muggle position and was going to seem a little strange to her, if she even recognized the title at all.

He had climbed up the career ladder very slowly it seemed like, at least to him but he was finally the equivilent to chief of police for all of Vienna, of course it was just muggles and it was a lot of legwork but he loved his job. The job title that he had with the ministry was more interesting, and it enabled him to come 'home' but the work he did with the police force made him proud. Doing things the muggle way just gave him a sense of accomplishment that he couldn't get anywhere else. Granted he was still considered very young to hold such an important position, as ironic as he found it more than one of his coworkers had accused him of bewitching his way to the top. Putting on a smile as he studied her reactions to seeing his badge he waited. "Why don't ya tell me what you heard and I can fill in the blanks from there?" It was just going to be the easiest way to start. Plus, this tale was bound to be interesting. "Start with the preppy school? What school exactly did I attend?"

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Tags: Michkayela
Words: 1,478
Wearing:This
Notes: None, you're awesome.[/blockquote][/size]

[Michkayela Drakonas]

[x][x]
Do you love your guns? ^yeah
God? ^yeah
Government? ^{fuck yeah!}

There seemed to be a reoccurring pattern concerning her alone time, one she wasn’t sure how she felt about. Regardless of when she left or where it was that she took herself to it seemed that someone always managed to find her these days. Given the fact that she, when not on business, was used to spending the majority of her time alone it was something that she was beginning to find both disconcerting and more than a little odd. Even this place that she had found seven odd years ago and never once come across another person in was now playing host to two living, breathing bodies. The fact that she hadn’t alerted him to her presence or shown anyone the area itself only furthered the statistical impossibility of him stumbling across it. As far as she knew she was the only person to inhabit it on a regular occurrence, actually she’d never found any physical evidence that anyone else had been in there… ever. It was always the same, every time she came, no matter where or what she’d left within the alcove it was always in the same spot. And yet this curiously pollyannaish character had stumbled upon her here, and she had given him the directions in. Something she wasn’t regretting yet, but there was the question of whether she would later or not niggling at the back of her mind, wriggling its way slowly towards the forefront. He had such child-like enthusiasm, such utter faith in the fact that he would be well received that it was hard to do anything but though. He was charismatic, she would give him that, words that should have irritated or at least bothered her doing nothing more than starting a familiar cadence, another thing she wasn’t sure she was okay with. Who was he to just appear like this anyways? There was no way someone could be this optimistic, this friendly all the time. And it couldn’t be pawned off on the fact that she was Irish, she knew other Irish people and they could be just as surly of a lot as the rest of the world. Which meant that either he was putting on a show or he was just … this… happy? She tilted her head slightly at the mischievous glint that was dancing through his green eyes, her eyebrows raising just slightly at his skepticism. Even before he was done uttering his disbelief at her reasoning she found herself further justifying it in her head, refusing to just give in. It wasn’t even that it bothered her or that she found it particularly important- she just had this undeniable urge to correct him, unable to just let the subject fade inconsequentially into the background. “Universal?” It was her turn to be skeptical, her head shaking back and forth in two definitive movements. “There are entire cultures that don’t make use of chairs, some that find them altogether uncomfortable as a furniture piece entirely.” Something that she was familiar enough with from her extensive travelling. There was a client family in Persia that considered it rude for their guests not to longue with them on the floor mats that were provided in the familial part of the estate, a defiance of their hospitality. This man was so unusual she was having some difficulty tearing her eyes away from his form, watching as he glanced at the enclosing around them, wondering what was going through his head. This wasn’t her house, she hadn’t been lying. She more than considered it her space, but it was still public domain, still not directly hers in any proprietary sense. But then she wondered if that mattered to him, when he seemed so unconcerned with the polite, political way of going about things. He didn’t seem to observe any of the societal rules that she had come to see as the norm, other than their brief handshake a bit earlier, he was just… seemingly completely unaware of their observances.

Of course once he was explaining who it was that he really was it was making some sort of sense within her mind, even if she couldn’t completely acknowledge it. Robert O’Conner. Of course he wasn’t dead, that was something she’d never truly accepted, something she couldn’t wrap her mind around at the time that they had started those rumors. Her brain was at such a standstill she was having issues responding the way she should have. There was some of the boy she had grown up with coloring this man’s features, the same mischievousness she had found so remarkable earlier reminiscent of a younger him, the eyes and the familiarity behind them so very obvious. And yet still she couldn’t completely grasp that it was Roberto, the same Roberto that she’d grown up with those many years ago sitting in front of her. He’d been a bit older than her but with the family that he hailed from it was no surprise that she had been so close to him back in the day in a matter of speaking. Their mother’s had been best friends, their children bundled off together when one of their drunken adventures begged to be embarked upon, forced to coexist in some sort of manner. The fact that Robert had been a bit closer to her older sister Fawn’s age hadn’t stopped he and Micha from ending up together more often than not though. Fawn wasn’t terribly interested in anything other than herself, preferring to spend her time locked away in her own room in those days, and Micha had been left to fend off Robert’s teasing herself. Her hand rose idly to the area he had tugged on her hair earlier, fingers brushing the locks with a look of confusion painting her features. Of course she wouldn’t have been able to recognize him just off of the fact that he tugged on her hair, it wasn’t like that was the most prominent memory of him that she had, although it was the most often reoccurring. But he had left after his first year, disappeared from her life completely. Her eyebrows drew suddenly together as the memories assaulted her completely, the shock of finding her parents dead coupled with the harsh words in the letters she had received from him in return bringing a light flush to her cheekbones. They had been friends once upon a time, even if she had been annoyed with his constant jesting and teasing, they were together so much it had been only natural, and they had had all sorts of things to get up to and into back in the day. Her hand jerked down from her hair in a sudden movement, her features going almost completely still. Of course that’s why he had left, he had gone off to some prodigy school, and when she had tried to contact him he had written back to tell her that he no longer wanted her in his life. And why not? He was better than her after all now- obviously. Her muscles tensed upon her chair and she found herself swinging her legs off of their perch, pushing her body back into the corner of the chair, her arms pulling her legs to her chest and hugging them there, hands clasped loosely around her tense arms. She let her chin lower slowly to the tops of her knees, her eyes going back to his as she nodded once, almost dismissively. “Yes. Dead. Or a hooker. I don’t really remember all of the rumors.” Fuck him and his Irish accent. “Wasn’t all that important anyways.” She lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug, her eyes going back to his somewhat accusingly. It wasn’t like she hadn’t written him some odd number of ten or so letters trying to find out herself even after the fact.


She refused to feel bad about the fact that he seemed to be angry at her explanations, refused to care that his good mood seemed to have diminished somewhat. Good riddance. If you disappeared off the map you couldn’t expect the rumors not to abound like that, and you certainly had no right feel like it was unjustified of someone to tell you it back verbatim. That’s all she was doing after all, it wasn’t like she actually cared. She twisted her lips into some semblance of a sociable smile, all the easy relaxation from earlier disappeared from her posture, the friendly greeting she’d given him a distant memory. “By she I’m assuming you mean my grandmother or you mother. The last I heard from your mother was that you’d gone off to some prodigy school.” The last she’d heard from her grandmother was to dismiss him from her mind. That had been just before she’d written the letter her seventh year to try and find out what had really happened to him. And after it came back with the biting response in it she had been forced to admit that her grandmother was probably right. It would have been best to dismiss him then. He had been ‘too busy’ for their friendship when he had first left. She couldn’t even remember what had possessed her to write him again in her seventh year, why it had been so important for her to know the truth behind the rumors. But the letter she’d received in return had been enough to stop any such foolishness after. It had been even more cold and impersonal than the last two she had gotten back. “Our friendship was juvenile, I don’t have time for somebody like you.” The parting line had stuck with her, she felt the urge to spit it back in his face now, repeat the shit that he had sent to her now, though she doubted that he would even remember the exact wording he’d used. Her fingers dug into her arms slightly as she repressed the urge to remind him, or say something. But it didn’t matter, not really. Her pride had just been a bit dented, that was all. And she didn’t give a fuck that it sounded off in her own mind, obviously she was just getting the wording wrong somehow. She watched as he moved once more in the chair he was seated, her eyebrows going somewhat sarcastically up as he pulled a badge out. What? He had to show her that his prodigy school had paid off and there was a reason for the snobbery that he’d pushed through? She almost refused to read the words that were engraved upon it, the childish urge to ignore him tearing at the back of her mind. Which was silly. She could appreciate that he’d gotten something out of life with the witch he had for a mother, and she didn’t mean literally. So she let her eyes run slowly over the lettering, her eyebrows drawing together tightly as she ran back over it. “But that can’t be right.” She couldn’t help it as her thoughts slipped out through her lips. Because he wasn’t a muggle. She had grown up with him.

She let her eyes run over the badge once or twice more for good measure before looking back to him again. “You aren’t a muggle.” She said it definitively, the curse that should have been the word not even present. But he wasn’t a wizard. Because wizards didn’t hold that title. Which left very little wriggle room between. He couldn’t be any other race, his mother hadn’t been the one with fidelity problems. Her eyebrows knitted further together as her brain raced towards the conclusion that she wasn’t sure she could acknowledge just yet. Because if he wasn’t a muggle and he wasn’t a wizard that left only one thing with the family he had. “I don’t remember.” She answered his question somewhat distractedly, her eyes not even on his form anymore as her teeth worried her lower lip as she continued trying to piece the puzzle together. “You had tutors or something because you were so special,” the last word managed to have some venom in it even as she made a dismissive gesture with her hand before letting it go back to her arm, her gaze returning even more slowly to him.

Squib.

The word that had been jumping around inside her brain finally made headway, her eyes still slightly narrowed as she took her companion in. That would make him a squib. Her eyes ran over his figure quickly as if to dismiss the claim, doing a quick inventory of his person, looking for the telltale shape that was so obviously a wand. Her own was tucked into the right front pocket of her jeans. His was nowhere to be seen. His wand could be in his back pocket of course, but no wizard actually left it there when sitting, especially after the movements he’d been making between the chairs. So his mother had sent him to a prodigy muggle school? Squib school? She almost shook her head. Of course if he had decided that wizards were somehow inferior… which made no kind of sense, even if it did explain the tones of his letters. Or maybe he’d just been pissed off that she wasn’t one. “Is that why your letters were so antagonistic?” She couldn’t help the question, her brain berating her instantly as the words left her mouth, her lips shutting in a fine line as she realized her mistake. Fuck. “I mean. Did you think you were better than me because you managed to get out of the circle?” The circle from hell. She let her chin lift a notch, the daring glint in her eye the only hint to the anger she was holding out of her voice as much as possible, the unidentifiable emotion niggling at the back of her brain pushed aside once more.

[/right]

[Robert O'Conner]

TONIGHT, WE ARE YOUNG

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we can burn brighter, than the sun
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Something about her gait changed, she was acting different. Was she just remembering things? Had he been wrong whenever he thought about them having been friends once upon a time? Of course he had teased her, of course he had been a little cruel but it had always been in that playground childhood innocence. Surely she was smart enough to have realized that. All he could recall was pinning her down and tickling at her sides until she couldn't breath, calling her nick names that she couldn't stand with lavish enthusiasm and tugging on her hair, hiding all of her favorite things for a ransom. Was she thinking back on him with bitterness, was there some sort of life changing event that he had done to her that he had blacked out for whatever reason? If he wasn't mistaken, she was starting to get overly defensive whenever all he did was to inquire as to what his mother had told her about his absence. Of course he had heard rumors from what his brothers had told him, but nothing as extravagant as the tales that Mickey was telling him now. Of course he had always regretted not having any of his former friends in his life, but his mother had done such a thorough job of cutting him off from the world, even keeping his brothers from seeing him for a long time. She was so efficient in her web of intricately placed lies that nothing fell through the cracks. He could remember that at one point, he had tried to relay his condolences over the death of her parents a little over a year after he had been kicked out but his mother had assured her that any words from him wouldn't have been welcome. He had been hurt, but had accepted that no doubt his little Mickey didn't want to hear from somebody so obviously beneath her. What he wouldn't give to see inside of her head and know her every thought on the matter. If she rejected him now without any insight, there was a very good change that he was going to go a little mad. He knew whenever he started to come back into the wizarding world that he was going to be setting himself up for something, but he had just expected it to be later rather than sooner.

Her body, which had seemed fairly relaxed with the way that it had been sprawled out over the chair and at ease with her book, suddenly inverted. Her knees brought to her chest and she effectively closed him off. No doubt his face reflected the surprise and hurt that he felt by even such a simple action on her part. She wasn't very really going to force him to leave at this very moment, he didn't know anything about the woman that she had become, and that was going to bother him. He had cared so deeply for her once upon a time. “Yes. Dead. Or a hooker. I don’t really remember all of the rumors.” He felt himself recoil internally at her brusk tone. Like a rubber band snapping into place after being stretched too far. Her next words felt like a slap across his face. “Wasn’t all that important anyways.” How could she treat him so? Did she know and no longer wanted to talk to him, or was she in the dark about the shame that he had brought to his family's name and had some other cause to be so cold. He shifted in his seat to distance himself from her, turning his knees away from her body so that he wouldn't risk offending her with his proximity. Did she really think that he would have died and his mother not put on some giant affair to show off how badly she was grieving over the loss of her 'perfect' (because in death all sins are erased) son and how horribly this was making her feel. In other words a giant funeral and wake in order to show off herself and make everybody give her even more attention than they normally did to validate her on how 'good' of a mother she felt like she was. She could pretend for the rest of the world but he knew her for what she really was. Just a selfish cow. He would never be able to see the person who gave birth to him as anything but.

Thinking about her only made him angry, and at this point he was desperate to think of anything else but her and her miserable pale face. Besides, for all he knew, Micha and her whole family still went on vacations and outings with his family despite whatever lies were spread about him. She might have a very fond outlook on his mother and he didn't need another thing to be angry with him about. Serious topics had a tendency to make him feel uncomfortable. Not because he didn't want to answer the questions that Mickey was spitting in his face, but because he didn't like to talk about that part of his life. He would have much preferred to keep their reunion light hearted and pleasant but it didn't seem to be in the cards for them after all. He could try to fight it, he could try to avoid her words and try to change the subject but knowing her like he felt like he did, it would only serve to piss her off. No doubt the woman in front of him thought that by putting on such a fake smile she was only being kind, but he took offense to it. Something that didn't happen very often to him. He was suddenly wishing that he had gone straight home and to bed after his meeting had finished. How had he ever thought that anything good could come of his exploring in a place that obviously didn't want him. “By she I’m assuming you mean my grandmother or you mother. The last I heard from your mother was that you’d gone off to some prodigy school.” Once again her words left him sputtering. He repeated the last few words that she had just said softly under his breath, utter disbelief in both his tone and expression. Prodigy school? She was really so ashamed of him that she had to pretend that he was something that he wasn't. He would have rather she told everybody that he was dead. Then he wouldn't be forced to live down this horrible lie. There was no telling just how many people thought that he was some stuck up recluse with a stick shoved so far up his arse that he spat wood.

He was more than a little anxious to see how she was going to react to learning what it was that he was. He had gotten such a wide variety of responses from muted acceptance to the more obvious refusal to admit the truth and kicked him to the curb. A small part of him expected her to react in the exact same issue. He wanted to think that she was still the spirited young woman that he had grown up with, but time changes everybody. No doubt her pure blooded starchy family had sunk their hooks into her and her brainwashing was complete. No doubt she would shun him for what he was. He was already gearing himself up for the initial disappointment that he always felt whenever people used snap judgement to instantly see him as scum. Because in the eyes of most wizarding folk, Squibs were the lowest of the low, lower than the muggles and mudbloods, the bottom of the food chain and then some. “But that can’t be right.” A sigh left his lips at the honest look of surprise on her face. He hadn't realized that he had been holding his breath. He also hadn't realized that he had been making his hands into fists, waiting to prove something to her that he knew that he shouldn't have to. He accepted the badge back with shaking hands whenever it was offered to him. Shifting just enough to stuff it back into his pocket he turned his gaze eagerly back to her. She was easy enough to look at, but it was something else. For some unexplainable reason, he craved her approval in a way that he had never wanted validation from anybody else before. “You aren’t a muggle.” "No" he said softly, she was taking a little longer to put the pieces together, and he hoped against hope that he wasn't going to have to say the actual word. From his upbringing he still couldn't manage to say the word without spitting it out, even though it was just a part of who he was.

“I don’t remember. You had tutors or something because you were so special,” Her words still had bite, no doubt that she was bitter. Sure, he was special alright but not in a good way. She had to know that by now. He could almost see the light blub ignite over her brain, like she had been fighting the truth but it had pushed it's way out. He could see it in the way that her eyes snapped up to look at him, but he wasn't sure what the motivation behind her actions were. She needed to say something, soon, or he was going to scream. Her eyes were running along his body, and he couldn't help but sit a little straighter to let her eyes have free reign, he had nothing to be bashful about, he was very proud of his figure. “Is that why your letters were so antagonistic?” She just kept throwing him for loop after loop, once again he was bewildered. His eyebrows knitted and his lips parted in confusion. So far the rest of her accusations he had been able to trace to a source of some kind in his head but this one, was something he couldn't even begin to fathom. Had she written him? He had never gotten any such letter much less replied to them. Surely his mother wouldn't have..."Letters?" he inquired, honestly puzzled. “I mean. Did you think you were better than me because you managed to get out of the circle?” And there was yet another curve ball. By circle he just had to assume that she meant the pure blooded circle. He shook his head softly, pulling the scarf from around his neck while he did so and knotting it around his hands. He needed something to do or he was going to start pacing and there simply wasn't enough space in this little hidey hole. "I didn't 'get out' of anything Mickey" her nick name slipped through his words without even thinking about it, if it bothered her he didn't have time to take notice. He was so beyond confused and his eyes weren't even seeing her any longer, they were scanning the floor in mindless lines while he attempted to make any semblance of sense of her words.

"I was kicked out, surely ye had to know that" his eyes finally slowing in their frantic searching, he lifted them to hers. Filled with a sorrow about the topic that he didn't even know he still had. He had just assumed that since it was so long ago that he had fully come to terms with it. Then again, blotting something out for so many years was never a good sign. "At twelve Mickey, she kicked me out on the street" his tone was soul wrenchingly honest. He wasn't looking for her sympathy, he didn't need it but he did need her to know the truth from his own lips. Hear it, and know for herself that he never in a million years would have lied to her. It wasn't who he was then, and it certainly wasn't who he was now. "I dun know anythin' about any letters, I swear on my badge" it was the only thing of worth that he could prove to her that he actually owned. Whenever he had very first shown it to her, she had to of seen the look of pride on his face, he was counting on it.

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Tags: Michkayela
Words: 2,080
Wearing:This
Notes: None, you're awesome.[/blockquote][/size]

[Michkayela Drakonas]

[x][x]
I got love songs in my head
Killing us away

The feeling that was burning through her blood right now was completely foreign; cloying and consuming at the same time. It didn’t matter how many oxymorons her brain came up with the disillusion it all, the emotion was so very present that it was sickening; clawing its way up the back of her throat and threatening to suffocate her. She didn’t have a name for it though; it was something that was rarely present in her life. On one hand she could tally the times that it had come to pass through her system, and each time it had been fleeting enough that she could continue to ignore it. It had been years since that last dose though, years since she had even wondered what it was that had her chest constricting upon itself as if it were wrapped in a too tight vice. Her fingers ran up to her throat distractedly, running over the muscles beneath lightly as if to remove the invisible obstruction hidden there. The memories weren’t helping any with it; each passing flash that ran through her mind’s eye was only intensifying the mysterious ailment within her. Like ghosts of the past she could feel the phantom brush of fingertips over her ribs, the tug of a fist playfully in her hair, the blush of lips over her own. Unbidden that memory rushed to the forefront and the fingers that were still hovering over the skin of her throat danced quickly to her lips, pressing into the skin beneath as if to capture the memory more fully. She had been so young, but first kisses weren’t supposed to be something one forgot. It had just been one of his prices, demands- for her book that evening. The gardens had been in full bloom and it had been barely more than a brush of skin, but it had been her first and he had been the one to give it. It wasn’t something that held a whole deal of importance, but the memory made the clawing that much more intense and she felt her eyes staring at him almost accusingly. No, she knew she was looking at him accusingly. Just like she knew she was being defensive. She wasn’t a liar and she refused to start being one now over this situation. She had a right to certain defensiveness though, and even if she couldn’t identify all the factors there had to be some explanation in the form of her age back when all of this had occurred. Those were crucial years, and though she functioned just fine after the whole affair it was sure to leave some kind of scarring behind- however small it may be. Something was sitting wrong with her though and she knew that she was taking it out in part on him.

But she didn’t like not understanding things.

And what she didn’t understand right now was within her, which made it all the worse. She didn’t understand her reaction to meeting up with him again after all this time, or the alien emotion that had welled within her so suddenly and taken root- or found roots as the case may be. She didn’t like not being able to pinpoint everything right off the start, or having to search frantically for some way to regain her footing. It was unnerving, and yet there he sat looking hurt, like she had been the one to disappear off of the face of the earth without any kind of rhyme or reason behind it. Micha didn’t have friends; not really, he had been the only one that she had been around on that constant of a basis. Others were there frequently for the pureblood rituals and observances, but Roberto and his family had been over much more often than all of that. And he had been easy to be around, even back then, the cloaks and masks the others disguised themselves in completely absent from his personality. She had dealt with his teasing and his mischief in turn and come to expect them. The age difference hadn’t mattered all that much when in such close confines. So of course it had been a strange transition from what they had been to… nothing. Of course it had left her reeling, so close to the demise of her parents. There had been so many changes then- from moving into her grandmother’s estate, the start of her Galaxia career, the intensified grooming… It was only natural that a little girl would be a bit hurt. Hurt… The word resonated through her brain with a sudden clarity, the definition in evidence of her ‘alien emotion’, her expression going from justified to confused within a matter of seconds, breath catching within the confines of her chest. The vice was still present, gripping her stilled breath harder, and it was all she could do not to say the word allowed. Hurt. Why was the word so hard to grasp. And why would the remnants of a childhood ache spill over into this situation. She was a woman grown now, no longer prepubescent and grasping. She had lived going on twenty years and some odd months, traveled the world. She had taken on the responsibilities befitting someone thrice her age. Girlhood hurts had no room within her body. And yet they had taken hold, rebounded, grown. It was even more startling to come to the conclusion that she was hurting now over it.

The confusion of his birthright was secondary, barely registering as she dealt with the emotions that had taken precedence. Had she been hurt at being left? The complete reasons for it all were blurred by time and experience, though it did nothing to lessen the emotions that had been borne of them. So he was a squib. That didn’t answer why he had never contacted her. While it was true she found that… well shocking wasn’t the right word for it. It wasn’t something she had ever given much thought to herself. Squibs existed, just as the merpeople, giant squids, and various enlivened dangerous plants beneath the ocean’s surface. They didn’t intersect with her world so they didn’t exactly have a defined place. The revulsion she had expected to feel wasn’t there though, there was nothing more than an idle curiosity and some form of profound sadness on his part. To live without magic was impossible to comprehend, it was her life. In so many different ways. Her eyes ran over his visage more slowly this time, looking for some kind of sign, some clue to his ailment… but he looked just the same as he had moments before- save for the frown lines creasing his forehead and mouth. She could hear the rhetoric of the society she was placed telling her to walk away now, repeating the things she had heard so many times about people like him. No better than muggles. But muggles were ignorant. They couldn’t open their eyes to see what was right in front of them, couldn’t accept it even when given the clearest proof. They were a weak stock, which was what was to be looked down upon. The specimen before her had been born of generations of strong, able wizards. His intelligence was not the average sort, nor was he ignorant of what it was that she was herself. The boy in front of her had been raised the same as she had been, and she found her hand leaving her facial area, almost reaching out as if to touch him before falling back quickly to her lap, fingers digging into the denim beneath. His voice had her reacting in ways she hadn’t anticipated, the raw emotion behind it fueling the monster residing within her. She fought the urge to lash back out again; it wasn’t even at him it was directed anymore.

And suddenly there was a whole different kind of hurt that took place inside her, sudden and bright like a firecracker. Because who else would have known what he was besides his family? Who made it their business to know everything? Who made sure to reinforce the carefully compounded falsehoods his mother had deigned to lace together? Her chest heaved with a slow breath, her body coiling in upon itself internally. Betrayal. From certain members of her family it was expected. From Kariana it was a daily thing to look for- did Robert even remember Kariana? The thought came unasked into her brain, she had been so little when he had still been coming around. Betrayal was something she had been groomed to sniff out, to watch for. An ever present foe that was not to be taken lightly. And it was obvious why as the emotion swirled within her, blinding her to all that was before her. Her grandmother wasn’t her bestfriend, there was no excess amount of affection placed between them and yet she had been her staunchest supporter. Her grandmother had raised her the majority of her life, had taken her in, was leaving her her namesake. The Great Lady was a spider in many ways, she wove her webs and placed her nets carefully. Never had Micha pictured herself within one though, never had she had to look for them. It made her question every order she’d been given.

The revelation took only a matter of moments, a bare few seconds, yet it was like the whole world had changed while she struggled internally. She pushed her grandmother to the back of her mind, unable to cope with both sets of hurt and their subsequent reactions simultaneously. “Letters, yes.” Her voice sounded raw to her own ears as she answered him in turn, clearing her throat lightly before continuing on. “The letters I received in response to the ones I sent off to you.” The accusation from before was nowhere near as concentrated, though still hovering there, a question behind it now where before there had been none. She had dimly registered the use of the atrocity he had once called her earlier, and she found herself flinching as she recalled it once more. She hadn’t known anything- the clarity of that was forced into her own eyes now. Not anything that she had thought she had anyways. She let her hands run savagely over her face, her legs falling from her chest defeated as she pressed her palms into the flesh of her cheeks, cheekbones biting the bones beneath her hands’ padding. A sigh ripped forth from her lips as she leant forward, her elbows resting on her knees and her body bowed forwards. Her spine relished in the curve it had created, the bones stretching away from the tension beneath, relaxing some as she reached out idly, plucking a piece of lint from the knee of his jeans. She didn’t know how to respond to the pain in his voice and the conflicting emotions that were fighting within her were giving her a headache. She brought her hands completely off of her face then, arching her neck to look back to him as her body sat somewhat straighter to see him more fully again, still on the edge of her seat as she reached one hand out. Her fingers found purchase of the scarf as she pulled it slowly from his grip, bringing it back to rest on her knees as she looked at his hands, her brows furrowed. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes just yet, nor even look up past his neck. So instead she traced the veins and muscles within his hands, noting the tension beneath the bronzed skin. The hand that had taken the scarf left the fabric on her knees once more, her other hand following suit this time to grab one of his. Not forcefully or demanding, but pulling it out away from his own body, holding it up and spreading the fingers, her eyes looking as if she were solving some complex puzzle. Both her hands seemed dwarfed next to his, the size difference registering somewhere in the back of her mind. When she had positioned it palm out and fingers straight she put her hand up next to his, better judgment of the differences coming into stark contrast. She nodded as if satisfying something within her own mind before sliding her hand upwards, her fingers sliding between the empty spaces and curling down upon the back of his hand, her other hand falling away back to her own space as she relaxed her palm into his.

“No, I didn’t.” She didn’t know what else to say, or what the hell she was doing and it left her feeling bereft, like all the anger had been sucked from her. She hadn’t known fucking anything. The corner of her lips was pulled between her teeth as she worried it for a moment, feeling the sharpness of her incisors against the flesh before allowing it to pop back out, her eyes finally going to his. She believed him; she wasn’t sure why she wouldn’t have. She hadn’t even needed the promise on his badge; it was like a part of her had already accepted it before he had told her- which made no sense.

[Robert O'Conner]

TONIGHT, WE ARE YOUNG

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we can burn brighter, than the sun
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In all honesty, he had expected her to dwell a little more on the knowledge that he was a Squib rather than the letters that he knew nothing about. Then again, it wouldn't have been like her to dwell on something so trivial. He was her Roberto, and always would be. He was the one who liked to hold her drinks up so that she was forced to chug the whole thing or be covered in liquid, the one who liked to lift her skirts up just to ruffle her feathers, the same one who like that pin her against the wall and tickle her until she could no longer breath...or other things. His lips upturned into a small smile at the memories of the better parts of his childhood. She was in almost all of them, the good memories anyway. She wasn't in many of the bad ones, for whatever reason. Maybe she was and he had just blocked them out. It was nice to let his brain slip back into a time of boyhood innocence, where the best things in the world were bugs and mud and all girls had cooties. If he peered into Mickey's eyes long enough, he could almost do it. He could almost forget, and boy did he want to. He would give nothing to skip past all the awkward conversation and get straight to the part where they were playing tag like children again. He saw no shame in it, and she was the perfect one to do it with. Her hand reached out toward him, but hesitated mid grasp and she recoiled once more, subconsciously, he was forced to do the same thing. He could feel his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth, but his jaw remained clamped shut so that no sound came out to be obnoxious with. What was she going to touch him for? Perhaps she was, as he was, attempting to make sure that this was really happening, that she was really sitting in front of him right now. That they were really confessing things and reliving old hurts. Hurts that up until now he had been ignorant of. No doubt she was mentally putting the pieces together herself, jut as he was. He had half a mind to drive over to his mothers house and light her prized gardens on fire. She would be affected then. More so by that vindictive action than by actually having to answer to Robert himself. To her, he was nothing, but a reject that she was ashamed to have ever carried within her womb.

Thinking about that black snake caused his blood to boil, and he could sit still no longer. First, his leg started to bounce, making the hand that was resting against his face irritate his facial hair. Then he had to stand, and so he did, moving around to allow his hands free roam of the bookshelves and their contents. He wasn't focused enough to pull out any one title to browse, it was just to keep himself busy so that he didn't get himself too worked up over something that Mickey had no part in and didn't deserve any of his hostility from. Luckily, as he was moving about, he found his coffee cup from earlier resting on the shelf nearest the entrance of their little fort and picked it up carefully, he didn't know if the contents would still be warm since he had no way to tell how long he had been sitting here with her. Luckily, the cup was still luke warm to his touch, and he took a long, satisfying sip from it. It did the trick to calm his nerves, and this time he was careful not to misplace it. Bringing the Styrofoam cup back with him to his chair across from her, he was pleased to see that she seemed to be processing a little more than he was willing to. He still couldn't sit still while they were in the silence, but at least now he had something to focus his mental capacity on so that he wouldn't dare drift into thoughts of his mother and her viperous ways. Whatever was in these 'letters' that Mickey kept referring to, had no doubt been maliciously fabricated by the woman who had birthed him. Nobody else cared that much about him to go out of their way to be needlessly cruel. She had already taken everything from him, but had she needed to make him out to be some arrogant snob to those few who had liked him during his youth? It was just too much, he had always known that she would have covered him up, but the lengths that she had gone to carefully guard her reputation was absurd. “The letters I received in response to the ones I sent off to you.” What he wouldn't have given back then to have gotten letters from her. They would have been his saving Grace, something to make him feel less like a failure and more like a human. He was a strong man, but he had been so young. Her kind or even suspicious words would have been enough to keep him going. Something other than the determination to prove to himself that he wasn't as worthless as his mother thought that he was.

He wanted to read them, would it even be possible that she still had them? Unlikely since they apparently held something horrible that had offended her. Certainly she had burnt them, he shouldn't even ask. They had been apart for so long, and yet he couldn't help but find it amusing that he was already mimicking her action for action. Whenever she was tense, he couldn't help but to feel tense, with the underlying want to make her feel more at ease. In the past he had been able to do so usually at the expense of himself, by making jokes or poking at her ribs. Whenever she was angry, he got defensive, and now that she was folding in on himself, he felt himself doing the same thing. It made him nervous, that after all of this time it was just like stepping straight back into the past. He had always wanted to cheer her up, whenever their parents had decided to be gone for an extra night and they would go without supper, or whenever the other children got out of hand and her older sister would be of no help whatsoever they would have to play house and keep them in line. They had always been compatible, at the very least they were a very well oiled machine whenever it came to getting things done. He knew how to handle her disappointments, even if she did her damnedest to keep him from seeing it, he could keep her mind busy until she forgot about whatever it was that she was angry about. Usually it was one of their mothers or a sibling of some age, a neighbor or something else that children never should have been forced to deal with under any circumstances. Yet, in this instance he couldn't bring himself to even make eye contact with her. Even if his body was shifting in his seat each time hers was. His family was just about the only topic of conversation that he was wholly uncomfortable with. He was fairly comfortable talking on any other topic of conversation, and he was very liberal with his body, he had no qualms about being naked at the drop of a hat. He didn't mind discussing religion and state or the combinations of the two, to him that only 'hot button' issue was his personal issues with his mother. Unfortunately, her whole family was tied into his, and any mention of either lineage was bound to end up on the other. He should have just prepared himself the second he realized who it was that he was talking to. It was foolish of him to think this would have been a friendly reunion. He felt her fingers on his knee and looked up from the small opening on the black coffee lid where he had been staring this whole time. It was just a piece of lint, but the fact that she had willingly touched him was enough to ease his frazzled nerves.

She didn't think he was repulsive. He knew that she wasn't likely to be like the rest of the pure blooded elitist pricks in her family and his, but the touch confirmed it. She forgave him, she didn't have to say it, she just knew. He didn't ask to be this way, he just had to play with the hand that he had been dealt. As her body stretched, he too, rotated his neck from side to side, forcing a pop out of each side and smiled easily in her direction. He hadn't even realized how close that she had gotten until his scarf unlooped itself from his neck and moved into her small hands. There was a rush of hair to the previously protected back of his neck, and the small, fine hairs there stood on end from the rapid temperature change. He didn't mind, it wasn't like it was a particularly expensive scarf and she could do as she pleased with it. Whatever that was. The fact that she was touching him again said what her mouth could not. He understood the message well enough. He couldn't stop the half smile from snaking onto his lips as he watched her toil it around her fingers. She reached for him, and his body scooted to the edge of the chair with no notice to his brain. It was reflex to accommodate her. Her hands were warm as they touched his skin, no doubt far more coarse than any Wizard's hands. He had actually worked for a living, and worked hard. He was covered in hard callouses from labor and his skin was tanned from being in the sun and not a potion. His cloths were worn from work, and no matter how hard he tried he would always sweat, he didn't have potions to make him more handsome, the muscles he had were from hard work and effort, not idle gym exercise. Wizards simply didn't have the need to do the things that he was forced to do, they were never going to have to work on their kitchen pipes, or unclog a toilet. They wouldn't ever have to install light bulbs or wash dishes, nor mow their lawn to get water from a pump. He had worked a tractor and chased down suspects for miles, he had fired guns and cleaned up after himself. He had done all of those things, and his body reflected it.

He allowed his hands to be turned over in her hands, she had to be wondering when they had gotten so hard. He would have been. So, whenever she intertwined her fingers with his, his lips parted in surprise. The coffee cup was quickly moved to rest next to him in the chair so that his hands were free. He didn't say a word, because he wasn't certain of her motivations, he just let it be. “No, I didn’t.” Merlin his mother must have made it seem like he had never existed at all, no doubt the viper would have even tried to make Micha believe that her own memories were lying to her if given half a chance. He watched her bite at her lips, a habit that she had been doing her entire life and it was no less charming today. The same expression that she had gotten after he had given her, her very first kiss. Only, he didn't know that it was that at the time. He could clearly remember his motivations, and he had no intentions of sharing them with her. She really was the same person at heart, just like he was. He watched her expression change as slowly as it would, finding it difficult to tear his eyes from her face. “I'm sorry if me absence caused ye pain” his tone was soft, but that didn't make it any less true. She had always been kind to him despite their age difference. He wanted to hug her, and put chewing gum in her hair. Old habits died hard he supposed, but he did neither. Not just because he had a different kind of appreciation for her hair now that he was grown, at least he didn't think so. Giving her hand a comforting squeeze, he had to let it go, or he was going to pull her body closer to his, and that was a bit more forward than he wanted to be. Not to mention touching her hand was the most contact he had had with her in well over ten years now. Grasping onto his recovered coffee cup he scooted back for prosperity's sake, to keep himself in check. He didn't want to talk about family any longer, and being at a loss of words was something that he wasn't comfortable with. “So, tell me about that book there” he pointed at the one that had fallen to the side of her lap, distractions were better than nothing.

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Tags: Michkayela
Words: 2,225
Wearing:This
Notes: Sorry about this one, the ending totally fell apart.[/blockquote][/size]

[Michkayela Drakonas]

[x][x]
I got love songs in my head
Killing us away

She didn’t question how easily they fell back into their patterns with each other, or the fact that he knew what move she was making before she had even finished executing it. Like a mirror or a magnet, they moved instinctively to accommodate the other- the long buried instinct flaring up the moment she’d recognized who it was she was sitting with here in this alcove of hers. His hands fell easily into her own and she found herself looking down at them again rather than focusing on the matter at hand, or the responses that she had been unaccustomed with for so long. His hands had always been bigger than hers, if memory served right- he had been older than she so it was only natural. She didn’t remember them being that much bigger though, another thing that had obviously come with age. The creases and callouses that covered his hands were new, no longer the soft flesh of adolescence, these were hands used to wear. Her fingers ran inquisitively over each imperfection as she speculated what had caused it within the safety of her own mind. She had always been a firm believer that a person’s hands said a lot about the person, that they were a contextual clue as to what kind of person you were dealing with. Her own were small and fine boned, the skin was nowhere near as rough as her counterparts but there were several areas were the skin had been burned, leaving behind a rougher patch of skin than had been there previously, mostly on the pads of her fingers. Her grandmother had chastised her for them, and the set of scars on her right palm and thumb. She had called them evidence of her recklessness, a careless oversight over herself and repercussions. She liked to think of them as badges of honor though; the fire had just barely kissed her skin when she worked with it- just left her gentle reminders over time. Hers were hands used to gripping a broom regardless of weather and situation, flying had and always would be one of her favorite things on this earth. Her hands were by no means rough though, and the fact that his were left her theorizing as to how he had come about them. Hard work was obviously not something he had shied away from, nor did it seem that he had tried to cover it with spells or… her mind snapped her back to the present situation and she found herself amending her earlier thought process with lotions… lotions, no potions. Although who was to say that he didn’t have access to potions? Squibs weren’t muggles after all. Many of them lived amongst their families, though usually purebloods had some reason or another as to why they couldn’t work even the simplest of magic. She didn’t know the man sitting before her anymore, even if it felt like she did. Even if she knew the foundation of him, which was usually the last for someone to discover, she had no idea what his life was like now or where he could be coming from. She knew a job title and little else.

Surely though, with him being a … liaison of sorts, if that was even the correct term for it, it meant that he was a part of the world that his mother had tried to shut him out of at least. How big a part though? Her brain was racing as she tried to piece the puzzle together herself.

His words struck her across the face like a slap of reality and she felt herself instinctually pulling away internally. Pain. The word was just as foreign as its synonym. Physical pain she had no problem with, she had a high pain tolerance anyways. But this mental, emotional, bullshit was like dealing with ten of her grandmother. Forcing their way into her brain and prying it apart at the ragged edges. She sighed softly though, forcing herself not to lash out again, or recoil as it might have gone. She wasn’t one to run. It was like a mantra in her head now this ‘I’m not one to’, reminding herself of whom she was and what she wanted to be. Weakness was not to be tolerated. She nodded her head once, a twist of her lips her acknowledgement as she brought her face up again, rolling her eyes lightly as she tried to restore some sort of manageable atmosphere. “I’m sorry your mum’s such a bitch.” The curse fell off of her lips like a familiar route, one shoulder going up in a shrug as if to say ‘what can you do?’. She hadn’t been around his mother much since his disappearance, her grandmother only dealt with her out of necessity and obligation when it was called for. The memories were still fairly accessible though, and none of them painted her in a pretty light. As monstrous as her grandmother could be she was nowhere near what their mothers had been. Flighty. It was a word that The Great Lady used often to describe her deceased family. They had been flighty, neglectful, and cruel. The depths of their cruelty though hadn’t been too terribly clear to a younger Micha though. She supposed, in a way, the fact that she had known his entire family so well and not just Roberto that she had believed those letters. Because Merlin only knew that the woman had tried grooming others after herself and it was no big leap to assume that she had tried shaping her own blood after her. So when the letters had come as they had, reading as they did, somewhere in her mind she had connected that it sounded like she had finally succeeded, that Robert was taking after his mum. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it, the lengths they had gone through to keep two children apart. Over what? Not even blood. Over a physical characteristic. She shook her head slightly and shifted her weight more to the front of the chair.

She opened the fingers that had been curved between the gaps of his easily as he detangled his from her, removing the warmth that had centered in her palm. The confusion was muted though as she watched him sit back into his chair, her eyes falling on the cup that she had managed to miss earlier. Where he had magicked coffee from she had no idea, but there was no mistaking the aroma that assaulted her nose. Her stomach shifted in response and she made herself scoot back into her chair as well, pulling her legs up under her as she did so, her hand going to the scarf that had been resting on her knees and pulling it up further upon her lap, twisting the fabric through her fingers and pulling it back again. And since the movement was not unpleasing she repeated it, searching for something to do with her hands as she tried not to laugh about his inquiry. He wanted to talk about books. Well, she supposed it was better than nothing. “That book there is such an eloquent terminology for it Roberto.” The lightness was slowly seeping back into her words, some forced- but not in a terribly unpleasant way. “It’s a collection of stories actually. Fairy tales if you will, but … not the kind that you would expect a child to understand.” Her lips curled over the words, the genuine pleasure that she found within the bound pages seeping through into the conversation. The cover was black bound, ancient symbols carved into it. If anything many might assume it was a book on ancient runes, or something of the sort. They wouldn’t be too far off, but what lay within the paper pages of the cover were much more fantastical than all of that. It had been a rare find in the Puerto Rican province back alley magic shops and one of her favorites. The ‘short’ stories within were all somehow connected though, and each chapter took a good several hundred pages. Her lips stretched a bit more as she let her shoulder fall once more in some sort of shrug. “They’re uh.. a bit darker?” She didn’t know how to explain the ecstasy within the book to him nor was she sure he would even appreciate it. “You could always read it yourself sometime.” An offhand suggestion that she wasn’t sure how she had arrived at.

Her eyes rested once more on the coffee cup in his hands and did her own pointing, raising an eyebrow. “How about that, what kind of coffee is that?” If they were going to be questioning belongings as such it was the only thing that she could see that he had brought with him. Once more memories of him holding her things hostage ran through her mind’s eye and she found herself tempted to do the same. Only if she got her hands on that coffee cup she wouldn’t be ransoming it for any amount of money. Her lips tilted as she felt the brush of fabric pass through her fingers again, her eyes going down to look at the black clothing piece. She tilted her head as she looked back up again, halting her perusal of the scarf and holding it up slightly. “Are you going to be wanting this back?” The question passed her lips before she could think the situation completely through, her eyebrow arching delicately over one eye as she smiled slowly.


[[So, so short. Sorry. BUT I think it should be easier to reply to?]]

[Robert O'Conner]

TONIGHT, WE ARE YOUNG

[/font]
we can burn brighter, than the sun
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/center]“I’m sorry your mum’s such a bitch.” He smiled slowly, not sure if she was trying to lighten the mood, or just stating a fact. It was possible that she wasn't sorry in the slightest and was just saying so out of courtesy...but that didn't feel right to him. Somehow, he felt like she meant it. The little girl that he had known had always been one to make good on her promises as well as her threats, he didn't think that any form of life that she could have endured would have shaken that out of her. “I like to think that it's her face next to the word in the dictionary” It was a muggle joke, he couldn't even recall if wizards used dictionary’s but he hopes that the reference wasn't lost on her. He wanted to tell her everything, he wanted to rant and rave about how unfairly he had been treated in his adolescent years, that he had been nothing more than a whelp whenever he had been kicked out on his own. He wanted to tell her things that he hadn't even wanted to think on for too long himself due to the depressing nature because she would understand. He didn't even know who she was anymore but he just knew that she was going to understand. She had been there, she had seen his mother in the flesh and for all he knew, she still spoke with his mother on a semi regular basis. Yet, he remained seated, waiting for her to comment on the book that she had been delighting herself with before he had gotten here and derailed her evening. His mother had effectively cut him off from everything that he had ever known, to the point where even if he was allowed to come and go into the wizarding world as he pleased, he couldn't. He couldn't be in Alzubra without good reason. Mostly to avoid encounters like this, he didn't do well with serious situations.

Perhaps another reason that he was remaining reserved, was because he was expecting her to snap at any moment. Something, some shift of personality or look at him that was going to show her disapproval for what he was. Yet, it hadn't come yet but he didn't want to be naïve and not be expecting it whenever it did. If it did. “That book there is such an eloquent terminology for it Roberto.” He smiled, but his heart wasn't in it. He was grateful that she wasn't snapping at him and also allowing him to deflect to another conversation. He nodded once, and shrugged his shoulders innocently. “You cannot deny me colloquialisms are perfect.” She was lightening, there was still mountains of words that they needed to have pass between the two of them but he didn't think he would be able to backtrack onto the conversation no matter what she did, and women that look like her can be quite persuasive. Hell, she could be quite persuasive. “It’s a collection of stories actually. Fairy tales if you will, but … not the kind that you would expect a child to understand.” he nodded, leaning forward in his chair and letting his head fall into his hands, watching her speak. “They’re uh.. a bit darker?” Robert wasn't much of a reader, he enjoyed the written word and if it managed to catch his attention quickly then he could commit himself to it, but for the most part he was more into movies and video games just like all of the other men that he knew his age. Things like prose and foreshadowing were lost on him, he just couldn't appreciate it the right way. “You could always read it yourself sometime.” He lowered his hands, holding them out in front of his body and shaking them in a 'no' fashion. It would be lost on her and if he didn't like it, then more things were going to get more awkward between them than just this conversation.

“How about that, what kind of coffee is that?” He glanced down at the coffee next to him, really? She was asking him about the flavor of the coffee? Or perhaps what roast he had chosen to purchase...the amount of additives that the put into his latte? He could have gone on about it, in depth to give them something to talk about if nothing else. Yet, he didn't want to think that he was really so pathetic that he had to talk about the contents of his drink in order to keep things interesting. He gave her a strange look and half of a laugh, but didn't answer her question. “Are you going to be wanting this back?” He didn't quite understand the look on her face, but he liked it. The years had been very generous to her, a blind man could see that much. He glanced from her questioning eyes down to the scarf in her hands, his scarf. The way it moved over her hands was suggestive in a way that bothered him some because he didn't want to see her as a woman. Yet, he couldn't ignore it either. He shrugged, not wanting to see too eager “Well, I would like to take it home with me” it was the truth, since it was his possession whenever he had left the house this morning he had just assumed that all of the things that he had left with would be returning with him. Did it really matter in the larger scheme of things? No not really...but it was odd to think about parting with it. If she wanted the scarf as some sort of token to know that it hadn't been him who had sent whatever letters. He could understand wanting to have something to prove to herself this this little encounter had actually happened, he knew that he was going to want to. What had started out as such an innocent day, a meeting and then a simple trip to the library turned out to be so very different. Pointing at the slip of fabric in her hands he laughed “looks good on you”

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Tags: Michkayela
Words: 1,014
Wearing:This
Notes: no good.[/blockquote][/size]

[Michkayela Drakonas]

[x][x]
I've got a crush on a pretty pistol
should I tell her that I feel this way?
Father told us to be faithful

Diction…airy? She felt her brain come to a standstill as she contemplated what he could possibly mean by that. There weren’t many words or phrases that she didn’t understand, not after all of the places that she had been. The Lady Dragon had been sure to have her schooled in several different languages; it was something that was expected- and something that had served her well thus far. So she couldn’t figure out why in the world she wouldn’t know what he was talking about. It didn’t matter how many times she tried separating the word, taking the root out, attempting to dissect the meaning, it still made no sense. Why would your diction be… airy? It didn’t make sense to her, but she couldn’t make heads or tails of what else he could have meant with the strange word, or why his mother’s picture would be next to an airy diction. It wasn’t even something that had a physical form. She drew her eyebrows together as she surveyed him once more. Maybe it was some sort of joke, a way to pull the rug out from under her and give her pause. She wouldn’t put it beyond him, even if he did seem entirely serious. Or maybe he was referencing something from… the other world. That was very plausible and just as likely. With a small twist of her lips she let a shrug dance over her shoulders as she admitted defeat. She didn’t like not knowing things, one of the very few reasons that she had almost taken Muggle Studies back in school, and this thing that he was naming was not something that she found she could easily ignore. “What is a … diction-airy?” She stumbled over the word just slightly, her eyebrows drawing further together at the slip. It wasn’t as if it were a hard word or anything, it just felt foreign on her tongue. It didn’t make her any less intelligent that she didn’t get his reference or mean that she hadn’t applied herself as much as possible. It didn’t mean that she was behind in anything. Obviously he had led a very different life from her over the course of the past few years, there were going to be things that she didn’t, and couldn’t, know about when it came to that... although the rationalization didn’t make her feel any better on the subject. “Not that I doubt your mother’s face could be in any number of things. I’m sure more than a few of the members within our collective families could have their pictures posted any number of places.” Like in the psychological terrorist columns or in the Austria’s least familial families columns. Either of those seemed like good options were they to actually exist. Although if this dictionary had his mother’s picture in it she couldn’t imagine it being too far off base from what it was that she was thinking. Then again, the woman had a knack for appearing as she wanted herself to be seen, much as her own mother had.

Her eyes drifted back along his profile slowly as she attempted to make some sort of sense with what was currently transpiring. Robert was a squib. There was no use trying to gloss over the fact. He was a squib which meant that he’d never gone to that private school his mother had been touting for the past few years. Which meant that he couldn’t perform the basest forms of magic that she took for granted every day. She couldn’t summon up any pity for him though; something that she found both made her feel guilty and confused her. There was sadness though… a muted emotion deep within, though its roots seemed to stretch even further within her. The idea of a life without magic, without any magic… it was the most depressing thing she could imagine. It was probably why so many wizards looked down upon it, why their hatred for muggles ran so deep. It made sense on a psychological level. They were different and people were scared of things that didn’t conform to their basic ideological structures. Squibs though, that was a matter that practically tore the magical community apart. They were born of magical families, no matter how pure the blood or how high the status, it was a physical anomaly that heeded no human rules. Yet Roberto had lived that life, he had the genetic makeup within him to have stripped him that by birthright should have been his. She couldn’t despise or pity him though; she couldn’t find it within herself to look upon him as less either. He wasn’t a muggle, his blood was still just as pure as hers. The damned woman could have at least given him a basic background in magic, could have given him an education despite his inability to put it to use. Squibs weren’t always squibs for life after all; sometime the ability just lay dormant for years and years. She cut that train of thought off quickly, she very much doubted that Roberto would appreciate it anyways. He wasn’t any less than her… and yet… there was a cataclysmic difference between them that before hadn’t been. It was difficult for her to comprehend, and she wasn’t normally one to ignore things or push them away. She liked facing her problems head on and sorting them out until they didn’t exist. Only she couldn’t do that here. She didn’t even know how to begin. And she hadn’t seen him in years, hadn’t had the same level of easy, friendly companionship since then. The fact that she was a good deal more attracted to him was another thing that she was attempting to push to the back of her brain.

Her plan wasn’t the most eloquent, nor completely thought out. But she had been wishing for coffee since she came in here, had thought about it several times since then. The fact that he was unwilling to answer her as to what it was wasn’t a deterrent though. Obviously he wasn’t aware of her intentions, and obviously asking someone what kind of coffee they were drinking as so abrupt a subject change wasn’t the most normal thing in the world- but she wasn’t one to beat around the bush to get there. So she passed the scarf through her hands again, a small smile tilting the corners of her lips up in an amused fashion. He’d taken plenty of her personal object years ago and held them for ransom, she thought it was only fair turnabout. Though, if he wasn’t too fond of the scarf within her hands she had no idea where she would go from there. She could always simply ask him for some of the coffee, but there was no fun in that. Combined with the fact that she had no guarantee that he would be willing to part with it. This was coffee they were talking about, not some average drink that could be forgotten or ignored easily. “Well, I would like to take it home with me.” Her eyes followed his movements in a calculating manner, taking in each subtle facial movement and the vertical shift in his shoulders. Her lips did stretch slightly more at his words but otherwise she remained silent, her own eyes rotating to look down at the fabric she was currently running through her fingers. It was a nice scarf, one she wouldn’t mind having in her closet in truth- however that wasn’t the aim. ”Looks good on you.” She looked up to catch him gesturing to the scarf in her hands and with a flippant smile she pulled it up and placed it around her neck loosely, her fingers still playing with the fringed end. “Well, I think then we’re in for a trade of goods Mr. O’Conner. Because that mysterious coffee in your hands… I’d quite like to take that home with me.” Or rather drink it here in his presence, she wasn’t quite ready to part ways, but repeating his phrase sounded all the more … well, it just sounded nicer to her ears. Him with his great colloquiums… Her fingers twirled around the end of the fabric again. “You could say I’m holding it for ransom.” The smile on her lips was soft, not a huge grin or a boisterous boast. She threw his words back at him from all those years ago without any hint of design or artificial intent, bringing her eyes back up to him from under her lashes with amusement coloring her irises.