| QUOTE |
Ballantine – don’t even get me started on that meddlesome Misneach. She’s a loudmouthed, judgmental brat and generally bothersome. In fact, I have taken to purposely avoiding her due to her incessant pestering. It’s like she receives some kind of perverse pleasure from irritating the stuffings out of me. I don’t enjoy her company one bit. Really, I don’t. Honestly. Arguing with her isn’t the least bit fun for me, and I mean tha— What are you looking at me like that for? I mean it! The little roach should return to her bleeding hotel and leave me the feck alone… though now that I think about it, I wonder where she’s been lately? Seirbhe. Quiet. Rude. Whether it's right or not, I dislike him simply because he is what he is. Up until the murder I spared no expense and gave no mercy when it came to teasing him, but out of consideration for his sister, have decided to leave him be until the dust settles. Sometimes I wonder if we're--horror of horrors!--more alike than we let on. But I'm not willing to find out quite yet. |
| QUOTE (Ivy Becomes a Brunette! Written during the Crown of Verbosity Era; hence the length and post cuts.) |
Ivy’s plan was simple and effective. She would walk over and sit down at the Seirbhe’s table and manipulate Bram Jayden—the person whose skin she got under the best—until he finally made a scene. If she weren’t able to do this by words alone, Holly had the go-ahead to change his quintessentially copper Irish hair a nice, dark, brown from across the great hall. That would give Lucinda a reason to approach her and talk to her in private, to give her whatever their communication device was. ... She refused to let Aiden or Holly take the message; she didn’t want to involve them until the last possible moment, to avoid any trouble or complications. What use would Holly be in detention? Why should they ruin the surprise of law-abiding Aiden Daniels skulking around with the terrible two? Besides, she never passed up an excuse to make a scene. And so it was that she got an excuse to do what she did best; be her Seirbhe-annoying self. This was what she was thinking about as she devoured her supper, as ravenous as ever despite the upcoming events of the night. Aiden was on one side of her and Holly on the other, sitting so that the threesome could see the Seirbhe table and not have their backs turned to it. She glanced up at Bram every now and then while she ate. If he moved away before she were finished, their clever plans were ruined, so she was particularly quick about eating that night. He apparently didn’t have as much of an appetite as her. That wasn’t saying much though, considering how much she normally ate, and how short and skinny he was. Scrawny was the word for him. If she got him mad to the point of physical aggression, the fight would be over quickly. She was well over an inch taller than him—maybe even two—and strong and sturdy. In fact, they were practically antithesis of each other, both in physical features and personality. Whereas she had healthy color in her skin from plenty of exercise, Bram maintained a skin color akin to that of ghosts. She somehow managed to be the center of attention most places she went, yet he was as unnoticeable as a phantom. At least, he would be, if it weren’t for his vivid eyes and hair, which were downright luminescent against his skin. He stuck out like a sore thumb amid the other brooding Seirbhes, who all managed to look dark and depressing somehow. He was too fair to belong among them, yet too isolated to belong anywhere else. Her stare must have gotten his attention, because he looked straight at her and met her gaze. She immediately picked up her cup and washed down her food with a swallow of cold pumpkin cider, breaking the glance. She turned to her friends and grinned at them as if in the middle of a fantastic conversation. “The seeker’s seen the snitch,” she said to them, “And she’s diving for it.” ... Her walk was confident and her head was held high. She practically strutted, practically striding, as she strode past the students at the table. It made her look silly, like a girl playing in her mother’s jewelry and makeup, but she had no idea of the change in bearing. Ivy only walked like that when she were about to do something she shouldn’t, and to those students paying any bit of attention, they would tell immediately. The sparkle was in her eye, her cheeks were pinker than usual, and she looked around the scenery carefully, judging and evaluating it. She was far too busy thinking about her plans to notice the dead giveaway in her walk. ... Bram was isolated from his house mates, sitting a foot or two away from the nearest Seirbhe. The professor’s table was only a few feet away and she made a note to talk quietly. She had to walk down the entire length of the table to reach him, and as she did voices hushed, became still, then rose up again in a fury of murmers and exclamations. What in the world was she doing anywhere near that table? She made it a point to keep a wide berth between herself and the Seirbhes at meal time, especially when most of them were still sitting at the table. For one thing, it was stupid of her because of their animosity towards her, and for another, she loudly commented about a loss of appetite whenever one of them approached her. ... She wondered briefly why no one was approaching the younger Jayden to offer their condolences…his sister had suffered a great loss, after all, no matter how it had happened or how much Kieran had been disliked around the school. But Bram never had been the sort that was approached easily. A tiny flicker of pity flared up in her then, but she suffocated it, reminding herself of why it was right for her to do this. Find the murderer. Punish the murderer for their crime. Punish Bram for not protecting his sister in the process. If it had been her sister…well, her sister would have known better than to tangle with someone like Kieran in the first place, but a Ballantine girl also would have had more guidance than a few warning words. Part of the reason she had avoided the evil twin was out of respect for Mia, but also out of complete disgust. How could he let this happen? He wasn’t as odorous as some of his other housemates, so she had expected something a little more…assertive. Just thinking about it made her angry. She stood behind Bram so that he would have to turn around and look up at her. A hand was on her hip, lying over the wand in her robe pocket. “Did you miss me?” she asked with a charming smile. She sat down next to him and plucked a bit of untouched (she was careful not to pick up something with teeth marks—gross!) off his plate and ate it. “I wanted to catch you while you were alone, to offer my condolences,” said Ivy clearly, and loudly enough for those sitting nearby to hear. Her eyes glanced past him towards the table full of curious rubbernecking students, and her voice dropped. “Not that that’s hard, of course.” She gave them a small wave. “I’m really sorry about what happened to your twin. She seems really devastated. It’s too bad something couldn’t have been done to prevent it. That murderer managed to break your sister’s heart, I think, by killing Kieran.” She met Bram’s gaze and poured all of the malcontent that didn’t show on her smile into her hard stare. “It’s a terrible blow for you too ...I find it strange, though, that you didn’t do anything else to help her. It’s almost like you…wanted him to die. I hope that’s not true.” She gave him a serious, over-the-glasses professor look and popped another morsel of food into her mouth. She swallowed and leaned forward. Her voice was low. “I thought you were better than that.” ... “Bram,” she said, and saying it aloud felt strange because she never called him by his first name, “I don’t think you understand. You may think I’m happy that Kieran died, being a Misneach and all of that, but I’m not. He was a pain in the arse Seirbhe, but even pain in the arse Seirbhes shouldn’t go like that. The murderer deserves to die for what they did. I know that Kieran had his faults, but...” She paused. “But then again, so does your sister. Feckin’ around with boys and getting knocked up at fifteen isn’t the sort of thing I admire in a girl. Surely that puts things into perspective for you. It…worries me that you turn such a blind eye to the situation.” She realized that the corners of her mouth had dipped, and she was no longer smiling, and was in fact shaking slightly. Ivy tried to return the smile to her face but found she couldn’t do it; a combination of guilt and anger writhing in her stomach, battling like dragons, prevented her from doing what was usually so simple. She hoped the anger would win, she desperately hoped it would…that would make this so much easier. “I really am sorry. But if you had just helped your sister this whole thing wouldn’t have happened.” The words escaped her mouth like poison—it was cruel to do this!—but it was not a poison she offered to him without consequences. She did not do this to people. She did not deliberately hurt them and manipulate them, and she hated herself for it. She didn’t even know if she meant what she said; did she really blame Bram for the murder? Yes, she thought, at least partially. But she also knew that she meant it when she said she was sorry. That was the bitterest part of it. He would hate her for what she said to him, when she said it only to help find the person that hurt his sister, and he would not believe her when she apologized. She had no choice but to make him despise her. That bothered her beyond the simple fact she was taking advantage of him; some intuition told her that what she did now would change their ‘best enemies’ relationship permanently, for better or worse. Most likely for worse. Marion Fry. It was as if everything in his head had evaporated into nothingness except for her. Lifting a hand to his lips, he brushed fingertips over his now healing scar as he tried to think of when he had felt this way before. A slight smirked escaped his features at his realization that he hadn’t. It was a pleasant feeling, and it soothed his nerves despite the circumstances. And what circumstances they are, Bram thought. He was terribly tempted to just shuffle to her – their – hiding place to check on her, but he couldn’t risk it for now. It was still broad daylight, and any attempt at communication during the day was unwise. It was safest at night, when everyone had drifted off to sleep. Bram had initially felt as if he should stay with Marion in their hideaway, but to do so meant hiding from the world, shoving his head in the sand and doing nothing. No, he would keep up appearances, go about his routine as normal, or as normal as possible with everyone trembling about the murderer. It almost gave him a kind of pleasure to see everyone around him tremble for their lives while he remained unworried. Though he was certainly concerned about Marion being discovered, he knew everything would work out in the end. It had to. Bram seated himself at the Seirbhe’s table, maintaining a respectable distance from the rest of the brood. They were his alleged brothers and sisters in house only, as they were after him now, just like everyone else was. Everyone around him was an enemy, and he twitched at the thought that – regrettably – that included his sister in a way as well. ... Bram looked down at the plate in front of him and grimaced in disgust. He hadn’t really been paying much attention to the plate beforehand, but now that he looked at it… he wasn’t even quite sure what it was supposed to be. For all he knew, it could be something dreadful like stewed, grilled, fried, boiled, broiled, and twice warmed over feline meat…or something equally as unappealing. Wrinkling his nose, he decided that something of that nature would probably taste better than the astonishingly odorous gunk currently taking residence on his plate. He was sure that when he received his plate it didn’t look quite as ghastly, though given his attention span to food lately, he could have been entirely mistaken. What did food really matter, anyway? It was just an inconvenience, really. With an audible sigh, Bram thought of Marion again – she was probably hungry by now. He had brought some meager provisions for her during one of his trips, but he hadn’t been able to bring anything overly tasty to their hideaway. While it was undoubtedly better than twice warmed over feline meat, it was still subpar for his Marion. She deserved better – much better – but there wasn’t anything else he could scrounge on such short notice without arousing someone’s suspicion or possibly getting one of them caught in the process. Some gallant knight he was turning out to be, it was almost laughable. How could he have taken this responsibility on while expecting to succeed? Not that he had possessed a choice in the matter, as what other choice was there to make? There was no other choice; this is the way it had to be; this was fate’s intervention… wasn’t it? Bram tried to blink the thoughts away, but they merely persisted in his overactive imagination. Originally, he thought that this experience with Marion would be some form of grand adventure. It was hard not to just laugh at himself at the thought – how pitiful his mind had to be to think something so naïve. So far the adventure consisted of a visit or two with Marion to deliver supplies while attempting to avoid such menacing foes as the occasional arachnid or rodent. It wasn’t quite what Bram originally had in mind, and if he had to tell the truth, he thought that a grander adventure would have perhaps been less stressful than the one he was currently undertaking. ... Taking a closer inspection of his plate, Bram determined that food did indeed matter when one was forced to consume something that more closely resembled swine slop than something truly edible. Thankfully, being a wizard, he was not forced to indulge in such atrocities to the culinary arts... Grasping the wand, he retrieved it from his pocket successfully and regarded the mess before him with a distinct frown. Was even a wizard’s magic strong enough to best… whatever it is the mess was? He looked upward to ensure no one was watching, and his eyes found a familiar face. Ballantine, Bram thought. All day long, it had felt as if he were being watched by someone or something, and he was beginning to wonder exactly how long she had been eyeing him. She seemed to take a great interest in her beverage before returning her gaze to her fellow meddlesome Misneachs. From what Bram could tell, it looked like one of them was a boy he had been watching out for – Adam or something, a boy who sniffed around Mia entirely too much. He also noticed a girl that hung around Ivy quite often, though he couldn’t recall her name. He thought it was something plant-like, but he couldn’t be sure. He certainly did not wish to deal with Ivy or her posse, as the last thing he needed right now was to be jinxed or, well, randomly set on fire. He had heard rumours of Ivy and the other plant-named girl’s various escapades, and he wasn’t anxious to have his school robes smell of sulfur or turned a bright purple for funsies. Aside from being inconvenient, it would attract entirely too much attention. After ensuring that no one was watching him – aside from Ivy, very few people took notice of him nowadays anyway – the copper-haired boy lifted his meal of glop, and placed it underneath the table, away from prying eyes. Gesturing with his wand as quietly as possible, he was positive he wouldn’t need an incantation. Transfiguration was not only his best subject, but something in which he excelled. Ms. Noone would be wonderfully proud. Reaching downward, he lifted up what he had most desired – a plate of French fries with extra ketchup. Healthy? Perhaps not, but they were deliciously tasty and would keep enough calories in him to ensure that he was only slightly malnourished for the time being... ... He shook his head – Marion, Marion, Marion. All he could think about was the raven-haired beauty of Marion. A smile draped his features before he forced himself to reset his mouth back into his trademarked indifference. He felt almost as if a genuine smile upon his lips sent out signals across the land which screamed, “Bram is suspicious. Look over here. Get him!” He suddenly felt a bit of pressure apply itself to his shoulders. He had hoped it was a person, but no, it was worse than a person. It was anxiety creeping up his spine, inch by inch, rung by rung, and bone by bone. How old was he again? Sixteen – he was a just wee boy, how did he expect to get away with something like this? He thought for a moment about his parents; what would Faolan and Aeryn Jayden have to say about their only son’s sudden disappearance? He wouldn’t even have time to say goodbye, and writing a note would be entirely too risky. Along with anxiety, its partner in crime – guilt – began to creep shortly behind each inch, rung, and bone. Plucking a fry from his plate, Bram closed his eyes, shaking his head a moment to clear his thoughts. He needed time – just a little bit of time – to think about something, anything other than what was occurring around him. The murder, Marion, Mia, even Ivy and her cronies were too much to think about right now. It would’ve been easier with some form of book to read, regardless of the genre. He could lose himself in any form of writing if he tried hard enough....He couldn’t escape from his responsibility even long enough to eat a simple lunch. He received his ten thousandth pang to visit his Marion, to just share in her company and learn more about her. As it was, he didn’t even know her middle name and he frowned slightly at the thought. He felt as if a cosmic clock ticked its way down to disaster, and any time not spent with Marion was a waste. Ultimately, they had agreed that the less Bram came back to the room the better, as he could easily be caught skulking around – or worse – be followed to their secret hideaway. That would have been… unfortunate at best, and disastrous at worst. They were no match physically or magically for their enemies, and they would have to use their wits in order to best them. It meant being smart about what they were doing at all times – especially Bram, as he was the one still running about in public places. He would have to be extra careful not to draw any needless attention to himself, which he doubted would be much of a problem. He generally went by unnoticed by many people except for his twin… or Ballantine when she was feeling particularly pesky. Ballantine. He couldn’t comprehend what the girl’s problem was. It almost seemed as if she was a troublesome stalker at times. He hadn’t really thought of her since before the Masquerade, and he was just now finding it odd. Since then, his thoughts were filled with more pressing matters than the irritations of a single Misneach, but it was rather odd for her to have left him alone as long as she had... ... Engrossed in his thoughts, Bram flinched at the sound of Ivy’s screeching, “Did you miss me?” No, he didn’t need this. Please be talking to someone else, Bram thought. Not today of all days – not now, with everything else he had to deal with. He knew in his head, however, that he was more than likely her intended victim. He always was, and normally he gave as well as he got. Even then, the first instinct that threatened to burst from his lips was something particularly witty about the Ballantine brood, but he refrained from even acknowledging her presence. It would only encourage her, and he couldn’t help but hope that if he kept his lips shut long enough that she would go away like the gnat she naturally was. She sat down next to him, and Bram uttered a very audible huff that he immediately cursed himself for. He couldn’t let her see that her presence bothered him, as it would only give her further pleasure in his discomfort. Rolling his eyes, Bram figured that ignoring her obviously wasn’t going to work for him today, especially as she reached across his space to retrieve one of his French fries. “Of course I missed you,” Bram sneered through clenched teeth, “And I would very much like the opportunity to do so again, so do us both a favour, and take your condolences elsewhere.” It was a lame retort, and Bram knew it – he couldn’t risk a confrontation that would draw attention to himself now. He knew fairly well by now how to truly get to Ivy, and if he wanted to keep her civil, it meant no insults relating to her family, steering away from mocking her in general, and absolutely nothing about quidditch whatsoever. It didn’t leave him with much in the way of witty ammunition, and he was already sleep deprived and certainly not in any shape to spar with Ivy, especially as she continued with her alleged condolences. He kept his hands in his lap, hoping Mia wouldn’t have to hear their exchange. Mia could be a bit of a worrier when it came to him, and even if she were sore with Bram, it wouldn’t take that part of her away. Taking a deep breath, he tried to drown Ivy out with his own mental processes, and it was beginning to work before she continued...He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could continue, Ivy blathered on. It was as if he couldn’t think fast enough to handle Ivy’s barrage – normally it wasn’t an issue for him, but all of his thoughts were muddied. She stared at him and their eyes met, “It’s a terrible blow for you too… I find it strange, though, that you didn’t do anything else to help her.” Bram was aghast, and his jaw opened in rage. What was he supposed to do, wait for his sister to open the other side of his lip? “It’s almost like you… wanted him to die. I hope that’s not true.” As if to indicate his injured lip, he bit it slightly before interjecting as she still spoke, “I’m sure your heart just bleeds, Ballantine.” It wasn’t the first, second, or third retort that came to mind, but it would have to do. He didn’t like having to walk on eggshells around Ivy, it was like trying to win a fight without using any of the five senses. It was impossible. He felt a pounding in his chest, and could feel his pulse racing… it only served to muddy his thoughts even more. “I thought you were better than that,” Ivy spoke, and Bram hesitated, pondering exactly how deep he was in the entire mess. “Me?” Bram inquired mockingly. “A Seirbhe?” It wasn’t working. Ivy wouldn’t buy the lame attempts at retorts, and she would undoubtedly be suspicious if he kept it up much longer. Why was she purposely going out of her way to bother him? It made no sense. Sure, he was her favourite target, but at the same time, she should know that even Seirbhes have limits as to what they could tolerate. Bram was reaching his, and he figured that even if Ivy could see that, it wasn’t as if she cared. If she had, she wouldn’t have chosen that day of all days – when everything was still so raw – to verbally attack him. Noticing her munching a few more of his fries, a sigh escaped him without his permission. He couldn’t help but think – in all of this madness – that at least someone was enjoying his lunch. He decided to use the brief break in her diatribe to stab, “Go find a sibling your own size to pick on, Ballantine. I’m sure there are plenty to choose from.” It was a passable insult, better than his prior ones. If he was lucky, she would utter a clever retort, and turn around in a huff. As Ivy called him by name, Bram raised an eyebrow at her quizzically as she continued...As Ivy uttered the last of her words, tapped his palm on the table repeatedly in attempt to even his breathing. He was beginning to feel as if he were hyperventilating, as if oxygen had been stolen from the very room. “Stop.” Bram said evenly, and even he was surprised how calmly the word came out, almost as if it were sarcasm. He was grateful. It was like she had known everything about Marion and Mia and was using it purposely to get to him. She couldn’t know, could she? No, it wasn’t possible. Bram shot her a deer in headlights look for a moment before quickly recovering himself. No, if she had known, then both he and Marion would have been apprehended by now. What was wrong with him? He was supposed to be the one who made people feel uncomfortable. He couldn’t think – he just needed Ivy to give him a moment to think! Just a moment! If she would just stop droning long enough for his thought processes to sort everything out, then he could do this. He could save his Marion. He could… couldn’t he? It was like he was Atlas – holding up the world with his shoulders, and it was a load he was finding himself incapable of bearing. Ivy continued, “But then again, so does your sister.” Bram clenched his teeth so hard he felt like they might shatter as he tried to keep his body from shaking in fury. “How dare you even…” Bram muttered, not even completely sure if it were audible to Ivy’s ears. After everything his twin had been through the past several days – everything she had to endure, she dared to start in on his sister? It was almost common knowledge that the more ruthless students were in the Seirbhe house, but Bram knew differently, and his teeth grinded in disgust as she prattled on, “Feckin’ around with boys and getting knocked up at fifteen isn’t the sort of thing I admire in a girl.” Bram slammed his fist on the table, an audible thud echoing through the hall whose source – thankfully – few were able to determine. He gave his third huff of the night, having ceased caring if Ivy could gauge his reactions as he glared her down. A second world felt like it was placed upon Atlas’ already heavy burden, and his shoulders ached for some form of relief as Ivy pressed, “Surely that puts things into perspective for you. It… worries me that you turn such a blind eye to the situation.” All Bram could do was shake his head and look at her, astonished. Was there no end to her insensitivity? Misneachs were renowned for their boldness, but this was ridiculous. “A blind eye?” Bram’s words dripped with acid, looking her up and down as he uttered in astonishment, “All of the boldness. None of the chivalry.” There were rumours spread about Mia that caught like wildfire, but why did it hurt so much to hear it from Ivy’s lips? It wasn’t as if he cared about her opinion. “I really am sorry,” Ivy taunted, “But if you had just helped your sister this whole thing wouldn’t have happened.” He blinked a moment, his thoughts racing together in attempt to comprehend how even Ivy could have said something so heartless. It was so unlike her, Ivy always knew her limits and when to stop pressuring those she tormented. What was happening to the worlds upon Atlas’ shoulders? They were suddenly not the worlds they once were, as if everything was inverted and not quite as it should be. Suddenly people were actually depending upon him… Mia. She had depended upon him to be there for her, and he had failed her. Ivy had every right to say it – it was true. He had tried, or thought he tried, but in the end it wasn’t enough. It never was. He was always inadequate, and that hadn’t changed since meeting Marion Fry. Marion, she was depending upon him – what good was he doing her now? He had her hidden, but how could he even realistically save her? The weight of a thousand new worlds felt as if it perched precariously on Bram’s shoulders, ready to crush him like the insect he was. How could he handle something this large by himself? He shook his head in realisation – he couldn’t. If he had someone to turn to – anyone who could help him, but who could he turn to? There was no one left. His usual partner in crime was Mia, but she wasn’t even speaking to him now. If she were to learn that he was hiding Kieran’s murder, she would probably never have anything to do with him again. He had no one. Not a single person in the world was on his side. He was alone… and suddenly that thought actually bothered him. It was too much, everything was too much, and on top of it all it seemed as if the Misneach in front of him was trying entirely too hard to rag on him. He felt the weight of a few more worlds perch upon his shoulder as thoughts birled inside of his brain. They circled, a torrent of musings jumbled beyond any hope of understanding. Without a thought, Bram snapped forward, grabbing Ivy by her titian hair and tugging her to him – her face just a fraction of an inch away from his own. “Ivy,” Bram whispered, tremors overtaking his hands as he released her hair and grasped her chin. “Not today,” his voice choked, and he cleared his throat before continuing, “Just leave. Me. Alone.” Bram begged slowly, his eyes engorged and sparkling with liquid as he stared her down. “Just this once – let it go. Please.” He hated it. He hated begging Ivy of all people for a favour. He would be indebted to her long afterwards, but it was one more world upon his shoulders he couldn’t – and wouldn’t – handle. Ivy was a pest, but he didn’t think her inhuman – she was quickly proving him wrong. He couldn’t take it anymore – each new thought was a world, another burden added to the shoulders of Atlas. If even a feather’s weight were to land upon his burden, the entirety of his worlds would crumble to pieces and leave him smothering in the dust. The retorts Bram gave her were meager—nothing to dent the armor of anger she put up around herself. In fact, his pithy answers bolstered her more, gave her the courage she needed to keep verbally berating him. It was working. She could see it on his face, the tremors that passed over him when she talked about his sister. If this was all she had to do (please Merlin, let this be all I have to do!) then her job was easier than she thought. There was only a moment when her doubt flared up again, and it was when he slammed his fist down on the table, making his plate and cup and cutlery jump...if she kept doing this, he was going to snap, and Ivy’s bravery would be sorely tested. As it turned out, that moment happened sooner than she expected. To her complete shock Bram yanked on her hair and pulled her close, shaking as if he were about to attack her. Her first reaction was to shout and yank away again, and she nearly did, but she stopped herself when she reminded herself that she wanted him angry, angry enough to do something completely out of character. All she had to do now was say a few more words—she’d almost done it! He was furious with her, after all—his hand was shaking, chin wobbling, voice straining, eyes tearing up… No—wait. Not tears. That wasn’t supposed to happen. That was all wrong. That was completely wrong. Had she made Bram Jayden…cry? His voice caught and she realized it was true. She would have preferred screaming, hexes, a hit in the face, rather than the tears she saw in his eyes now. She hated herself so much at that moment that she would have been glad to die; she wanted to die instead of bearing this self-inflicted torture. How could she do this! Bram’s words were a twist of the dagger. “Please” he said, as if she were some unbearable bully that had to be catered to! She supposed that she deserved it, though. Never before had she gone out of her way to hurt someone, and now she was getting her just desserts for the way she treated him. She realized she was shaking too, shocked and more than a little uncomfortable. She’d never been this close to him before. Her vision almost went blurry when she tried to focus on his face, and she watched with horror as the tears welled up. His upset face took up all of her field of vision, like some terrible white wraith come to haunt her for her actions. It would have been very easy to pull away from him, and end the painful grip he had on her chin, but she was completely entranced, in the way someone is entranced by a train crash or by a quidditch player fallen off their broom, tumbling to the ground with their robes fluttering around them like a rag doll’s. She felt that way then; she tried something stupid and was now tumbling, with her heart in the pit of her stomach, to the very hard ground that awaited her. ... People were watching now, and a whispered conversation hissed across the hall. There was the attention they were looking for. And with their faces centimeters apart it wasn’t hard to see why the students were paying attention. They probably wondered what the hell they were doing. Staring competition? Snogging? Ivy wasn’t the sort of person to get flustered, but this had thrown her completely off balance. Had she walked into this on purpose? She couldn’t remember anymore. All she knew was that she regretted it, regretted every word they had just exchanged, and she wanted to get away as soon as possible. ... If only she could find some way to pull out of this dizzying spiral she would, she would do it in a heartbeat, but it was impossible in this maelstrom; no amount of mental screaming would make her body move. She still held his gaze. His eyes are as blue as his hair is red, she realized, and in the brief moment of calm that thought afforded her she weighed her choices. She weighed them somewhere below thought, somewhere below what her mind was sharp enough to pick up on as regular thinking, for this choice was more emotional than critical. She could go through with this. She could say the words that would send him over the edge. She could stay true to the plan. Stay true to her word to Lucinda, and Holly, and Aiden. She would be congratulated, wouldn’t she? Treated like a hero for picking on someone alone and hurting? Or she could walk away. Show mercy. She could find some other, kinder, quieter plan. After all…was finding the murderer important enough to murder Bram’s spirit in the process? That thought, or feeling, or subconscious prodding, restored mobility. She gently, carefully, pulled out of Bram’s grasp. A breath of chilly air returned some of her composure. She tried once again to speak but all she managed to do was open her mouth, and shut it again, for speaking was still beyond her. But she could stand, so she did, and she could walk away, so she did that too. She walked away from him and his tears and her victory. The further she walked the more reality came back to her. So what was she going to do now? She was far too flustered to try anything like that soon. Ivy still shook, and she had to concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other. The guilt that weighed on her was enough to make her want to crawl under a table and hide, instead of stride confidently back to her seat and explain to her friends why she didn’t go through with it. What would she say to them? ‘Sorry, but I had to show pity to the Seirbhe. Didn’t want to make him cry, you know. I hope you don’t mind that our plans are screwed up.’ She decided then that she would just return to her dormitory and hide until Holly came to fetch her. But then something stopped her. There was a noise, and a flicker of light besides that of candles. With her heart dropping further into her stomach than it had been before, she slowly turned around. Bram’s hair was changing color. Ivy clapped a hand over her mouth, and her eyes darted to the Misneach table, where she saw that Holly had just uttered the spell. Even though she was too far away to actually hear the words, she could almost hear the spell coming out of her friends mouth in her imagination; “Brisnua Colorare!” Holly said, before slipping her wand back beneath her robe and acting as if she’d done nothing. But the words that came out of Ivy’s mouth, muffled because of her hands, were “Oh no!” Bram’s bright copper hair darkened, and kept darkening, until it was the darkest, dullest, blandest, mousiest, ugliest brown a person could find. In fact, it looked oddly like mud, thick mud with a sickly green sheen over it. The small bit of her mind that was untouched by her panic and shock decided that it was extremely unflattering—he looked far better with the fire on his head. Before she could stop the words (why did words come now, when she should run in the opposite direction?), she said “Bram, your hair!” and he noticed the change. The look he gave her could have melted stone. “I didn’t mean to!” she said, “I mean, it’s not my fault!” But the words were muffled by her hands, and she dropped them quickly and shook her head as if in explanation. “I didn’t mean for that to happen!” she repeated in a near-groan. Apparently her body functions were playing tag team. As soon as she wanted to shut up and run, she found that she was rooted to the spot with explanations pouring out of her mouth, even while titters began spreading across the hall, until the titters became giggles, and the giggles broke out into downright guffaws. Ivy knew this was what would happen. The students wanted something to laugh at after the seriousness of the murder, even if it was stupid, and by the looks of it she had just provided that stupid joke to get them started. But she didn’t think it was funny. She hoped Bram could see the absolute horror in her eyes…but no, he looked far too furious to notice her own expressions. And she found that she could no longer escape. Whatever happened next, she would have to accept it, because she brought it upon herself and it was too late to turn back. Even her paralyzed legs agreed with her. Ivy Ballantine was finally getting her just desserts. On some level, she was rather glad. She'd rather be mad and punished than guilty and successful. Instinct, it was a powerful drive that negated entirely too many of the more healthy mental processes. Bram hadn’t had time to think of what Ivy’s reactions would have been as he begged her to leave him alone; he had done so out of instinct. As the moments passed – with barely a space for air between their faces – his mind cascaded through thoughts and emotions. He hadn’t been thinking when he grabbed her by the hair, nor had he been thinking when he grabbed her chin. What was he doing, and what could he possibly hope to accomplish from the action? Did he honestly expect any mercy or pity from her? What a fool he was for expecting anything from Ivy. How could he have done something so rash and utterly stupid? He was beginning to believe himself no better than the bumbling Damien Reed. As the silence stretched onward, Bram briefly considered releasing his hold on her chin, but he couldn’t even bring himself to perform the action. He felt as if any movement he made would ultimately be the incorrect one, and he couldn’t bring himself to make yet another bumbling, Damien-esque mistake. With their physical proximity, he felt as if even the decision to take a breath would be too much of an assumption on his part. His lungs ached for air as he attempted to seal his emotions away, perhaps stuff them into a bottle somewhere within the deepest corner of himself where they would never be seen or noticed by anyone, much less the girl in front of him. How had he allowed this to happen in the first place? How had he allowed himself to give Ivy enough power to make him feel almost helpless? He was smarter than that, wasn’t he? Or was he just deluding himself into some false sense of intelligence that he only wished he possessed? He certainly shouldn’t be waiting for Ivy to make the next move – that didn’t even make any sense – what power did she really have over him, anyway? He berated himself in his mind, She has all the power. She was the one in control and he hated it. He didn’t like giving up his control to anyone, not even his sister, yet he had given it to Ivy Ballantine of all people. He was a masochist, he was an imbecile, and ultimately he was a fool. Blinking unconsciously, his teary vision began to clear and took in the vision of Ivy’s face. The corners of his eyes crinkled at the sight; her face betrayed confusion, as if she were weighing her options and deciphering the wisest action for her to take. They were so close that he felt her body trembling beneath the palm of his hand, and he was astonished at the feeling. What reason had she to tremble when she was the one in the position of power? She opened her mouth to speak, and he waited for sound to leap from her vocal cords, but it did not. He just wanted it to be over – he wanted her to make a move – do something, anything other than draw out the inevitable. She would deny him, and she would do so in the loudest, most obnoxious way possible. She would publicly ridicule and scold him for his own lack of emotional control. There was no better time for her to strike than now, and she could easily win the game they had tossed back and forth since they first met. He would never see her as vulnerable as she saw him right that moment, and he would never be in the same position as she currently was for the perfect revenge. He braced himself for the cruelty he knew would be forthcoming, how could she resist the temptation? Considering everything she had called him on just moments ago, she would have no problem giving him one final blow, and Bram couldn’t help but believe he deserved it somehow. ... He watched her as she slipped from his grasp, and he blinked his eyes for clarity, continuing to watch her face as she opened her mouth to speak. She didn’t seem as eager as he thought she would have been – why wasn’t she reveling in her newfound victory? She shut her mouth after a moment, and Bram tried to hide a look of curiosity as thoughts continued to shuttle back and forth in his brain. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he nearly opened his mouth to speak before Ivy stood and began her departure. What was she doing? She had won, he had conceded in body, mind, and spirit. She could have crushed him! Turning his head towards her, he watched her walk away, and his jaw drooped slightly in shock before he returned his attention to the table in front of him. Ivy Ballantine, his very own Misneach rival had spared him. He propped his elbows on the table, needing the extra balance it gave him in order to stay upright. Even he hadn’t realized exactly how shaken the whole experience had left him. Temptation struck him, willing him to turn his head and glance back at Ivy, but he quickly struck down the impulse. It would be unwise of him to needlessly attract the possible attention by doing so, and if he had to be frankly honest, he didn’t have the energy left for the act. All of the emotional energy in his body had been sapped. Bram’s forehead fell into palms as he sat in utter relief. His breathing began to even, and the wetness of his eyes leaked into his palms. It was over. As composure began to overtake his body, he found himself invigorated. Realizing the gift Ivy gave him, he was beginning to feel like he had become stronger. Yes, he had asked Ivy of all people a favour, and she complied without even a word. He felt his shoulders become lighter – yes, he could handle the load now; he could do everything that was expected of him, everything that was wanted from him, and he could succeed. Nothing, not even all of Dissendium itself could stop him from saving Marion. He was okay, Marion would be fine, and he would find some way to contact his family members – including Mia – soon after he and Marion were safe. ... A voice invaded his thought processes, Ivy shrieking, “Bram, your hair!” Bram lifted his head from his palms, looking back at Ivy curiously. What about his hair? The tendrils fell where his fingertips hung in the air and he slowly turned his face to them, his eyes widening and his mouth agape. Standing, he lifted his fingertips to touch the base of his head, his individual fingers raking through the now mucky, dingy brown of his locks. He finally reached the tip of his hair and grasped it violently – twisting his facial features – and nearly wrenching it from his head in disgust. No, Ivy had not spared him. She just wanted to twist the dirk inserted in his sternum that much harder, and she had performed the feat effortlessly. He had never even expected it even for a moment, and now he would play the fool after all. Bram glared at his now soiled tresses, his hands overtaken by tremors, as his body swaggered in fury before he directed his gaze at Ivy. Giggles, laughs and guffaws streamed into his mind – yes, he would play the fool after all indeed. Students pointed and snickered, their remarks audible in the air. His body bolted towards Ivy, stopping just of her before overturning a chair in his way. It clattered to the floor with a resounding bang, and silence pervaded the space as minutes, hours, days – years – of stresses poured forth from Bram’s bellowing tongue. “All I asked of you was to be left alone,” Bram dripped with acid, “What is wrong with you?! Where is your decency? No, you musn’t have any, it must be shared with all of your pureblooded, belt-wielding Ballantine-brood! Not enough to go around, ay? Certainly not enough for a single Seirbhe, no that would just be too much, wouldn’t it?!” He picked up a stack of empty plates next to him and tossed them across the room, if he were playing the fool, he would play his role to the hilt. Never in his life had he spoken with such tenacity, his mouth running faster than his brain could even interpret the words he spoke. “You genuinely hate me, don’t you? Here I thought it was some kind of grand game between us, Ballantine. Some grand game, but it’s not a game to you at all, is it? Not like it is to –” Bram stopped short, biting his tongue as his thoughts finished for him, Me. Suddenly realizing that he was indeed creating a spectacle, he cursed himself for his lack of control – he wasn’t supposed to be drawing attention to himself. What had he done? No, he wouldn’t let himself be viewed as the fool. Not today. He would not give Ivy the satisfaction. He wouldn't let her - or any of the other students - see him upset any longer. He was a deceiver, a Seirbhe, and he would play the part. Shaking his head, Bram felt an odd calm feeling envelope his body as he continued icily, “I would wish Kieran’s death on you,” he leaned into her and continued in a whisper, “But how can you wish someone dead who is already dead to you?” Leaning back, he retrieved his wand from a pocket and pointed it at Ivy, his voice regaining volume. “You know what the Muggles say, don’t you, or are you too pureblooded for that? Allow me to elaborate.” He moved his wand to touch the side of her face and finished, “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice?” Bram took a step back before screaming at the top of his lungs “Brisnua Colorare!” |
| QUOTE (Ivy Becomes a Brunette! Continued.) |
When all of this was over, Ivy decided, she was going to give Holly a good tongue lashing; Next time I try to ruin our plans, let me! But now, now that her friend had done this, the situation were spiraling out of control, Bram’s anger and hers completely riled and uncontrollable. It was spiraling in the best way possible, for the scene they were creating was of the epic sort, the kind that students chatted about and gossiped about until it was twisted into something greater than what it was, more like a legend, recorded in their minds and in letters they sent to their families. It was something that would completely distract them from the murder. Someday, she knew suddenly, when she was long out of school, she would be approached by someone who would say, ‘remember that time that Seirbhe boy went mad during supper?’ And she would say ‘Yes, Bram Jayden. I never tried to apologize to him again.’ And she would smile, and there would be something ironic about her expression. The time for mercy was gone now...at Bram’s words, she felt as if he were taking her between his fingers and trying to crush her. This was a test of her judgment and her character. She wasn’t going to fail. Even if it meant that she would have to hurt Bram. He could hurt her so much. But what more damage could she do to him now? “All I asked of you was to be left alone. What is wrong with you?! Where is your decency? No, you musn’t have any, it must be shared with all of your pureblooded, belt-wielding Ballantine-brood! Not enough to go around, ay? Certainly not enough for a single Seirbhe, no that would just be too much, wouldn’t it?!” Vicious, horrible words! She wanted to beat the snot out of him, hurt him as much as she could, and simultaneously she wanted to start crying, burst into tears on the very spot. But she wouldn’t bend—she wouldn’t bend to either instinct. She couldn’t let them see how much the words hurt. No, she refused. She couldn’t let those words hurt her. Not from him. Not this badly. Yet they did, and she found it very hard to keep a cool head. She always kept calm, even in the worst of situations. And yet he had snatched her composure away without so much as pausing to consider for a moment what it did to her. They’re watching you. Don’t bend. Be the strong one. she said in her head, repeating it over and over again. She knew that she could only get out of this disaster if she stayed calm. Maybe, if she fought off those emotions long enough, she could get away with her pride. “Is this how you always handle apologies, Jayden?” she asked, forcing herself not to flinch when he flung the chair out of the way and threw the dishes, sending them smashing against the table and wall. Her hands were balled into fists to keep from shaking; she was that scared…no, not even that…she was terrified of what this scrawny, half-grown, emotionally retarded Seirbhe was going to do to her. But her simultaneous anger gave her suitable emotional weight to keep her expression fixed in a somewhat smooth, if not perfect, look of control. “Calm down. If you listened to me I could expla—“ “You genuinely hate me, don’t you? Here I thought it was some kind of grand game between us, Ballantine. Some grand game, but it’s not a game to you at all, is it? Not like it is to –” “I don’t hate you!” she exclaimed, without thinking about the words as they left her mouth. The moment she said them she wanted to retract them, but she had to suffice with stumbling over them and hiding them instead. Maybe his slip of the tongue tripped her too, a subtle bump on the road of their anger. Quickly she added “I mean—is this what you call—a game? I don’t see anyone laughing!” The irony of her words made some of the students laugh again. But most of the laughter had faded out of the hall into awed silence; this was like watching Greek gods go to battle on Mount Olympus.... The words that Bram hissed next shoved all those thoughts far from Ivy’s mind. “I would wish Kieran’s death on you. But how can you wish someone dead who is already dead to you? ...Like wounds, the worst kind of wounds, there was a sharp pain as the words fell, and then, numbness. It was a supreme irony, that moment; the words he had just uttered killed a part of her. Her expression must have shown some of her shock. “Don’t say that,” she said, so quiet she was practically whispering. She didn’t think he heard her—not that quiet, meek voice. No. He would only hear the loud words, the clumsy ones. Never the subtle little things that he should—needed—to hear. The oafish git. "You know what the Muggles say, don’t you, or are you too pureblooded for that? Allow me to elaborate. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice? Brisnua Colorare!” That isn’t right, she thought dully in the moments before the spell hit her, It’s ‘Shame on Me.’ And then she realized what he had done. Time seemed to slow down in that brief moment. The flash of the spell passed over her head. She could feel it, feel the force behind the magic, as she reached around and grabbed a fistful of her hair. Her hair. Her beautiful, long, titian hair. She watched as darkness spread down the strands, a long, arduous journey that cut through shifting colors of strawberry and ash and gold. In its wake it left nothing but plain, dismal, dull…auburn? It wasn't mud. It was her mother’s hair. She felt panic well up, for the realization hit her that Bram had done something wrong, the spell was all wrong, her hair was supposed to be an ugly color now and this wasn’t ugly—but it was swallowed by the fury that washed over her moments later. She recalled small moments. Her da ruffling her hair and saying she had his locks, that it was the one thing that wasn’t her mother’s. Her ma, brushing it out and tsking at the knots, telling her what an attribute it would be if she took care of it. Her sister Bernie and Holly and herself, heads leaned together for a photograph so that they looked like triplets, save for the color of their eyes. An old boyfriend, placing his hands on both sides of her head, burying his fingers in the pale strands, pulling her close for a kiss. The same cold rage that had possessed Bram moments earlier now possessed her. But there was one major difference between their rages; she was a Ballantine, and he was not. Already she had been possessed with a ‘both feet on the ground’ mentality, but he had just granted her exactly the thing she needed to clear away the emotional cobwebs and moral puzzles that had clouded her mind. This was no longer a private matter. He had dared to touch her, which she had found the moral fortitude to overlook, but now he dared to maim her, to take away her one beauty, by doing this to her hair. That was something she couldn’t overlook. That was a blow to the Ballantine pride, the Graham honor! There she stood, apologies pouring out of her mouth, to someone who was too blinded and crazed to hear a word she said! Now she understood, a little bit better than she had before, why her grandfather had no trouble eking out justice to criminals. If they were given a chance, they would do something like this. “Jayden,” she said coolly, “you are a child. Maybe you need a time out. To think about what I said.” She swept forward, and as easily as breathing whipped out her wand, pointed it at him, and hit him with a quick succession of spells. “Expelliarmus! Haresco! Incarcereous! Levicorpus!” His wand flew out of his hand; his mouth snapped shut and his limbs clamped together; rough ropes wrapped tightly around his body from his feet to his neck; he whipped into the air, dangling by his ankles. She stood in front of him, face to upside-down face with him. For a moment she wanted to beat the snot out of him, gouge his eyes out with her bare hands, but she decided against it. Some tiny fragment of her mind still recalled that the Jayden twins were emotionally unstable from the murder, and that the few professors who still sat at the front table were watching; maybe permanent mauling wasn’t such a good idea. She leaned forward to whisper in his ear, mocking what he had done moments earlier. “Don’t make a liar of me,” she whispered, “And don’t you dare touch me again. Ever. I swear that you won’t get as much mercy from me again. I did show you mercy, you know.” She stepped away and spoke loudly so that those around her could hear. Her voice was bright, nearly tinny, falsely cheerful. “If you’re so convinced it’s my handiwork, why don’t we let everyone see it, hmmm? You know us Ballantines. Always looking for a little attention, right?” She swung him out above the Seirbhe’s table so that he hovered a few feet above its wooden surface, his hair dangling for all to see. “There. Now he looks like a real Seirbhe. Slimy.” Once again the students burst into laughter. It gave her a rush. Finally, her victory. She ignored its bittersweet taste. At this point Lucinda had already moved across the hall and was grabbing Ivy by her free arm in a surprisingly strong grip. Rather than let the head girl steal her thunder, she broke the connection of the last spell, Levicorpus, by flicking her wand backwards. Bram fell head-first into the table, effectively knocking him unconscious. There, Jayden, she thought, a little sadly, There’s the last bit of mercy I’ll show you. Now you won’t have to hear them laughing. The villain. That was the untidy role Bram Jayden was determined to play today. He refused to be the victim this time, the one who stumbled and fell when running from the serial killer. No, today he planned on donning the Ghostface, wielding the knife – or wand, rather – and just this once act the part he rarely found himself playing. It was the only acceptable option for him. Mentally, there had been two options for the young Jayden boy. His first and ultimately self destructive option was to crumble even further into the emotional hole he had dug for himself – to fall apart; to lose control of his emotions, to lose his restraint and perhaps, temporarily, his mind. ... His mind was racing, his pulse was racing, every part of his brain was in a state of racing that he had never experienced before. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore, he felt like he had finally lost what was left of his mind. Everything felt so surreal, as if Bram’s spirit hovered over his body, watching the actions take place, aghast at the words he spoke and the actions he took. He had hexed Ivy and put the entirety of his will behind the magic, yet hadn’t put even a single thought behind it. It was obvious by the results, which were hardly unflattering, and Bram cursed his ineptness with magic and his thoughtless spell. Simultaneously, a part of him was relieved, and he couldn’t bring himself to understand why – he didn’t have time to comprehend why, it wasn’t a time where anything resembling genuine thinking was possible for him. “Jayden,” Ivy finally uttered. Had she even tried speaking before then? It didn’t seem as if he could remember. Everything was happening so fast, everything was so chaotic, how was he supposed to know? He continued to play his part, raising his eyebrows mockingly as if he were humouring the village idiot. She continued, “You are a child. Maybe you need a time out.” He snickered and rolled his eyes as if to say, Who would give me one? You? He wondered if this is how some people managed to be so horribly obnoxious. Simply fake it until you make it. It made him feel empowered to be so callous, and he began to wonder if perhaps it would be a better way to act in the future. She finished her sentence, “To think about what I said.” He refused to give her the satisfaction of a word, he just smiled at her coolly before noticing her pull out her wand. His smirk quickly faded as dread entered his gut – no amount of ‘fake it until you make it’ would save him from one of Ivy’s pesky hexes. Before he could so much as blink, she hit him with spell, after spell, after spell… Bram didn’t even have time to react, but his thoughts ran miles in less than milliseconds as his wand was thrust from his hand by her spell. What did she expect to accomplish by disarming him of his wand? He was using his mouth more than his—“Mm!” Bram tried to gasp as his lips closed, and he felt almost as if Ivy had just read his mind. Before he could object, his extremities were bombarded violently with ropes, the sudden clamp causing him to grunt as he jabbed himself in the stomach and plummeted towards the floor. Before he collided, another spell was flung in his direction, and his vision swirled as he found himself upside down, the blood rushing to his head and nauseousness overtaking his intestines. Internally cursing his weak stomach, he willed himself not to retch the small amount of lunch he had consumed as his vision blurred before refocusing on... Ivy. Her face filled his vision, and he was reminded of moments ago when they had been even closer, though then he had been right-side up. Additionally, he had been emotionally devastated, frustrated and upset, but not truly angry. He had been infinitely more upset than angry, but now – as his face fumed red with fury – he was sure he would have choked her with his palms if he had been free to do so. He tried to shake his body by wriggling, but he was unable to budge, and a feeling of intense claustrophobia overtook his body. His eyes opened wide and his throat struggled to make sound as his pulse intensified in terror. It was one of the most excruciating feelings he had ever felt, like being trapped, upside down inside of an airtight box. He felt the sudden, drastic need to move and be freed. His eyes sought Ivy’s, begging her eyes to release him – now. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the look appeared to be fury, but how could he communicate to her that she must let him down? Every ounce of anger that had previously been housed within his form oozed into terror and even if he hadn’t been suspended in air, his body would have been immobile by sheer fear alone. She leaned towards him, her voice a whisper in his ear, “Don’t make a liar of me. And don’t you dare touch me again. Ever. I swear that you won’t get as much mercy from me again. I did show you mercy, you know.” Mercy? Mercy?! She called this mercy? Even if he had had the ability to speak, he would have been struck speechless by the audacity of the statement. Mercy? Just what form of mercy could she possibly have tried to show him? The only thing she had shown him that day was cruelty, bitterness, and ultimately hatred. Mercy indeed. She backed away from him and he watched her, his chest pounding as he felt his panic increase. He hadn’t considered himself claustrophobic before, so why was this feeling occurring now? He wasn’t even enclosed, not really. His teeth couldn’t help but grind in his mouth, and the sensation calmed him slightly. At least he could move enough to do that one, small gesture. It gave him something to do as Ivy obnoxiously belted to the room, “If you’re so convinced it’s my handiwork, why don’t we let everyone see it, hmmm?” The sound of her voice was so disgustingly cheerful, Bram had to fight from retching once more. His mind reeled, and his body began to numb slightly as memories floated back into his consciousness. “I didn’t mean for that to happen!” He heard Ivy’s voice say in his head. When had she said that? If he could have shaken his head, he would have done so in hopes to clear it. He heard her voice in his memory again, “Is this how you always handle apologies, Jayden?” Apologies? Surely she had been playing with his head – surely she had been merely adding insult to injury just as she was doing now. She didn’t deserve a second thought, she didn’t deserve anything, especially not after everything she was continuing to put him through. Not after this. Her voice echoed inside of his mind once more. “Calm down. If you listened to me I could expla—” Lies. She was trying to save herself, she knew he was upset – she had made him upset. She was only trying to make matters worse, it wasn’t as if she generally cared about his mental well-being, and she had proved that much by the hex. “I don’t hate you!” She didn’t… hate him? Then why did she… No! Bram screamed in his thoughts, he wouldn’t let his judgment be clouded by Misneach lies. She did hate him, he was suspended in midair and physically ill from the entire experience. She had done that, and she had done it willingly. Again, Ivy’s words pressed into his skull. “I mean—is this what you call—a game? I don’t see anyone laughing!” It confused him. He hadn’t been listening before, he hadn’t been paying attention to the words she uttered then, he was too focused on the words she had uttered before, and more importantly the hex she had cast upon him. It didn’t make any sense. If she was so regretful, then why had she done any of it in the first place? It was almost as if she had tried to purposely set him off. Why would she have done such a thing? ... ... ...He gathered all of the pieces he could find, pressing them together in a desperate attempt to find even two tiny pieces that would fit together. If he could just find two small pieces, perhaps he could begin making the entire picture fit into his consciousness. His mind flashed back to mere moments ago, his assertion that Ivy was very clearly dead to him and the response etched upon her features. Her expression was one of hurt, and even devastation. Was even Ivy Ballantine that good of an actress? Was it possible it could have been sarcasm? No, Bram thought, it didn’t seem as if it had been sarcasm. Why would she have even cared? Nothing was making any sense! Bram heard her voice again in his head, “Don’t say that,” she had said. Her voice had betrayed her even more than her face had. Since when was Ivy a soft spoken girl? Ivy was widely known for her rather boisterous personality, it didn’t make sense for her words to come out so meekly, nor did it make sense that she would have been hurt by his words. He sought desperately for a puzzle piece, any sort of piece of that would fit – what was going on? She swung him over the Seirbhe table, and Bram barely noticed he was so lost and desperate in thought. He was quickly dragged back to reality, however, as Ivy uttered, “There. Now he looks like a real Seirbhe. Slimy.” His hair fell further into his eyes, the dingy, dirty-dishwater colour obscuring his vision as laughter roared throughout the Great Hall, howls even emanating from his Seirbhe classmates. Worse yet, he was sure he heard snickers in the direction of the professors. Yes, to finally see Bram Jayden the slacker get what he deserves for being such a lazy sod. He was sure they were enjoying the sight immensely. It was the only reason Bram could think of that Ivy hadn’t been stopped thus far. ...It all seemed so strange. What was going on? It made sense for Lucinda to intervene; she was head girl after all, but for her to be fuming seemed very strange. Something wasn’t right. What was the piece of the puzzle he was missing? What were they doing? Yes, they were doing something, but for what purpose? Why had Ivy… and then Lucinda looked so… Bram recalled the looks etched upon Aiden and Holly’s faces, their whispers with Ivy moments earlier… he thought of Marion, and it made him suspicious. What were they up… to… no. No! Had they… they had found out, they knew what had happened, somehow they had found out about Marion. They knew she had killed Kieran, they knew he was helping her, they knew everything! How could they not? No, how could they? His stomach lurched suddenly, but he wasn’t paying any attention to it. He had to get free, he had to save her – to warn her. He had to get her out of Dissendium, away from the school entirely, perhaps even out of Ireland itself. He needed to— ----------- ------- ---- -- - |
| QUOTE (After the hair incident. Ivy recalls the way she and Bram met) |
The previously carrot-topped Jayden might have thought that she hated him, but no, that honor was reserved for another Seirbhe. She had no particular reason not to like him, actually, besides his house and infuriatingly secluded personality. She just…picked on him. Maybe it was because he was such a loner—she wouldn’t stand to have someone slip by like they didn’t exist. When had she started to pick on Bram in particular? She could hardly remember now. Everything from before the murder seemed to be part of a different world. It seemed like he had always been at Dissie, but he hadn’t. Not until…fourth year? Fifth year? Something like that. The first time she talked to him was when she was on her way to prank someone.... There was a noise. She stuck her head around the corner. Her eyes sought out the source of the noise in the half-light that a few torches provided. Ivy heard that a newcomer was arriving. If she were lucky, she would get to meet them before anyone else did. But that would only happen if she were quick about it, for Holly was expecting her to be in the hidden hallway so they could pull off a prank, and she couldn’t be late. She squinted her eyes and looked closely, and saw two heads flash by her line of vision, each with hair the color of fire. That was Mia’s family, alright. Same copper hair. There was another noise, but this one was behind her. It was a prefect, probably making the rounds, or even more probable, going to greet the new student. Ivy slipped out of sight behind a pillar, and when the prefect passed her, blissfully unaware of her presence, she whispered “stupefy!” In a flash of red light they fell backwards, utterly unconscious. They would have no idea what hit them. She pulled them out of sight, plucked the prefect badge off their robe, and placed it on her own. She straightened up, smoothed her hair, and affixed what she thought was a responsible expression on her face. It was dominated, however, by her constant Ballantine smile. Whether it was demure, or cheeky, or from ear to ear, it never really left. She traipsed down the steps with her newly acquired badge glinting in the torchlight. “Hello there!” she said to the newcomers, “I’m Ivy Ballantine, I’m a prefect. I believe you’re…Mr. Jayden? And Bram Jayden?” She stuck her hand out for them to shake. The older man, presumably his father, moved forward to shake, but Bram didn’t, and she ignored his rude manners by shaking it anyways. “Lovely to meet ya. The headmaster asked me to bring you to his office.” The memory faded. No matter how much they mocked each other, there was always that same sort of reservation as when they first met, a guard about him when he spoke, as if he were wearing emotional blinders. Ivy realized suddenly that the first time she had seen some real emotion out of him was at supper that evening. ... Dinner. It was the last thing she wanted to dwell on but she found that the thought kept pressing at her, knocking about in her skull until she couldn’t ignore it anymore. She didn't want the distraction of that memory, especially when it was such an emotional one, but there it was. Her attempt had been explosive; effective and distracting, but explosive. If their words had been spells they would have blasted the entire place apart, but as it was the only damage the other students could see was hanging from their heads. Ivy leaned her head back against the window sill and tried to digest it. ... What bothered her about the dinner was that she felt guilty about what she did. If she had guilt, that meant that she felt...pity. Pity for Bram Jayden. A Seirbhe. A rude, quiet, reclusive Seirbhe that she happened to enjoy pestering. Pity, sympathy, they were such erosive emotions! They were like the sea. They beat against the rock of prejudices she had erected over the past six years and ate away at it, bit by bit, moment by moment, until she realized that her defenses were gone and she was left with nothing but sand to defend herself with. What good was sand? Even the most beautiful sand castle could get knocked over with a puff of air. She argued with Bram enough to know that he had plenty of air in his lungs. She just didn't know when he would use it. Blasted sneaking, slythering Seirbhes. Ivy was a Misneach and a Ballantine and--well, and she was simply Ivy--and it meant that she was the proverbial open book. She wore her heart on her sleeve, told it like it was, didn't dodge any bullets, didn't lie, didn't manipulate, and quite frankly, she didn't tolerate that sort of thing. Not even secrets. She never hid anything. Yet this was something she desperately wanted to hide. She couldn't let them know (let him know) that she was so weakened by the encounter at dinner that night. If they noticed this crack of sympathy, this mustard seed of mercy, they would provide the water and the words to crack her open like a peanut shell. All of her physical calluses couldn't defend her from a weakness in the heart. And that's what Bram was. She berated herself for thinking such things. No good could come of it. Only pain, and suffering, and embarrassment. He would take his own revenge out on her if he realized. So she had to bury the weakness and forget about it, forget about it so thoroughly that if someone beat her over the head with a 'Bram is your friend' stick she wouldn't get a clue. But how could she hide something from her friends and from herself? The only reason people had a hard time figuring her out was because she constantly moved...She was just a female Oz, a girl taking refuge behind the mechanics of popularity. And that blasted Seirbhe was a mechanic. |
| QUOTE (The Search for Marion) | ||
A moment later she appeared downstairs, the cloak slung over her shoulder and the parchment in her hand. A grin--the first one since supper--donned her face. "Come on!" she said, tossing the cloak to Aiden. "And put that on. Holly, are you sure this is alright? If you want, you and Aiden can switch places, so someone still knows where we are." But please say no. Just in case. Being careful, and thorough, was one way to eliminate any chances of disaster. All three of them could have gone, but what would happen if the murderer struck and they couldn't get away? And what if they were in one of the castle's hidden nooks? They wouldn't be found for quite some time, dead or alive. Ivy wouldn't admit to it, but she was rather terrified of the murderer going after Holly, the main reason she had asked Aiden instead of her. It wasn't that she valued his life any less...but Holly was practically her sister, and she couldn't bear to hurt or lose someone that close to her. She'd rather keep her safe in this case. In an ideal world she would have gone by herself, but that was something even she wasn't reckless enough to do. She would have to trust that Aiden had his wits about him. Adrenaline ran strong through her veins though, and she felt a tiny bit of apprehension at the entire mission. She knew very well that all of their preparations could be for nothing, and that they could return to the common room eight hours later with nothing to show for it but lost sleep; or maybe the worst would happen and they would find the killer, and the killer would be deranged and powerful. The situation reminded her of her grandfather; for years she hadn't understood why he refused to talk about his childhood, and why he never talked to his grandchildren about his parents. Could Ivy really risk repeating the tragedy that occurred to him by searching for a murderer? But wasn't that what grandpa did every day at his work? She turned to Holly; her eyes reflected back the faint signs of nervousness in her own face. “Just be careful tonight, Ivy. You might not see anyone, but if you do…well they won’t be very happy about being found out. And I’ll be waiting for news, so get me word- you know the usual way.” "We will," she said. "I've got some fireworks if we need them. And the pocket knife." She patted a pocket. Aiden had already stepped out of the common room, and she needed to catch up with him. It didn't feel right not to show some of her gratitude though, so she put a hand on Holly's shoulder and squeezed it, a grateful expression flitting across her face. She glanced down at the parchment again; the other words had disappeared, to be replaced with the words for their meeting place. "We'll see you in a few hours, then. Keep the fire burning, Holly." She shoved her nerves down, crinkled the corners of her eyes in a mischievous smile, and followed after Aiden. As she walked she pulled out the ancient everlasting ink quill and jotted something on the paper, before disappearing through the hidden door. Aiden and Ivy didn't talk much as they walked to the second floor corridor. In fact, after she tore her list of places to search into four pieces, and gave Aiden half of her fireworks, they hadn't talked at all. They stayed silent, paying attention to what was around the next corner, rather than distract themselves with chatter. She found herself slipping into a nearly trance like state of heightened senses; she was listening more closely, watching more carefully, catching things she usually overlooked. Most of her worries were forgotten as she concentrated. She was used to walking around the castle in the dark, so the shifting carvings on the great pillars didn't scare her and the rain bucketing against the windows didn't unnerve her. Every once in a while she looked over at Aiden. He seemed to be alright. She knew this would be his first foray into the world of rule-breaking, so perhaps he wasn't as comfortable with their current escapade as she was.... ... They finally got to the second floor. It was quite a trek from the Misneach common room, and Ivy thought with regret of just how exhausted she would be by tomorrow evening, when she was expected to practice quidditch for two hours. Exhaustion wouldn't stop her, of course, it never did. As long as she could visit the kitchens and grab a steaming cup of the house elves' blackest Irish coffee, she was good to go. Someone with less energy than her wouldn't be able to keep up with the schedule of school, sports, and late night pranking and dating. As she walked towards Lucy she saw that Alex had arrived at the same time, and they all walked up to her and stood like soldiers at attention. She smiled and nodded at Alex as means of a greeting. “Good, we’re all here now. You all know how dangerous this will be, I hope. While it is unlikely that we find her, if we do…we have to be prepared...These capes have a small Disillusionment Charm on them; it’ll only last for tonight. It will go into effect when you put them on and cease when you remove it. I figured it would be easier than casting the actual spell." ...She didn't put the cloak on immediately, but slung it over her shoulder casually, as if she were holding this conversation midday while walking between classes, rather than the middle of the night in search of a killer. Portraying confidence was something she had gotten very good at. Maybe if she showed that she was relaxed and prepared, the others would too. "Oh!" she said a moment later, digging around in a pocket and pulling out four scraps of parchment. "My contribution. A list of all the plausible places to hide in the castle. You have four floors to cover and we have four. I think I gave you the list for downstairs..." She glanced at her parchment. "...Yeah." Only a few more things left to do before they searched. She lit her wand, tucked the quill behind her ear, and put Lucy's parchment and her list in her pants pocket. She rocked back on her heels. "A'right, then. I'm assuming we'll use the parchment to communicate if we've found something? If Aiden and I don't have time to write, we'll set off some fireworks. You should be able to hear them wherever you are. They're the loud ones." She skimmed over the assumption in her words; that the fireworks were for a situation in which they were in grave danger, possibly even mortal. Then it wouldn't matter if the whole school came running to see what the commotion was about; the more people that came, the better. Ivy would be disappointed if they scared off the killer, though. If they were going to find this person, she wanted to hex them into chains and haul them off to Ireland's dreadful hole of a prison, Scroblach. "And if we don't find anything, we can meet back here I suppose?" Marion… Bram had to get to her. He felt like she had to be moved now, and that perhaps it was even time for both of them to leave the school all together. How had he let everything slip to Mia? He didn’t know if she would blab everything to all of Dissendium Academy. He didn’t know if she could be trusted to keep silent in the fragile emotional state she was in… what was he thinking? He wasn’t thinking, that was for certain and that was the problem. His thoughts had been so jumbled and he was finding that they still were even now – he didn’t mean for it to slip precariously from his lips, it just… he didn’t even remember really doing it, he just remembered his sister’s less than enthusiastic reaction after the fact. Whoa. Bram wobbled almost drunkenly for a few moments before leaning against a wall to breathe for a few moments. It was as if he had to make a conscious effort to remember to breathe in, breathe out – in – out – in - out. He wasn’t even sure if he had been treated for whatever it was that happened to him at the hospital wing… it wasn’t as if he had time to ask his twin. Worst of all, he didn’t quite remember exactly everything that happened yet either. He had gaps, very large gaps and he was still attempting to put everything together to make it fit neatly in its own little package, delivered to Bram Jayden, care of Dissendium Academy, zip code… what? Bram narrowed his eyes a moment, a momentary – and unpleasant – pressure making its presence known inside of his head. A strained groan left his lips and he reminded himself again to breathe. In and out – in and out – in and out. He remembered looking in a mirror at the Hospital Wing… a gash on his forehead, just above his right eye had been glaringly present. Had he fallen or perhaps been pushed? He hadn’t a clue, everything was entirely too hazy and he was having such a hard time concentrating. He had remembered his arrival at Dissendium Academy, he had remembered the masquerade ball and everything that had led up to it… the hospital wing with Mia and the Scooby Gang… when had he started calling them the “Scooby Gang” again? Marion. Yes, the night he saw her at the Crionna tower. That was it, wasn’t it? Bram nodded slightly at the recognition as if it would start a domino effect, as if each successive nod would bring him further into comprehension. Bugger. He quickly stopped the motion as the unpleasant pressure increased ten-fold and became mind thrashing pounds inside of his skull. His vision blurred, his mind reeling as consciousness attempted to abandon him and… wait, where was he? Hadn’t he just been outside a moment ago on his way… somewhere. He bit his lip, feeling entirely more vulnerable than he cared to feel as something with powerful legs gave the inside of his skull a swift and brutal kick. Okay, he would think logically about this for a minute. He was in the castle, that much was obvious but why was he in the castle? Shouldn’t he be in bed or something by now? He certainly felt tired enough to let sleep overtake his body and perhaps slumber for forty-eight hours or something. His stomach let loose a loud grumble that made him wonder when he had last eaten… perhaps he should eat something? He didn’t remember the last time he… wait, when was the last time he… yes, the Great Hall. He had been there, eating some strange concoction that was probably supposed to be healthy for him before he transfigured it into a plate of French fries. That was the last thing Bram had remembered before waking up at the hospital wing confused, vulnerable, and apparently more than a little stupid considering he had told Mia he that he was hiding… Marion? Marion! He pushed himself from the wall, ignoring the blobs of light which tried to interfere with his vision at the action. Pausing a moment, the reality around Bram seemed to swirl and he felt his form bob back and forth slightly. Commanding that his breath be controlled while simultaneously commanding that he remain conscious and not tumble to the floor in a faint, Bram looked upwards, his gaze meeting that of a mirror. His head cocked to the side, an eyebrow rising in curiosity as his jaw found itself droopily agape. His hair! Expeditiously running a palm through it, he lifted it upwards and allowed it fall downwards slowly, lock by lock. Hair was not supposed to be that colour, he didn’t even know hair could be that slimy colour, and his hair most certainly wasn’t supposed to be that colour! He lifted a patch of unidentified grey gunk from the side of his head in the process, wondering at first if it might have been dried blood… but it looked more like dried lunch, and Bram’s lips curled in disgust at the thought. It didn’t make sense… wasn’t his hair red or something? Yeah, it was always red… wasn’t it? Yes. Hazy, everything was hazy. It wasn’t feasible to believe that he had dyed his hair… he wouldn’t have bothered with it, and if he were to dye his hair it would certainly not be that colour. He gave a huff, and his stomach grumbled again in protest. He would kill for another one of those French fries. Why hadn’t he finished those again? Ivy, yes, she had been eating them… why would he let Ivy eat his transfigured French fries? He remembered her sitting next to him, munching away and gabbing about something or other. They were suddenly friendly enough to be gabbing? No, that made no sense at all. Fighting, yes, she had stolen his fries… he was angry, is that why he had been angry? Surely he hadn’t been angry over the French fries, as food wasn’t something to be angry over. His stomach let loose a grumble of disagreement and gurgled menacingly as he resumed his trek to… where was he going again? He thought about returning to the hospital wing for a moment, So scattered. No, returning to the hospital wing would give Ivy too much satisfaction after everything she had done to him. He wouldn’t return there, it would only show everyone how much weaker he was… wha? Why would it give Ivy any satisfaction? Two pieces of the puzzle suddenly clicked themselves together – she had put him there in the first place. Bram’s mouth set into a scowl, his mind raced as he found bits and pieces of the puzzle, putting them haphazardly together to give him some form of visual. Immediately, Bram switched directions, his purpose shining with clarity; he knew exactly where he needed to go, and that was to where he had hidden Marion. Yes, Ivy – the vindictive, shrewish little sow – had put him in the hospital wing, but he had no intention of allowing her to delay him from seeing his Marion for even one second longer. Not one blasted second. Things were going well. They would continue to go well. So far, all the details were correct, there had been no miscommunication, and the more nervous members of their group hadn't bolted for the comfort of their respective common rooms. Not yet, at least, and that was encouragement enough for Ivy, who was itching to get on with their mission whether or not the others were with her. This was far more exhilarating than a prank, and she hadn't even done anything yet. “...If neither of us turns up anything in…let’s say two hours’ time, we’ll meet back here and never think of it again.” Two hours--that wasn't much time, and they had a lot of ground to cover. She would have argued it, but that would be wasting even more precious time, and besides, arguing with Lucy wasn't something she particularly wanted to do at the moment. She'd had enough arguing for one day. And she was still sore at the head girl for berating her after the traumatizing experience at supper. ...She turned to where Aiden had been standing a moment ago. "Alright," she said, quietly now, "I guess this means we've started. We'll check all the places on your list first because they have the hiding places on this floor. What's the first place?" It was a hidden broom cupboard. Inside were a few brooms and All Purpose cleaner. ...And so they continued on their search. An hour passed uneventfully. The longer they searched, the less Ivy joked and the more she concentrated. She was determined to find something tonight, whether it be nothing more than a clue, or the living, breathing murderer in the flesh. ... Another hour passed and they had found absolutely nothing. The disappointment creeping up on her was bitter, and she ignored Aiden's suggestion that they turn around now that the two hours had passed. "Just a few more minutes," she whispered to him, "There are a few good hiding places on this floor." They crept up the steps to the fifth floor. In her mind, she was willing and wishing and praying for something to happen--anything, she would take any little clue! It hadn't rained for them for nothing. The distraction hadn't worked for nothing. Their easy search wasn't for nothing. And as if on cue, something did happen then. Bram Jayden...that Bram Jayden...walked past them. There was a cut on his forehead and he walked with purpose. He should have been asleep in the hospital wing, or at the very least, down in the dungeons where his common room was. What in the world was he doing up here? What would drag the fragile Seirbhe out of bed in the middle of the night after he had been mocked and abused? Ivy sucked a breath through her teeth and clenched Aiden's hand tightly. No--he couldn't be involved in the murder--he wasn't capable of murdering someone. But would he actually do in his sister's lover? Was he really that heartless? Is that why he was so emot--he was walking away. She fumbled for the quill that was still stuck behind her ear, pushed it in Aiden's hand, and slipped out of his grasp. She was going to find out what this was about. He was supposed to be going somewhere, heading… where? He couldn’t seem to bring himself to remember. Bram knew that he had everything in mind as to where he needed to be just a moment ago, but at the present moment, he couldn’t bring a single thing to the forefront of his mind. It was like a mental block the size of Texas had planted itself in-between his thought processes and his ability to access them… how his thought processes were supposed to travel the length of Texas in anything resembling a fast amount of time, Bram couldn’t guess. No wonder he was having so many problems and issues – Texas! Texas was large, and Bram knew this even though he lived in Ireland because he paid attention to geography and had a pen pal once who lived in Texas... ... What was he doing? Yes, right… he was trying to remember what he was doing. It shouldn’t be too hard to remember what one was doing mere moments ago, should it? All it takes it brain cells moving in the right direction, at the right time, and something about synapses and brain-electricity with sloshy substances and various other icky brain-stuff. He allowed himself to wonder for a moment what the sloshy substance was, but decided that it was probably best to allow that little bit of information to go unprocessed, especially due to the whole aforementioned Texas fiasco...Bad book, very bad book. But yes, he had to get back to business and attempt to locate Marion – his Marion, oh his Marion. Yes! That was it! Marion! Marion Fry, the one who had a name much like French fries except sans French… which was kind of a shame, really, as he generally liked French things. ... ... He looked downwards at his shoulder to see a piece of… something. He had remembered something similar being on his face earlier… it was food. Ech, Bram thought. Ivy had… Oh yeeeah, Bram thought in his seemingly space-cadet-like manner… Ivy had done something like drop him in food or whatnot. It hadn’t been a fun experience, and he really wished Ivy hadn’t done it to him. It had proved very inconvenient and Bram was certain that he would have to get some kind of revenge on her soon, though he wasn’t able to exactly think of anything juicy enough at the moment that would be anything resembling appropriate. The worst thing he could think of was sticking something squishy inside of her shoes or something, but how was he to know which pair of shoes she would wear? More importantly, he wasn’t even sure where she kept her shoes, and that could be a problem. Yes, a real problem. Bram looked around again, wondering where he could possibly be and how he got there. Wasn’t he supposed to be somewhere else? ... Oh right, Marion. He was finding her, wasn’t he? Yes, but where was she? He needed to find his Marion! For some reason, he felt that this was the appropriate place to find Marion, but he couldn’t exactly remember why that was, because it wasn’t as if there was anything particularly interesting about this room. He needed to find Marion. He paced back and forth, back and forth in wonder - where was Marion? Bram felt rather dizzy for a few moments and decided that the wall was a very comfortable place to lean against in attempts to clear the thoughts swimming hazily in his brain. He liked walls, they had the potential to be so comfy, warm and generally pleasing to the touch when one felt dizzy and like they may fall down to the floor, which seemed entirely less comfy, warm and generally pleasing. Walls were entirely underrated. Looking upwards, Bram tilted his head to the side and made a face undoubtedly full of curiousness while wondering if, perhaps, he had lost his mind....He reached a hand to his forehead as a sharp pain arched its way across his brain, and he felt a wave of dizziness for a moment before clarity began to creep into his mind again. He would have shaken his head if he hadn’t been afraid he would shake the clarity left inside his brain in the process. Marion. Yes, everything was coming together for Bram now. He found himself wondering a moment just how high up he had been when Ivy dropped him. His head gave him a kick in response, and he rubbed his forehead again gently as he made his way to the doors that would take him to the Room of Requirement. Opening them cautiously, Bram was greeted with the one person he wanted to see most in the world – Marion. He blinked a moment afterwards, clearing his vision before uttering, “Marion?” His lips perked upwards into an awkward smile as everything suddenly seemed right in the world again. He was with Marion – where he should be. He was hoping he didn’t look dreadful (aside from the gash on his head), and hoping even moreso that he would be able to think something coherent enough that he wouldn’t say something abominably stupid. He figured uttering her name was safe enough, and he only wobbled slightly as he had done so. So far so good. He opened his mouth to speak again, not seeming to be able to find words or make them come from his mouth. Instead, he turned around and nudged the door in attempt to close it, though it remained ajar without his knowledge. He returned his gaze to Marion and announced, “We need to leave. I made a careless mistake.” He hated that he’d spilled everything to his sister – he’d ruined everything and he would never forgive himself for it. If anything happened to Marion now, it was Bram’s fault and Bram’s fault alone. He moved to her and took her hands before continuing, “We have to leave now. I wasn’t thinking right and now my sister knows everything. I honestly don’t know whom she’ll tell. We have to escape now, before she notifies someone of your presence here and what we’ve done.” Bram had stopped thinking of Kieran’s murder as Marion’s crime – it was now their crime together. She was no longer solely responsible in Bram’s eyes – they both were in this together, all of it. He had screwed up, and during a weak moment he had spilled the beans to Mia at the Hospital Wing… but he wouldn’t let Marion be captured because of his careless mistake. If they left now, before they were found, they still had a chance to be free and more importantly… together. |
| QUOTE (The Search for Marion Continued) |
The academy mediwitches were slacking off. That cut on Jayden's forehead needed only a healing spell, and the obvious dizziness that seemed to catch up with him every few seconds needed nothing more than a sleeping draught and a long rest in the hospital wing. The potion she could have managed, because she was rather good at making them after plentiful practice from injuries and pranks, but the healing spell she couldn't have done. For some reason she was completely incompetent with healing spells of any sort... it was an unfortunate flaw in her magical abilities because she tended to get in dangerous situations often, or do risky things such as hold onto her broom during a quidditch match with only her legs and make faces at the opposing team while hanging upside down. But those were his injuries, not hers, and she didn't have to worry about healing them. Let them hurt. Make him dizzy, make him weak, make him easy to overpower if he was really up to no good. Ivy followed close behind in her magically silenced sneakers and tried not to breath too loudly. He was headed towards the secret room, she realized; she stood tight against the wall and waited as he revealed the door. He was moving far too slow. She slipped in behind him. "Marion." Marion. A girl their age, a tiny girl with black hair and a peaky looking face, jumped in surprise. Ivy pulled out her wand and moved behind her. A strange calm was enveloping her; she felt almost like she was having an out of body experience. This is the girl they were looking for and I am going to capture her, that thought rang in her head clear as a bell as she pointed her wand at the back of the pale girl's head and prepared to say 'stupefy!' Bram continued to speak, and she paused, her unnaturally cool head reminding her that she had no idea what the relationship was here. “We need to leave. I made a careless mistake. We have to leave now. I wasn’t thinking right and now my sister knows everything. I honestly don’t know whom she’ll tell. We have to escape now, before she notifies someone of your presence here and what we’ve done.” She stared at them for a moment with a disgusted look on her face. He was the accomplice. They were...lovers. Jayden had fallen in love a cruel, mad murderer; a murderer who killed his own sister's lover. Ivy, who had no reason to, felt completely betrayed. She regretted her delay; she wished she didn't know what she knew now. She opened her mouth to say the spell. But before she could speak, everything went terribly wrong. Again. Aiden fell--when had he slipped in? She hadn't felt him move behind her--and the disillusioned cloak slipped off his shoulders. He stared up at Jayden and the Marion girl with a bemused expression. “…Hi…” he said. Thank Maeve for her Graham blood! She felt herself rip her own cloak off and start shouting whatever spell came to mind first. "Protego!" was the first thing, shot towards Aiden, though she completely forgot to use the spell on herself, and then "Confringo! Stupefy! Fuscorum! Petrificus Totalus! Digitus Abigo! Exponomentum!" The girl was too small, too fast. She was using Jayden's wand, which meant that it wouldn't be as powerful as normal and that, for some reason, she couldn't use her own. Ivy had the advantage. Now if only she could get a handle on how to hit the little killer. Each of them dodged the spells they exchanged easily enough, and they were just wasting time as they sized each other up. How to get to her? Her unperturbed, instinct-riddled mind told her that she needed to stumble, needed a distraction. But Ivy's luck had left her. It was she who became distracted, as Aiden set off his fireworks. The girl saw him and connected the whizzing and popping explosives to the bulge in Ivy's pocket. But Ivy wasn't watching, she was still looking at Aiden. A moment later her eardrums were ringing with the sound of three sticks of extremely loud wizarding explosives detonating in her pocket. The girl hadn't hit the fuse, she had hit the main body of the explosives. Ivy felt the shrapnel cutting through her leg and clothes, felt the instant second degree burns blister up her side. Why did she have to bring the big ones? A few firecrackers would have been fine, really... Another moment later she was lying on the hard stone floor of the room of requirement, shooting off hexes futilely into the smoke. She stopped when she heard Aiden yelling her name and fell back on the ground, trying to breath through the pain that was making it very hard to keep her mind cool, her thoughts collected. Aiden knelt down next to her and grabbed her hand. “Ivy…I’m sorry.” he said. "I'm not dying, y'bleeding eejit," she replied, forcing a rather strained smile onto her face. "Help me up, they're getting away!" She tried to stand up but her leg gave way, her pants and shirt flapping around with gaping, smoking holes. A quick "reparo" fixed that embarrassing problem, and then with Aiden's help she hobbled out of the room and down the hall through the smoke, determined as ever. "Which way did they go? Did you see? Is he with her? Where are Lucy and Alex? " Asking questions, plain talking, helped her ignore how badly her side hurt her. On the bright side, there wouldn't be much blood because her skin was toasted; but on the other side, she would get to enjoy the long arduous process of having tiny bits of firework removed from her flesh. She would have slapped on some of Holly's miraculous burn salve if it weren't for that. But for now she would have to deal with the pain. She had been so close to catching the murderer--inches, seconds away! But she had delayed, just to be sure she had the right person, and now she had lost her chance. There was no way she was going to catch up with them now. The murderer and the traitor would disappear again...maybe forever. "Look!" she said. She had seen something move in the smoke, heading down a level. She raced forward...at least, racing as much as a girl with a recently exploded leg could...and tried to catch up with the figure, who didn't seem to be moving so quickly. As soon as she was on the next floor, where smoke didn't obscure everything, she took aim and shouted "stupefy!" The figure toppled over; it was Jayden. She was struck with a very strong desire to use some of the hexes she had shot at the murderer on him, but her leg decided to give way again. She heard someone running, and she hastily pulled herself up by using Aiden's shoulder, straightened her back so it wouldn't look like she was completely incompetent--getting exploded by Jayden's short girlfriend, honestly, what would her grandfather think? Or more relevantly, what would the professors think? She watched as Professor Doyle appeared around a corner. At least it was a friendly face. She tried to gather her thoughts and figure out what to do; should she tell the truth? Should she come up with excuses? Think think think she berated herself, but her thought processes were fraying. That unnatural cool-headed calm which had possessed her was gone now, burnt right away. She still retained enough of her common sense to realize that the scene looked bad, they didn't have the murderer, they had set off fireworks, and she was once again in the position of Jayden bully. No one would believe a word they said about the murderer. She discreetly rennervated Jayden and tried to lean casually against Aiden. "Hullo, Prof," she said, "I hope our lights show didn't wake you up? We didn't mean to make so much noise, but Jayden here wandered out of bed and thought it would be funny to exact a little revenge." Everything had happened so fast that Bram’s head was swimming faster than Princess Ariel of Little Mermaid fame. It felt as if he had just managed to get some semblance of sanity back, and then everything started moving faster than his brain wanted to travel. Marion tried to ask him what was going on, and he desperately wanted to explain it to her, but there wasn’t enough time.... Suddenly Bram and Marion were heading for the door…whose idea was that? Bram couldn’t even think straight enough to remember, but as they reached the door, he looked outside to ensure no students with overwhelmingly strange bedtimes were lurking about. The last thing they needed was to run into some pesky, bumbling student with disordered sleeping patterns and careening into them during their escape. As if by some cruel twist of fate, Bram sensed movement and heard a distinct thud as a blonde boy shimmered into view inside the very room they were ready to escape from, a cloak billowing away from his form. Instantly, a calm entered the room for a fraction of a second as Bram’s mind worked overtime to make something make sense. The boy reached for his cloak and Bram recognized him. “Hayden?” He whispered, aghast and frozen in shock, and in any other circumstance he would have perhaps attempted to register what the fair-haired boy was doing in the room of requirement, alone and invisible with his girlfriend. Instead, the Seirbhe’s mind raced as it dawned on him that the door had been ajar, and the Misneach slipped in – what was Mia’s… Mia’s friend, Bram thought. “…Hi…” Aiden spoke sheepishly, and Bram almost shook his head in disbelief. She couldn’t have… no, there simply hadn’t been enough time for her to have informed Aiden, much less for Aiden to have followed him afterwards. There had to be some other explanation for– “Protego!” Bram heard a voice shout, as a girl whipped off a cloak similar to Aiden’s and began flinging spell after spell after spell. He immediately recognised the voice. He should’ve known – he should’ve known it was Ivy the moment he saw Aiden! “Ballantine!” Bram roared. As if she hadn’t humiliated him enough at the Great Hall, he wouldn’t allow her to capture his love as well. Another wave of dizziness enveloped the boy, and he teetered as he felt Marion’s hand reach into his robes to grab his wand. "Confringo! Stupefy! Fuscorum! Petrificus Totalus! Digitus Abigo! Exponomentum!" The incantations rang through Bram’s head and he wanted to do something – anything – but the only thing he could focus on was staying conscious and something resembling vertical as vertigo sunk talons into his mind’s flesh. Coming to his senses, Bram dodged a spell thrown by Aiden, before the boy seemingly began to flee. This was their chance! It was Bram and Marion against Ivy now, and though Bram had no wand to work with, two against one was an easy enough fight to win. He felt a tad bit cowardly and unchivalrous to think such a thought, but it wasn’t as if he was a Misneach – bravery and chivalry weren’t two aspects he was overwhelmingly concerned with.... Bram’s gaze followed Ivy’s to Aiden – what was he doing? He thought the blonde had been fleeing, but now…”Incendio!” The fireworks crackled and sizzled, bursting through the air and shattering any semblance of quiet into oblivion. He heard another voice – Marion – shout, “Incendio!” and he quickly returned his gaze to Ivy as an explosion shook the air, smoke billowing from where Ivy stood and cascading into his vision. That shouldn’t have happened, should it? Was she alright? He had to get to her to check on— a cough banged upon his ribcage and his knees buckled in response – he wasn’t in any shape for this confrontation, his head was still swimming with Ariel in Atlantica. A hand landed upon his arm, and he looked upwards to see the comforting face of his Marion through the cloudy smoke. Giving him a good yank, she pulled him to his feet and he stumbled after her as she yelled, “Come on!” He could only cough in response, feeling as if he were choking upon his own tongue, and each huff slowed down their progress. He heard Aiden shout, “Ivy!” and nearly turned to look, but the sources of the voices wouldn’t have been visible anyway. “Run” Bram gasped in-between heaves, running at his best Bram-speed… he was never much of a runner, and the hacking didn’t help. “Don’t stop, just kee—.” In mid-sentence, Bram’s body toppled to the floor, banging down a few steps as his limbs limply flailed. After a moment, Bram felt his mind clear from a haze even thicker than the one he had previously been experiencing and he sat up carefully, clearly groggy as he heard Ivy’s voice ring, “Hullo, Prof.” He blinked furiously, grasping onto comprehension and wondering if Marion had managed to get away. A cautious look in both directions satisfied him – if she had gotten caught, it wasn’t by Ivy, Aiden or… Jillian Doyle. Bram clenched his teeth and opened his mouth to speak, but Ivy continued, “I hope our lights show didn’t wake you up? We didn’t mean to make so but noise, but Jayden here wandered out of bed and thought it would be funny to exact a little revenge.” Bram looked groggily at Doyle; the Jayden boy was obviously worse for wear, with food still staining bits of his uniform. The gash upon his head was now bleeding with renewed fury, and he had even more bumps and bruises than before. To top it all off, the wound upon his lip had busted open once again. With an even-toned expression clearly expressing his exhaustion, his calm response surprised even himself. “Professor,” Bram began, his head wobbling slightly. “I do not believe even Professor Reed is bloody stupid enough to believe a word that topples from Ballantine’s lips. What will you do next, Ivy?” Bram practically spat in the direction of the charred traitor, a smug look curling onto his wounded lip. “Accuse me of harboring the murderer from the Masque or something equally as unimpressive?" All he had to do now to save Marion was kill time. The longer he delayed Aiden and Ivy, the longer Marion had to escape. If he could just keep Aiden and Ivy from being taken seriously, she was golden. Now that he was sitting – albeit on the floor – and thinking with a clearer head despite the stupefy spell moments earlier… Mia wouldn’t go to anyone. He knew her better than that, and that would enable Marion to escape if he kept his wits about him. As far as Bram was concerned, he’d won this round, and he had the war wounds to prove it. |
| QUOTE (Harry checks up on his sister the next day) |
| The windows in the infirmary were usually kept locked. Harry didn’t think about this when he flew off to visit his sister, but the realization struck him when he rounded the east side of the castle and faced the hospital wing. Morning sun glinted off the windows. Ballynahatin’s main entrance, stairs, long hallways; they all would have taken too long. He had no time to spare for that sort of architectural impediment when it was so much shorter to make a beeline for Ivy on his broom. He could just use alohomora on a window, and if that didn't work, there was always the option of breaking the window and repairing it once he got in. As it turned out, no such action was needed. He flew parallel to the castle wall, peering into the tall thin windows, until he saw his sister’s form on one of the plain infirmary beds. A window was next to her bed. His legs locked around his broom and he grabbed the window ledge. Gathering all his strength, he heaved the window upward, expecting the metal lock to catch and stop the window from opening. Instead it flew open, and he toppled ungracefully into the castle, arms flailing and a curse flying from his lips. The broom tumbled in after him and jabbed him in the stomach. He scowled at it. His rough entrance had woken Ivy up. She turned her head and stared at him with sleepy dark eyes. “Smooth,” she said, smiling demurely at him. “Have you come to break me out?” “No,” he snapped, now turning his glare on his sister. “I’ve come to find out what you’ve done, how bad this burn is, and whether or not I should tell da what you’ve been up to!” “Nice to see you too,” she replied. She closed her eyes and turned her head away. “It doesn’t matter anyway, I’m alive, obviously, so you can go back to practicing quidditch. Who told you anyways?” She turned back and tried to sit up, but hissed and lay back down. “It’s just a little burn. They’re acting like I’m a bleedin’ invalid. I tried to convince them I would jump out the window if they didn’t let me go back to the dormitory but they wouldn’t—effin’ Jaysus! What’re you doing?” “Looking at your injury.” “You can’t pull back the bandages, they’ve adhered to my skin!" Harry ignored her. He pulled back the bandages and saw the long purple-red welts. “Ivy!” he exclaimed, wincing a little in spite of himself. “What did you do?” “I didn’t do anything wrong—it was that bloody girl!” “What girl?” “The girl from the masque, the murderess!” “Seriously, Ivy…” “I am being serious!” “Come off it. What really happened?” He put the bandages back and glanced up at her face. He blinked. “And what happened to your hair?” His sister glanced toward the other end of the infirmary. Any semblance of a ‘grin and bear it’ smile had disappeared. Harry followed her gaze. Through the divider curtains he could see there was another bed blocked off. “Is that her?” “No.” “Who is it?” “Jayden.” “Oh.” “Fine, you won’t believe me?” she said abruptly, “Here’s your story for you. I was wandering around after hours, there was a fight, and someone blew up the fireworks in my pocket.” “Fireworks! In your pocket?” “And he hexed my hair at dinner last night.” “He hexed you?” “That’s what I said.” “Oh. Poor blighter.” “What! How can you say that!" “Well, he’s in the hospital wing, isn’t he?” “He should be on trial in the High Council!” she exclaimed, trying to sit up again and failing. “That bloodly—bleedin’—pain in the arse—unhinged—“ “Oh dear, oh dear. What is this rumpus?” Madame Sheehy bustled out of her office, wielding a wand and wicked looking black potion. “She’s going to put me under again!” groaned Ivy. “Take me with you! Please!" She held her arms out entreatingly. He smiled charmingly in return. “Sorry, Ivy, but you’ve done this to yourself. Caroline’s waiting for me, anyways, down at the quidditch pitch…“ He paused, and frowned, a reverse image of the delighted expression that stole across his sister's face. He smacked himself in the forehead. “Did I leave the bludger out?” Ivy's smile disappeared and she rolled her eyes at him. "You bleedin' eejit. It's dangerous for you to be so reckless! Do you want someone to get hurt? And Caroline of all people!" Madame Sheehy pulled open the curtains at that moment. She looked tired, more so than Ivy. "Oh look. You're awake again. Such a persistent dear, you are...oh, hello there, Harry dear! Is your sister being good?" "She's being herself." "Oh. How wonderful. Come on now, Ivy, time for your medicine. I'll never be able to change those bandages with you wriggling around...just drink this up and get your rest for me, please, my dear, and I promise you'll be back to your roaming by this afternoon." Ivy looked entreatingly at Harry; Harry shook his head and gave her a look that said 'You honestly expect me to help you?' Now that he remembered Caroline was out on the quidditch pitch, all alone and in the damp chilly morning air with a bludger attacking her, he was itching to get back to her. It was clear that the incident--a girl, a fight, fireworks--hadn't hurt her too seriously. It clearly hadn't knocked any sense into her. If anything, it had knocked more out of her. He didn't understand half her jabbering. He watched as the mediwitch gave Ivy the medicine, and waited until she was knocked out cold again--it didn't take long, less than a minute--before he picked up his broom. "Will the Headmaster be talking to her, Madame Sheehy?" "As soon as she's able to walk to his office, my dear." "When will she be out?" "By this afternoon, I'm sure. The burn salve will heal her well enough for now. I'm afraid that she'll never be able to feel again in some places, it was quite a deep burn. The poor dear. If there had been less heat and more shrapnel I hate to think what would have happened to her..." Harry smiled grimly at his sister. "Thanks, Madame Sheehy. I need to, uh, go send an owl now." "Oh, of course! I wonder if anyone has contacted your parents? Our poor headmaster, he can be so forgetful sometimes...and it was Jillian that found them, I don't think she sent an owl either..." She continued to chatter, cutting off the bandages and producing a large tin of burn salve from a pocket, while Harry discreetly sidled over to the window. Caroline...he needed to go back to the quidditch pitch, he had to, before something bad happened. Like her getting attacked by a bludger. |
| QUOTE (Ivy and Bram reach an accord in detention) |
Detention; Ivy was an expert at if...she'd had more detentions than any other student in the history of Dissendium Academy, yet somehow managed not to get expelled, thrown off the quidditch team, or let her grades slip. How exactly she did this even she wasn't sure of. She was pretty certain it had to do with her work ethic and charming personality. If she had been a sulky Seirbhe that didn't care what happened to their grades and would rather run off to snog their murderess girlfriend than study--not that Ivy was thinking of anyone in particular--the headmaster might not have been so lenient. The firework's explosion left a long, red, shiny welt up her leg and waist, punctuated here and there by little cuts where the shrapnel hit her. Madame Sheehy worked her magic well enough that Ivy was assured she wouldn't have an incredibly disfiguring scar, but the potion would take a few days to heal the burns completely and she couldn't do much physical activity in the meantime. That meant no quidditch and no wandering around after hours. When Ivy heard this she had been indignant; she was fine, why did she have to slow down? The second and third degree burns were only mildly excruciating, she could handle it. As soon as Ivy started her protesting Madame Sheehy made her drink a sleeping draught, and she was out cold for the next ten hours. Sleeping was better than sitting and waiting though, as she realized when she woke up and had to stay in bed until her detention, allowed to move only to use the bathroom and wash up. It was finally time to leave. Professor Doyle had taken her students' injuries into account when choosing an activity for detention. They would be polishing trophies by hand in the trophy room. Although not very creative or entertaining, it was better than nothing, and after so many hours trapped in the hospital wing with only Jayden, whom she was ignoring, and a girl who looked like she got in a wrestling match with a few flesh-eating slugs and was in no state to talk, Ivy was dying for something to do. It was selfish, but she was glad that Aiden was in detention too. She needed to talk to someone. Being alone and confined was exhausting. Ivy's side was stiff with bandages and it made walking difficult. She insisted on walking at a normal pace though, especially with Jayden and Aiden watching. She made small talk with Aiden and Professor Doyle and refused to grace the Seirbhe among their group with so much as a glance. It was a relief when the professor left them among the trophies, taking their wands and leaving them with rags and polish, and saying something about Bedknobs and Broomsticks. A minor relief, at least. The tension in the air was so thick it was a surprise any of them could breath; Ivy, for her part, was contributing wholeheartedly to the unpleasant atmosphere. She took her rag and polish and tore into the trophies with a vengeance. .. "Well, Aiden, what do you think? Will Misneach get the cup again this year? Or will we have to forfeit because half the team is mysteriously murdered?" Her voice was thinner than usual, higher. She slammed another cup back into its place on the shelves and picked up a small, heavy, gleaming shield. She rubbed its surface hard, ignoring the occasional pain that rippled across her blistered skin from the movement. The free time in the hospital wing had nursed not only her wounds, but her anger at the Seirbhe. She knew perfectly well that ignoring him and making not-really-concealed-at-all insults would only make the situation worse, but she was in no state of mind to consider calming down. She had gone out of her way to search for a murderer to help his sister--not to mention the entire student body--and what did she get in return? One exploded side, one head of hair that was still disturbingly auburn even though it should have started to fade, one excruciating stay in the hospital wing, one detention, and zero murderers under lock and key. And to top it all off, he was gallivanting around with the self same black widow murderess that had caused his own sister so much pain and trouble! Ivy found it very hard not to slam the shield down on its stand. She rather felt like a confrontation. She managed to replace the shield with some measure of tenderness, as she was inclined to treat anything with her family's name on it carefully, but as soon as she had adjusted the shield and added the final polish she spun on her heel, a forced smile on her face. "Personally, I think we we may have to forfeit. Jayden should know, don't you think?" Here she looked over at him and glared daggers. "What do you think? Has your girlfriend told you who she's going to axe next? Maybe I'm next! You know, for allegedly changing your hair color! I really deserve to die for that, doncha think?" Another trophy, more furious scrubbing. Any guilt she might have felt about using Jayden to get to the murderer was gone completely now. It was replaced by a potent mixture of anger, righteous indignation, frustration, and absolute shock that he had been capable of doing something so underhanded. But she shouldn't have been shocked, should she? He was nothing but a spineless Seirbhe that didn't have a jot of courage or chivalry to his name. He wasn't worth her time. While Bram Jayden wasn’t the type to suck up to any of his professors or study with great tenacity, he simultaneously wasn’t the troublemaking type either. Unlike some Misneach students – not that he was thinking of anyone in particular – detention wasn’t really something the young, former-redhead was used to enduring....Fortunately, he had had time to calm himself and sort everything out with the time he had spent in a second stay at Dissie’s hospital wing. At first, the longer he craved information about Marion, the more out of control he felt himself spinning. Had she managed to get away? Was she still hidden, off somewhere and safe? If another meddlesome Misneach had been with Aiden and Ivy, anything was possible. However, as Bram’s wounds began to heal and his head began to clear, he realised that – in this case – no news was good news for him. Surely if the Masque Murderess was found he would have heard about it; the news would spread like wildfire the moment she was caught. She was resourceful, she had survived without Bram before and she certainly did not need him now. As long as she was careful, she could still make it out and away without him. Perhaps, sometime in the near future, he could escape himself and find her somehow. Once he had time to reason and figure things out, it dawned on him that even if someone had been with Ivy and Aiden, they would have revealed themselves and assisted the bratty duo in the fight. Ivy… Bram stole a glance at her from a respectable distance as they walked to their Bram returned his gaze to his goal – the oh-so-entertaining trophy room. His head only had room for thoughts of Marion right now, and of course for his sister as well. He was worried for them both now that he had inadvertently blabbed everything. That was Ivy’s fault, the entire thing was her fault. If she hadn’t dropped him on his head, he would’ve had the presence of mind not to blab to his sister, he would’ve been more careful as he went to retrieve Marion, and everything would have worked out like it should have. It all came down to the confrontation at the Great Hall. She pushed him, he asked her to stop, she pushed again, and now everything was messed up. As Doyle excused herself from the room, Bram shook his head and withheld a sigh. Ivy had messed everything up, and he refused to allow her to shake him again. He wouldn’t let her get to him anymore, he wouldn’t let her bother him anymore, and he most certainly wouldn’t let her anger him anymore. She wasn’t worth the effort – what Bram had told Ivy in the Great Hall was true: Ivy Ballantine was dead to him, and he had no intention of mourning the loss. She was the one who betrayed him and took things too far, and now he just had to suffer through the abysmal detention. Afterwards, he would just slip away somehow – considering Brynn’s funeral would be soon, Bram figured that it wouldn’t be very difficult to slip away with everyone distracted by grief. ... Bram almost scoffed as Ivy delved into polishing trophies and making herself busy. He assumed that Aiden soon followed suit, but Bram didn’t really pay attention to him, and didn’t particularly see the point in involving himself in the punishment. It wasn’t as if he were planning on staying at Dissendium for any length of time anyway, so why bother? He idly plucked a random trophy and stroked its surface with a pink, polka-dotted cloth, buffing a single spot as the minutes passed. If nothing else, the quarter-sized surface would be very shiny by the time he was through. His thoughts began to wander as he tried to ignore Ballantine and Daniels, and he ended up polishing a few other spots by mistake, but he wasn’t really paying much attention. Bored, he looked up a moment and noticed Ivy taking special care with her own family’s trophies and rolled his eyes. Nepotism at its best. He almost looked around for a trophy with the Jayden name etched somewhere, but he knew better than to try. It wasn’t like the Jayden clan possessed a grand presence at Dissendium Academy, and he doubted there would be a trophy lounging about someplace with their name on it. Leaning against a wall, he continued to idly stroke the trophy in his hands, hoping that time would somehow magically pass faster. There had to be a spell for that sort of thing, as there was a spell for bloody near everything else. His hands instantly froze and his face winced as Ivy spoke, "Well, Aiden, what do you think? Will Misneach get the cup again this year?” Bram ran a hand over the wound on his forehead, which was now healing at a much more acceptable pace. Idle chit-chat. How wonderfully dreadful, Bram thought in response and returned both hands to the trophy. She continued, [/b]“Or will we have to forfeit because half the team is mysteriously murdered?”[/b] Before the words tumbled completely from her maw, Bram’s hands contracted around the trophy, snapping around the handles with such ferocity that his knuckles managed to turn an even paler shade than usual. Evening his breathing, Bram eased his grip on the trophy. He wouldn’t let her get to him twice – she had coerced him into blowing up at the Great Hall, but he wouldn’t allow the same mistake to happen again. Instead, he opted to ignore her not-so-veiled jab and take a great interest in the lone, buffeted spot upon the trophy. He wouldn’t get angry. He wouldn’t get testy. He wouldn’t – period – end of sentence. He would just… take some more interest in the trophy in front of him. ... Bram slammed the trophy back into its proper place, not quite as calm as he originally thought, and raised his head to the two Misneach with a façade of indifference as he forced his features to remain even. He would not give her the satisfaction of even a glare. He refused. She was supposed to be dead to him, not irritating. In his best monotone voice, he excused the slamming of the trophy by uttering, “Oh, look.” Blinking twice, he continued, “Finished one.” As he reached upwards to grab another trophy, he saw one with the surname “Ballantine” etched across it and nearly gagged. He slowly pushed it aside with the back of his hand, as if it stank of rotting meat, and plucked another trophy from its home before… “Personally, I think we may have to forfeit.” Ivy perked, and Bram chose to ignore her before she added, “Jayden should know, don’t you think?” Bram’s face lifted by reflex to notice Ivy as she spun on her heel. Ugh, he thought with a grimace. The smirk on her face was sickening. “What do you think? Has your girlfriend told you who she’s going to axe?” Immediately Bram’s jaw dropped; was she seriously going to continue pressing? His hands clenched around the new trophy and began to shake. She continued, “Maybe I’m next! You know, for allegedly changing your hair color! I really deserve to die for that, doncha think?” “No!” Bram shouted, the sound bursting from his lungs. He’d had enough – he was tired of this whole situation - it was time to set her straight. He couldn’t stand it when people talked as if they had all of the details when in reality they were completely in the dark. “You have no idea what you’re talking about – you know nothing!” He pushed the trophy back in its place, speech pouring out of his mouth without his intention. “The only thing you know is what you’ve assumed like the irresponsible brat you are! Neither one of us wishes you dead, Ballantine, least of all for changing my blasted hair colour.” Bram shook his head and waited a moment before continuing, “You really don’t get it, do you? Kieran is dead because he was a selfish eejit who only cared about himself and his own pleasures – not the people he hurt in the process. This has nothing whatsoever to do with you or anyone else in the school. It's over!” Picking up the Ballantine trophy he’d seen before, he held it by the handle and bounced it idly. Why was he doing all of this? It was so unlike himself to just blurt everything out. He felt as if he was on another tangent, but he didn’t feel like he could hold it in anymore. “As far as the pile of sludge on my head?” Bram released his grip on arms of the trophy and it tumbled to the floor with a clatter. “That’s as much of an accident as your bloody brood’s battered little trophy.” With a scoff, he added, “Don’t try to play the part of an angel when you’ve got horns sticking out of your auburn head, Ivy.” After a beat, he wrinkled his features in confusion. It was unlike Ivy not to gloat over a victory – why would she deny it by using the word "allegedly?" Suddenly Bram felt as if he was the one missing a piece of the puzzle instead of his rival. But, as always, he had no intention of admitting that to her of all people. He wasn’t responsible for knowing her motives, the only thing he knew for sure was that she had went too far. With Aiden gone, she could unleash her full anger on the Seirbhe...she was far more interested in berating Jayden that putting up a noble front for her fellow Misneach. It was a flaw of hers, to get so carried away with her emotions. Sometimes her siblings would call her a Trocaire, a name she considered a real insult. She wasn’t someone fluffy and friendly and cute, she just…changed her mind often. She still knew what was right and what was wrong, her emotions simply tended to get in the way of that. And with Jayden she had always gotten particularly carried away, a little blinded. ”Oh look. Finished one.” Lazy, idiotic Seirbhe! Was he even listening to her? Yes, of course he was, she had always been able to get under his skin, and any attempts of his to act unperturbed would fail. She could see the usual signs now—pitiful attempts at trying to ignore her, white knuckles, actual display of some sort of emotion… “No! You have no idea what you’re talking about – you know nothing! The only thing you know is what you’ve assumed like the irresponsible brat you are! Neither one of us wishes you dead, Ballantine, least of all for changing my blasted hair colour.” “Oh, and you know so much, d’you Jayden?” she retorted immediately, shaking the hand which held the polishing rag at him. Brat…she wasn’t a brat! She knew hard work better than he ever would! And she wasn’t irresponsible! Whatever she did, she did it for the betterment of society, not for her own selfish gains like some people she could name off the top of her head. “You and your bleedin’ murderess girlfriend don’t want me dead? Then why did she try to bloody blow me up! Why did you bloody tell me I was dead to you! You bloody, bleedin’ Seirbhe, always going back on your word—“ “You really don’t get it, do you? Kieran is dead because he was a selfish eejit who only cared about himself and his own pleasures – not the people he hurt in the process. This has nothing whatsoever to do with you or anyone else in the school. It's over! As far as the pile of sludge on my head? That’s as much of an accident as your bloody brood’s battered little trophy.” He dropped the trophy on the floor. He dropped her family’s trophy on the floor. Ivy’s eyes squinted in a furious glare. Battered, it hadn’t been battered before he got a hold of it! The bloody git, how dare he abuse her family’s property like that! They didn’t have a lot of nice things, and the fact that he was treating something so valuable as cheaply as he was made her even more angry than before, if that was at all possible. She felt like she were about to erupt. Ivy stomped forward, plucked the trophy from the place he had so carelessly dropped it, and shoved him in the chest with it, using it to accentuate her next words. “Nothing is over, Jayden, and it has everything to do with Dissendium! One of your housemates was killed! Your sister is miserable! The entire school is in a bleedin’ panic! And you’re right, it wasn’t an accident that your hair was changed color, and it wasn’t an accident that my family earned their rewards! But I'll have you bloody well know it wasn’t me that changed your hair color! It was—it was someone else.” ...While she had him off his guard she continued on her speech. “Do you think it’s OK to just let her get away with what she did because Kieran wasn’t a nice person and he, he deserved it?! That’s the worst excuse for killing someone I’ve ever heard! You don’t kill people because you bloody well feel like it! What do you plan on doing anyways, Jayden? Ditching school, running away with a bloody underage convict!” She took a step back and polished the bottom of the trophy furiously before she placed it back on its familiar spot in the display. “Don’t try to play the part of an angel when you’ve got horns sticking out of your auburn head, Ivy.” Turning around, her freshly darkened hair swinging in her face, she said "No bloody thanks to you!" And she turned back around and grabbed something else to polish. She needed to keep her hands busy or she would pummel him, or she would do something magical because of her absolute fury, and she didn't want to spend the rest of the school year in detention. Bram barely took notice as Aiden drifted out of the room...Part of him was relieved that Aiden had bolted – the less people in his presence that abhorred him was preferable. Another part of him was less than thrilled with the prospect of being in a room with Ivy – alone – without any witnesses. She may not have had a wand, but she easily had him beat in physical strength as well as magical aptitude. It wasn’t something Bram exactly liked admitting, but he didn’t see a reason to pretend to have strengths he didn’t possess by any stretch of the imagination. Additionally, he was still perplexed as to why Ivy wouldn’t readily admit to the wicked circumstances at the Great Hall. More than anything, however, he was finding it increasingly difficult to control his own temper. ... Retrieving her family’s fallen trophy, Ivy shoved it in Bram’s chest, and with a grunt he stumbled to the floor. “Nothing is over, Jayden, and it has everything to do with Dissendium! One of your housemates was killed!” Sitting upwards and cursing his poor balance, Bram tried to interject, “No duh, Iv–” Ivy insisted, “Your sister is miserable! The entire school is in a bleedin’ panic!” Practically shaking, Bram began to respond, “Leave my sister ou—” She didn’t understand – she couldn’t understand. All she kept doing was assuming the worst about not only him, but Marion as well. She didn’t know the circumstances, and even if he took the time to explain it to her, she would never be able to accept them. It infuriated him to know that she would never see his side no matter how hard he fault to try to make her understand. Worse yet, she didn’t want to understand. Self-righteous, Ballantine brat. “And you’re right,” Ivy continued, [/b]“It wasn’t an accident that your hair was changed color, and it wasn’t an accident that my family earned their rewards! But I’ll have you bloody well know that it wasn’t me that changed your hair color! It was –it was someone else.” [/b] Bram’s jaw drooped slightly – why would Ivy deny the colour change incident? It was something that she would have flaunted in his face at any other time. Could he believe her, or was she just trying to make herself look good by… No, Bram thought, raising himself up off the floor to stare at his rival. It didn’t make sense, as what better way to look good in her house’s eyes than to antagonize a Seirbhe? She had no reason to lie. He was still trying to process everything – he was missing a piece of the puzzle – why was he always missing a piece of the blasted puzzle? The hair colour change wasn’t an accident, Ivy didn’t do it, and it was someone she wanted to protect.... Not realising that he had been engrossed in thought, his head perked to attention as Ivy started again, “Do you think it’s OK to just let her get away with what she did because Kieran wasn’t a nice person and he, he deserved it?!” Bram shook his head – it was more than that and Ivy had to have known it, she was just trying to be difficult. Being a nice person wasn’t what it was about; he had to have done something terrible to Marion that she would have killed him, and Bram was still very much unaware of what that was...“That’s the worst excuse for killing someone I’ve ever heard! You don’t kill people because you bloody well feel like it! What do you plan on doing anyways, Jayden? Ditching school, running away with a bloody underage convict!” He watched her, his mouth agape not from the revelation that she hadn’t betrayed him at the Great Hall, but now from the fact that she had been able to anticipate his exact plans with Marion. How much had she heard while she was spying on him and Marion? Bram couldn’t be sure. She fiddled with trophies as he stood in front of her, his cowardly vocal chords unable to muster a single squeak much less a well formed sentence. No, he had to say something – she couldn’t have known what he was planning, she was just trying to provoke him into an argument. If anything, the silence that he had allowed to pass indicated his guilt and that she was right. One thing Bram couldn’t allow was Ivy finding out that he was indeed planning to vacate Dissendium with Marion. She would stop him, she would try to interfere and she would ruin everything. But what could he say? He found himself speechless, save for a few lame jabs until she replied, “No bloody thanks to you!” “How dare you of all…” Bram spoke after enduring her verbal barrage. The entirety of her words circled inside of his head as he shook it in disbelief. “After how many hexes, and jinxes, and pranks and idiocy you have pulled on me since the first day I got here can you possibly dare to throw that at me, you bloody hypocrite!” Bram stepped towards his rival until she was within an arm’s reach. He was on the defensive now, and he had to justify his hexing of her not only to Ivy, but to himself as well. “Ever since my first day here, you’ve made it clear that you don’t wish to tolerate me just because I’m a Seirbhe, and a member of my house picked on one of your brothers.” Bram forced himself to stop speaking – this wasn’t what it was about, it was about Marion. It wasn’t relevant right now. “You’re so quick to jab with words from your poisoned tongue, but Marion is on the run for her life, don’t you understand that? Do you have no sympathy whatsoev…Hasn’t the prim, proper and perfect Ivy Dervila ever made a mistake in her pureblooded little life? Has it occurred to you, Ballantine, that you were the one who hunted her like a dog? You were the one who invaded her space – she had done nothing to you, and she defended herself against the overzealous, adventure hungry, glory seeking Ballantine that you are.” Yes, that’s it. Bram thought, Keep talking. “She had no quarrel with you and neither do…she didn't want t... I don't wish... what would you have done in her place, offer her some bloody tea!?” The words seemed empty to him, as if he were on autopilot – much of his anger had left him, and he was scrambling to find something to say. Were his words even making sense anymore? The only thing he felt now was utter defeat, but he wasn’t about to let Ivy know it if he could help it. It was slowly beginning to sink in that it was entirely possible (and probable) that there wouldn’t be a way for him to make everything work out, and if he couldn’t save Marion… who would? No one else cared. He was so very tired from the past few days, and his entire body felt weighted down with lead. He needed the anger back, he needed it to fuel him and drive him... right now he couldn’t even bring himself to look Ivy in the face. He was alone in his fight. He was losing, he was cornered, but more than anything else, he was scared. A Seirbhe’s resourcefulness only went so far – how was he ever going to pull this off alone? |
| QUOTE (Ivy and Bram reach an accord in detention continued) |
Ivy's indignant expression got progressively more pronounced as Jayden blathered on with his excuses. With her eyebrows lowered, her mouth open, her eyes glaring, and both hands on her hips, she was the perfect picture of righteous Ballantine fury. The unpolished trophies sat forgotten behind her. The polishing rag dangled limply from her hand like a white flag of surrender she had forgotten to use. “…After how many hexes, and jinxes, and pranks and idiocy you have pulled on me since the first day I got here can you possibly dare to throw that at me, you bloody hypocrite!” He stepped forward but she remained where she was, rather like a disagreeable horse that had decided it wanted to stay where it was, and was going to kick at anyone that tried to get near it. He was lying—again! She hadn’t picked on him since the first day he arrived! She had been the one to stupefy and impersonate a prefect so she could meet the new student, and she had been perfectly agreeable with him (at least, as agreeable as is possible with someone so quiet and antisocial) until he had been sorted. Manners had promptly converted into verbal battles and irritation at that point, but the point was that she hadn’t been horrible to him since the first day he arrived. She didn’t think she was that horrible to him anyways…the worst she had ever done was drop him on his head, which he had deserved, and she tended to use words with him more than spells. Did he honestly think that she was somehow particularly vindictive to him? If anything she was nicer, because unlike the vast majority of other Dissians she would actually give him the time of day…she might give him the wrong time, but she still gave him a time. “Ever since my first day here, you’ve made it clear that you don’t wish to tolerate me just because I’m a Seirbhe, and a member of my house picked on one of your brothers.” "Picked on—!” she exclaimed, taking advantage of his slight pause to butt in, “Picked on! Derry was almost bloody killed!” This was a mistake of Jayden’s she desperately wanted to rectify...She had every reason to detest Seirbhes. They were the worst people she knew. They had hurt someone in her family, so naturally they were all below the lowest of life forms. “You’re so quick to jab with words from your poisoned tongue, but Marion is on the run for her life, don’t you understand that? Do you have no sympathy whatsoev…” He paused again. Once again she tried to interject a comment—“Her life! She’s on the run becau”—but once again he cut her off. She was getting impatient.... “Hasn’t the prim, proper and perfect Ivy Dervila ever made a mistake in her pureblooded little life? Has it occurred to you, Ballantine, that you were the one who hunted her like a dog? You were the one who invaded her space – she had done nothing to you, and she defended herself against the overzealous, adventure hungry, glory seeking Ballantine that you are.” Sometimes Jayden said things that were absolutely laughable, like “jab with words from your poisoned tongue” and “hunted like a dog.” Every once in a while those prosaic, idiotic turns of phrase would slip into his speech like he was trying to be a bloody Shakespeare or Milton...He was worse than a Crionna...Jayden put on snobby verbal airs. No wonder most people didn't bother talking to him! But this was only a minor undercurrent of thought as she glared at him. It was what he was saying, buried underneath all those unnecessary words, that upset her. “Her space—!” If it had been possible, her jaw would have gone down further. The murderess had no claim to any part of the school, especially something secret like the room of requirement, and even if she did she didn't deserve her own space; there was absolutely nothing prim and proper about Ivy, she hardly took the time to brush her hair; and how in bloody hell did he know her middle name? “She had no quarrel with you and neither do…she didn't want t... I don't wish... what would you have done in her place, offer her some bloody tea!?” Ivy’s expression changed as he looked away. Now she looked suspicious, distrusting. What was he getting at? Was this more Seirbhe trickery? Probably. They were always trying to manipulate her somehow, and she hated it, she wouldn't stand for it. She wouldn't be kind to him. She wouldn't be swayed, not like she had been in the great hall. Not even by tears. "I would have stayed and fought! I would have not even gotten into that bloody mess! I wouldn't have to run!" she said. She gesticulated with her hands. "There is no excuse for killing someone, Jayden, I don't care what Kieran did! No one deserves to die like that! How can you even call Marion human after what she did? And in front of all those students! My brother! Your sister!" He still wasn't looking at her. There was something very pitiful about him, the way he hung his dirt-tinged head. He looked utterly defeated. No. Stop. ...We need to leave...we have to leave now...we have to escape now, before she notifies someone... Don't let him get away. Not both of them. "Oh, bloody hell Jayden, look at me while I'm talking to you!" she snapped. "Don't you dare criticize me when you're the one that's been harboring a wanted murderess! I'm trying to protect people and you--you're just--prancing around with her like it's a bleedin' holiday! I bet you know where she is right now, don't you? You honestly think that you can find some bleedin' happily ever after, don't you? Well guess what! Yer a bleedin' eejit to think for a bleedin' Irish second that you'll get away with what you've done!" She slapped the palm of her right hand with the back of her left, an unintentional action made in imitation of her grandfather. "She murdered someone, and murderers get death or Scroblach! That's all they deserve!" Bram stood with his back to Ivy – his rival, his antagonist, and ultimately his enemy. As time stretched onward, even he thought it odd that he would make such a gesture. Wasn’t there a quote somewhere about never showing your back to one’s enemy? They could easily stab it, being traitorous Misneach persons undeserving of even a spoonful of trust. Even though she was without her wand, Ivy was still a strong woman – emotionally and physically. Though he had plenty reason to be cautious, he wasn’t remotely fearful. Considering Ivy’s level of volatility, he found that fact odd – even more so because he felt almost a safety inside the trophy room. The longer he remained here, the longer it would be before he attempted one of the most reckless – and quite possibly stupid – things he had ever done. How was he ever going to get away with this? “Picked on—!” Ivy shrieked, “Derry was almost bloody killed!” Bram felt a pang of guilt, his insides wrenching slightly. Ivy was right, and he almost felt the need to stop and correct himself for his error – he never should have brought that up. Ultimately, he was surprised she took it as well as she did, because anything involving Derry’s… accident… was generally considered off-limits, even for verbal prodding. Despite his understanding of Ivy’s position regarding Seirbhes, he couldn’t help but be annoyed that she found his entire house detestable just because of the way they were sorted... ... His eyes searched the trophy room for some place to stare – anywhere would do just fine. He noticed his polka-dotted rag, now discarded on the ground, and wondered when he had released it from his grasp. He had been so focused on Ivy that everything else seemed like a blur to him. “I would have stayed and fought!” Bram heard Ivy shrill. “I would have not even gotten into that bloody mess! I wouldn’t have to run!” He shook his head stubbornly in response – no one knew what Marion had been going through, not Bram and least of all Ivy. Generally, he believed that everyone had the capability to take a life somewhere inside of them under the right circumstances. She had no idea what drove Marion to kill Kieran, how could she honestly say that she would never have gotten into that situation? She couldn’t know that. Ivy continued, “There is no excuse for killing someone, Jayden, I don’t care what Kieran did! No one deserves to die like that!” Shifting slightly, Bram was feeling a bit irked by her utter hypocrisy. No excuse for killing someone? None? She couldn’t possibly believe that – what fantasy world was she living in? He wondered what Ivy would do if Silas were to go after Derry again – or Harry – or any of the rest of the Ballantine brood. She wouldn’t take too kindly to it, that much was certain. “How can you even call Marion human after what she did?” Ivy prodded. Instantly, Bram’s body tensed. He was foolish to think that she would overlook something as important as the name of the Masque Murderess, he just hoped that her knowledge of a mere name wouldn’t affect their ability to find escape. That is, if they even had any hope of escaping in the first place… it was hard for him to believe they had a chance without even a single ally on their side. “And in front of all those students,” Ivy persisted, “My brother! Your sister!” Bram twitched, the tension in his body even more prevalent. Leave my sister out of this and focus on your own bloody siblings, Bram grumbled to himself. Ivy seemed insistent on constantly questioning his worth as a brother to Mia, and the more she prodded him with it, the more it hurt. He was beating himself up enough for both of them; he didn’t need any of Ivy’s assistance in that matter. “Oh, bloody hell Jayden, look at me while I’m talking to you!” Ivy insisted, and by reflex Bram turned to face her, brushing a pesky lock of hair from his eyes. She continued, “Don’t you dare criticize me when you’re the one that’s been harboring a wanted murderess!" Bram scowled, attempting to interject, "You don--" "I’m trying to protect people and you – you’re just – prancing around with her like it’s a bleedin’ holiday! I bet you know where she is right now, don’t you?” "If I did, I would be wit--" "You honestly think that you can find some bleedin’ happily ever after, don’t you? Well guess what!" "What, Ivy?! Wh--" "Yer a bleedin’ eejit to think for a bleedin’ Irish second that you’ll get away with what you’ve done!” As she slapped the back of her hand, Bram flinched, not quite expecting the action. "She murdered someone, and murderers get death or Scroblach! That's all they deserve!" Bram’s eyes widened, her obvious obliviousness baffling his senses. “You bloody hypocrite, don’t you get it?!” He gasped in response. “I don’t think I’ll get away with it! No matter how hard I try, now matter what I do, no matter how much I need it, I can’t save her. But that doesn’t matter to you, does it? You just want to stand there and shout insults and judge us without taking into account anything that he might have done.” How could she not see his side? He didn’t get it – did she hate him so much that she couldn’t grasp the depth of it? Bram calmed his tone and tucked a few strands of hair behind his head, closing the distance between them and staring into her face. He needed her to know how much this meant to him. “You don’t know what Kieran did to her, and I don’t either – but don’t you think that it would have to be something horrendous for her to murder him? It would have to be.” He wondered to himself who he was trying to convince more – Ivy or himself? “She’s around your age, Ivy, Bram added quietly, gesturing in her direction. “Think of what it would take for you to murder someone. Are you so narrow minded that you cannot fathom protecting yourself or someone you love from someone as despicable as Kieran?” Someone you love… Bram thought to himself. He loved Marion, and the thought of her imprisoned within Scroblach or worse was unbearable to him. He stood silent, his throat raw and tired from receiving much more use than it was accustomed to enduring. Swallowing hard, he thought of Ivy in the same position – if one of her family members killed someone in self-defense, she would work just as hard to protect them. He thought of her earlier accusation as well – that he still somehow knew where Marion was located… he only wished that were true. He would go to her, leave now and never look back. He squirmed a little, uncomfortable and wishing more than ever that he could just escape from everything – the school, the professors, Marion’s pursuers… he just wanted away from it. All of it. Her dogged arguments didn't seem to be working on Jayden, who must have had a skull as thick as Derry's arm. (Leaving very little room for a brain, naturally, to seriously think about the implications of his actions). Maybe he just wasn't trying to understand what she was saying? Maybe he was genuinely confused? She had dropped him on his head recently. Perhaps he was rattled around more than even she had suspected. She was obviously right; Black Widow Marion had murdered someone, and she had to be punished. That was the law, that was morally correct, that was a fulfillment of justice. So why was he so adamantly trying to protect her? He couldn't be that blinded, could he? “You bloody hypocrite, don’t you get it?! I don’t think I’ll get away with it! No matter how hard I try, now matter what I do, no matter how much I need it, I can’t save her. But that doesn’t matter to you, does it? You just want to stand there and shout insults and judge us without taking into account anything that he might have done.” The word 'hypocrite' instantly summoned up the indignant, open mouthed expression she had worn earlier--only to be snatched away again moments later with his confession of weakness. Her mouth shut. Ivy blinked. Once again that pestering flame of guilt and pity flared up in her. Jayden was rather pitiful, after all. It seemed he couldn't do a single thing right (though it would help if he put effort into something that wasn't illegal). She tried not to think about it, tried to ignore the feeling and regain her anger, but it was impossible. She had put off this confrontation far too long. It gave her too much time to think about things. Now she had to deal with concepts such as her being wrong (but she knew she was right!) and the idea of Jayden actually needing something. He stepped closer to her, a pleading expression on his face and in his iceberg blue eyes that made her feel completely wretched. It was just like the incident in the dining hall. He was going to play the pity card again, and he was going to win because of her bloody noble instincts. Jayden's a Seirbhe! she reminded herself desperately, Seirbhes are liars! He's just acting. He's not being sincere in the least and you should know better than to feel pity, much less trust what he's saying! Every word out of his mouth could be a lie! He could be telling stories to cover for his mad girlfriend! These thoughts were only mildly comforting, far too frail to truly be believed. “You don’t know what Kieran did to her, and I don’t either – but don’t you think that it would have to be something horrendous for her to murder him? It would have to be.” Ivy was beginning to feel very uncomfortable and she wanted to step away, but there was no way on Maeve's grave she would show that she was wavering. Instead she held her ground and stared back, trying very hard not to let her expression waver, though she suspected that it was flickering between indignation and resignation despite her best efforts. She was furious that he didn't even know what Marion's motives were and he was protecting her; as far as she was concerned, she had murdered someone and would need a damn better excuse than 'he slept with me and wasn't there in the morning,' or 'he never returned my wand.' But she was also sorry that she was being such a pain in the arse (not that he wasn't). Secretly, she was afraid that she made people angry more than she made them happy, and that if she weren't around all the time making a scene most of the people she knew would simply wander away for greener, less volatile pastures. Even if he were a quiet, antisocial, weak and generally unimpressive Seirbhe, he still mattered. “She’s around your age, Ivy. Think of what it would take for you to murder someone. Are you so narrow minded that you cannot fathom protecting yourself or someone you love from someone as despicable as Kieran?” And the same age as you she corrected him automatically in his head. Yer not a bloody adult. And I am not narrow minded! She knew exactly what it would take for her to kill someone. The person would have to hurt someone in her family or someone she loved, and then she would have no problems killing them. She knew that from experience. This answer she didn't respond with though; instead she tossed her hair out of her face, an automatic reaction, and tried to give Jayden as serious and scathing a look as she could manage with a Ballantine mouth and Graham eyes. Ivy had tried lying to herself, tried telling herself that he was lying. But she knew he wasn't. He was acting too far out of his character to be lying to her. Under normal circumstances Bram would never talk that much, or show his emotions, or even voluntarily step towards her. Whatever feelings he had for the murderess were cluttering his brain with nonsensical notions. .... Thoughts, they were just dragging out the inevitable. She took a deep breath and let it out again, quickly weighing her options. Whatever the choice was she would have to put her full conviction behind it, or else she really would be a hypocrite as Jayden accused her of being. But what could she say to him that she could really believe? Was there anything, a single phrase, that she hadn't used yet that she would feel right in saying? She stared at him a moment longer, and wondered, for one of the first times, what his reaction would be. "I'm sorry." She stopped short. What did I just say? Then the words registered in her mind. To her surprise, she wasn't really bothered by them. She decided her instincts had been correct on this one. Sorry... ha! He would never see it coming! And she wouldn't have to feel horrible about herself anymore! It was as if she were washing her hands of the entire incident. She plunged into this new tactic with all the vigor of a seasoned war veteran at their last stand. "Really, I am," she continued in her customary cheerful lilt, "I told you at supper the other day but I don't think you believed me. But I suppose I have more to be sorry for now, don't I?" She laughed. "I'm not sorry that I looked for her, Bram. She still committed a crime. But I am sorry that I made this bleedin' mess so much harder on you." Ivy tossed her hair and kept silent – it must have been quite an accomplishment for her. He watched her staring at him, and as each moment passed, Bram regretted even making the effort to explain himself in the first place. His mind drifted backward in the argument and he found himself lost in thought. At Bram’s insistence of Ivy’s hypocrisy, he had noticed her look of righteous anger, and he only saw it as further proof of her inability to see any way or thought process other than her own. Why was he even trying so hard in the first place to get her to understand? Why did it matter so much to him that she see his side of things? Why did it matter that she understand why he was risking everything for the Masque Murderess? It made little sense even to him – it wasn’t as if he cared about Ivy’s opinion or what she thought of him... at least that’s what he told himself. It mattered little, as the look she had given him lingered on her face for only a few moments longer before being replaced with a look that Bram hadn’t been able to identify. It scared him slightly, because he was used to looks of indignation from his rival, but he wasn’t used to the way she had eyed him then. He wondered for a moment if surprise had shown on his face, but he decided it didn’t really matter. The strange feeling only increased as his physical distance to her had decreased, but all he had been thinking about was trying to make her understand. He didn’t know why, and more importantly he didn’t know how, he just knew that she had to understand his side and – just this once – not only understand his motivations, but also understand him. ... It made Bram a little curious thinking about it now… why had she taken things to such an extreme? She may not have hexed him personally, but why had she come over to taunt him in the first place? Surely even Ivy had her standards and knew it was a bad time – why hadn’t she taken any of that into account before she acted? More pieces of the puzzle seemed to be missing each time he found a piece for the overall picture. It was bloody frustrating. Not only had she taunted him at a bad time, but she also reacted to his hex more violently than he would have anticipated. Bram liked to think that he was able to judge Ivy’s reactions fairly well, but why had she chosen to escalate the encounter when clearly…Wait, Bram thought. Ivy hadn’t hexed him, but he had hexed her… technically, he made the first move against Ivy. He was the one who brought the argument into the realm of magic, he was the one who took it to another level, he was the ultimate cause of everything! The thought caused his stomach to contract as his mind recoiled in disgust. Somehow it had gone from Ivy being the bad guy to Bram being the one who caused all of this mess, and he didn’t like the sudden turn around. Yet another check next to Bram Jayden’s number of screw-ups. Taking a quick glance at the door, Bram thought about how easy it would be to just leave the trophy room and try to find Marion. The only reason he hadn’t left yet was because he knew the chances of finding her were slim – his only option was to wait for the funeral. The only thing that he would accomplish by leaving his punishment early would be undue attention...It was ridiculous – the entire thing was ridiculous! He shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be arguing with Ivy… he should be with Marion. Ivy took a deep breath and it drew his attention to her once more. He had gotten sidetracked, lost in his own thoughts. It was pointless anyway, there was no way that Ivy could possibly see his side of things. He was Bram Jayden, after all. He was a half-blood, a Seirbhe, and generally reprehensible. In the end, he was ready for whatever she chose to shoot him with. He was prepared for her verbal thrashing, her irritatingly quick wit, as well as her apt putdowns. Even more so, he was prepared to deflect comments about his actions, his irresponsibility in the situation with Marion, and perhaps even a jab at his terrible monitoring skills as a sibling. She would not get the best of him this time – he was prepared for anything she had to say. Granted, he had been hopeful that she might understand, but her silence – however brief – had spoken volumes. “I’m sorry.” Ivy finally uttered. In response, Bram’s eyebrows shot to the top of his skull, his mouth widening in a dumbfounded manner. What did she just say? He couldn’t believe he had heard her correctly… did she just apologize? Every thought process in Bram’s mind immediately came to a halt, every instinct he possessed suddenly baffled by her… apology? Not only did she utter the words, but they sounded so genuine. “Really, I am,” Ivy continued with a tone Bram couldn’t identify. Was it relief? Bram’s hopes were awakened and he allowed himself to believe the possibility that she could be serious. He desperately needed someone not to hate him – someone who could understand. “I told you at supper the other day but I don’t think you believed me.” Ivy added, and Bram finally had the presence of mind to force his mouth shut and lower his eyebrows. She had apologised at supper? His memory of the Great Hall was still a little hazy. She continued, “But I suppose I have more to be sorry for now, don’t I?” Was this really happening? Her laugh… it was different than the laugh he was used to hearing from her. It didn’t carry sarcasm or even the most minute of mocking tone. He couldn’t help but wonder for a moment if she had gotten her hands on some spiked Butterbeer or something. “I’m not sorry that I looked for her, Bram. She still committed a crime. But I am sorry that I made this bleedin’ mess so much harder on you.” Ivy finished. “No," Bram insisted, "I’m the one who made it difficult – I started this whole mess. You didn’t even come after me at the Hall… I thought for sure that you had, well—” Bram took a moment to gesture to his hair, which he had to admit looked a little brighter than the dingy stain that had been on his head hours earlier. But that wasn’t important right now, it was just one of his many blunders since he transferred to Dissendium. “Ivy,” Bram stumbled over her name – it felt so awkward to say when not using a harsh or obnoxious tone. It was like his hopes were finally being fulfilled – someone was stopping to listen without anger or condescension. Narrowing his eyebrows, he continued, “I know you didn’t mean to… I just thought you hat— what I mean to say is that…” Chomping down on his bottom lip, Bram decided just to come out and say it. “I’m sorry too.” And he was – he had handled everything so completely wrong. If he had only been more careful – been a better brother, hidden Marion more efficiently and kept his temper in check at the Great Hall… he wouldn’t be in the trophy room with a polka-dotted rag next to his foot. He let the words linger a moment for continuing – he had to explain everything about Marion. She could understand – she would understand – and she deserved to know everything. “I can’t abandon her, Ivy. I… won’t…” Bram’s words blended together as realization dawned on him. The relief that had filled his body moments ago drained from his form and his eyes flared, jaw set in a scowl. Shifting his stance and taking a step backwards, he prepared himself for what he knew was coming next. She had played him and won – again. The look she got for her apology was quite hilarious. Ivy found it very hard not to burst into laughter at the sight of Bram's incredulous expression. It looked like the sludge on his head was trying to eat his eyebrows. It was easier to laugh now; relief was an excellent emotion for making oneself laugh. That or cry. Her humor turned to surprise when she realized that he was apologizing too. Surely she hadn't thrown him off balance that much by her apology? But no...it had worked far better than she expected. Both of them were apologizing. Bram Jayden and Ivy Ballantine were apologizing to each other, acting civilized even. “No. I’m the one who made it difficult – I started this whole mess. You didn’t even come after me at the Hall… I thought for sure that you had, well—” "Oh, well I did come after you--" she interjected quickly, "just not by--" Just not by myself she was going to finish, but he kept talking in that oddly civil voice. "Ivy," he said. The way he said it was enough by itself to make her shut up. This was unexpected. This definitely wasn't covered in her mental handbook, 'How to Treat a Seirbhe.' Seirbhes weren't...polite to her, much less nice. She was a Misneach, a Ballantine, and a very independent and spirited pureblood female. According to many of the people in Seirbhe house, who tended to be the snobby pureblood type, she was the opposite of everything she should be. She was a disgrace because of her family, her lack of money, her indifference to blood and parentage, her unladylike behavior, even her appearance. There were few insults she hadn't heard before. Simply for Bram to take a polite tone of voice with her was a betrayal of his house. “I know you didn’t mean to… I just thought you hat— what I mean to say is that…I’m sorry too.” Ivy smiled. It wasn't a bad apology, not at all, for someone who made it a habit not to speak, and when he did speak to her it was to argue with her. She had no idea what his fixation on people hating him was all about--sure, she picked on him mercilessly, but that didn't mean she hated him per se. That was simply how she behaved (which is to say, she really didn't behave at all). If he got out more he would realize that. Ivy genuinely wasn't mean spirited, and certainly not to someone as outcast as Bram. He must not have realized that she felt pity for him. She thought it would have been a far worse fate to fade into the background and disappear, never be noticed by anyone and never be talked to, so she had made it a point to bother him as much as possible, to keep that connection to people alive... “I can’t abandon her, Ivy. I… won’t…” She sighed, her customary smile still in place despite his own reversion back to his customary scowl. His answer was completely unsurprising. "I know you won't, you bleedin' eejit," she said to him, a certain amount of regret in her voice. The whole apologizing-to-your-rival thing would have been much more satisfying if they didn't still hold the same convictions. "You're too bloody stubborn." She met his gaze for a moment and laughed. The stare, Ivy's way of putting up the white flag of ceasefire, lasted only a moment or two. She took her rag and turned back to the trophies. The incident in Aioch Bord had been just as emotional, but much more surreal. This was more real somehow. She didn't feel any debilitating anger. All she felt was a very bitter sort of relief. She didn't have to feel guilty anymore. But she didn't know what to feel. Even her instincts were baffled by the apology. How in the world was she supposed to act now? Instantly, she knew she wouldn't change her public behavior towards him one bit. Ivy might not have been mean spirited, but she was very proud. She had a reputation, had set up a precedence as to how she treated him, and to break that precedence was to do something completely taboo. She might be able to talk to him politely in private, offer some strange form of friendship when no one was looking, but nothing would change for them on the outside. This had just been an unusual exception to their regular behavior, nothing more. That's all. Oh, don't be so hard on him, her mother's voice said in her mind as she picked up a dingy trophy to polish. He's no good at magic, doesn't have any friends, and his girlfriend is a murderer. It wasn't fair of her to be so cool to him when she held all the cards. Confidence, a quick tongue, social skills, friends, good looks, great personality...she had it all and he had...very little. At this thought a sly smile crossed her face, but she didn't think he saw it because she was still polishing the trophy, her back turned to him. "Next time, Bram," she said, as casually as she could when talking to a Seirbhe, so he wouldn't think that she hated him or other tosh, "try falling for a girl that won't get thrown in Scroblach." At that moment Aiden returned with Professor Doyle. She spun around on her heel and smiled at them, tossing her hair out of her face. She was glad that they had returned. It had been a simultaneously comforting and discomforting encounter, being stuck in the room with only Bram there. "Hullo again Professor. Did you catch Aiden? He ran out on us." She gave him an almost imperceptible wink. He looked surprised. He probably expected to find Jayden's remains scooped into one of the trophies. |