Mary Brooding-Hawthorne

March 27, 2020 1:19 PM
The second and last trip to Tumbleweed for the term was upon them. The weather was perfect for such a trip, and the bustling about the mansion provided a sort of eager energy that lingered in the air and made everything seem that much more exciting. Since there was no Quidditch match this time, students had a little more flexibility in how they spent their time. This had been done intentionally in case any of them wished to purchase anything for the Ball, just a few weeks ahead, or if they simply needed a break from studying. It wasn’t a mandatory trip – it couldn’t be since consent forms were required from parents and guardians – but it was strongly encouraged for those who were allowed to go.

Staff was assigned different areas of the town to monitor, as they had the last time, and students were expected to stay in groups of two or more, and to check in with a staff member before moving between areas in the town. There was enough flexibility built into that schedule that staff members could also enjoy the trip during their breaks, and that they could be available for students who may want to talk more privately than while they were on duty. Since travel in and out of Tumbleweed was only possible from designated travel points, there was little concern over anyone being able to sneak out or else sneak in. Still, staff would be positioned there as well.

Mary gave the temperature report this time, as she had volunteered to take over some of the coordination of the trip from Selina. It was good to have something to do and something to keep her mind busy. As they had last time, they would be leaving for Tumbleweed after lunch and students could choose to get there either by Floo or by magicked car-like thing. Mary thought it wasn’t very much like a car because the extent of her experiences with the Muggle transportation could be described as “cramped” but that was not important. Student comfort was the priority and if students were more comfortable in a magically expanded, self-driving car thing, then that was just as well.

Mary chose the Floo option and arrived with the students who had done the same. She helped sort of herd them while they waited for the other half of the students to arrive and everyone could pair up. Last time, having students go in pairs or groups seemed to work just fine, and the system of having students check in with staff before switching or leaving an area was not too difficult considering the saturation of staff around town.

Tumbleweed was less boisterous than it had been last time, as the residents – ghosts and otherwise – were less interested in coming to see students shop and eat ice cream than they were in coming to see a flight exhibit. Still, it was clear that the town was expecting a big day for businesses as every single one of them was opened and eager. The main area, with the most touristy shops and a saloon, was seeming a bit more reflective of everyday life in Tumbleweed now. Ghosts went about their reenactments still, but they also went about their errands. Many of them did work as actors in the street performances, or in the more historical performances within theatres and museums, so life in Tumbleweed was never quite as “everyday” as everyday life in other towns. Still, this was an unusual day for students, and some of them would undoubtedly be interested in the dress and robe shops available there.

The sports pitch was empty today, except a few odd groups of folks who would make their way there to practice Quidditch, soccer, or whatever other sport had caught their interest, magical or Muggle. The number of vendors around the pitch was massively reduced today and it was too large an area for staff to monitor effectively so it was closed off to students this time around.

The Town Hall was open again, though, with walking tours leaving every half hour or so, and various other civic sources of entertainment available within. Brochures advertising the various historical sites, scavenger hunts, and other attractions were available inside, as well as a map which would help students navigate the town. The area immediately surrounding Town Hall was the most historical, which always made it a popular draw for some students.

Finally, there was the pop up market. Previously, vendors and booths had set up at the sports pitch. With no real event happening this time, they had set themselves up in a Saturday Market type formation in an open area near Town Hall. More of them were selling fruit and snacks than novelty items, but both were available. Booths were set up in rows and winding through them all could take an hour or more on its own. Ghosts and other residents meandered through, so the conversations and negotiations there were boisterous, not unlike the students themselves.


OOC – Welcome to Tumbleweed! We are hosting this on the gardens as we are still working on an ‘out of school’ space. The trip takes place over several hours so your character is certainly free to explore more than one location in that time. There are limits to how badly wrong the staff would let anything go, so if you’re thinking of causing trouble or getting into any, please run it by us.
Great big thank you to Selina and other authors who have been around to help with Tumbleweed and this post. And also because I mostly borrowed this OOC and parts of the text from the fabulous Selina Skies.
Subthreads:

Main Street

Town Hall

Saturday Market
22 Mary Brooding-Hawthorne Tumbleweed Trip 1424 1 5

Jean-Loup Arceneaux

April 02, 2020 6:28 AM
Jean-Loup leant against the outside wall of the saloon, biting at the skin around his fingernails and wondering how bad an idea it was to be there. Thinking back to the Floo call a couple of weeks ago.

Peering up out of the flames, he saw Dorian for the first time since That Day. It was too low a bar to set to say he looked better than he had then. After all, the last time he’d seen Dorian, he’d been bleeding and terrified. He had done his best to push that image out of his mind. To think, when he thought of Dorian, of sunlight through the summer house windows, lightening his hair so it stopped looking black. Of deep brown eyes searching his face, looking like he couldn’t believe his luck when Jean-Loup was staring back thinking exactly the same thing… The person in front of him now wasn’t either of those. Not the fresh-in-the-aftermath Dorian, nor the sweet, best memories that he had of him. He looked sad and defeated.

It helped that he knew Tatiana was on his side. It helped in a lot of ways. Firstly, he was significantly less in danger of getting his head mounted on a spike simply for being here. For another… it just helped. Having someone to talk to. She was Dorian’s friend, and he couldn’t offload all his woes onto her, but someone else knew he existed and wanted that to continue. Someone knew what Dorian meant to him and didn’t hate him for it.

Dorian had apologised about Valentine’s Day, and Jean-Loup had forgiven him. It had hurt, and there was a part of him that still had every cause to be concerned about what it meant. But it was clear that Dorian was a mess. About what had happened. About his Mama. About what to do next.
She also knew that he had screwed up - in Dorian’s eyes. She didn’t think so. It helped to know that he wasn’t completely crazy for not being totally sorry for what he had done. Sorry it had hurt Dorian, of course. Sorry that he had got himself banished, definitely. Sorry about the actual act of driving his fist into Matthieu Montoir’s homophobic, self-satisfied face?

About them.

He was going to hope he did not have to look his boyfriend in the eye and answer that. He knew better than to lie, which left him stuck with the answer that Dorian didn’t seem to like very much.
He was less sure about the Professor. From Tatiana’s letters, it sort of sounded like she’d told Dorian to dump him. However, Tatiana’s letters sometimes were a little.. Challenging. He wasn’t going to assume the worst, but he really thought he’d prefer it if he could avoid Professor Brooding until he’d straightened at least that point out with Dorian. Preferably rather more than that too...

He knew that. He’d been warned. But he had tried it anyway. Had tried to tell Dorian that it was okay that he felt like he was falling apart. That he would hold him together. That he had known what it was like to feel hopeless. And then he’d found Dorian. And that didn’t mean it was forever his responsibility to be the one who carried them, because that pressure - to be the perfect one, the one who believed in all the good things, seemed to be panicking Dorian and Jean-Loup knew exactly why. But maybe now it could be Jean-Loup’s turn to be Dorian’s light at the end of the tunnel.

It had hurt, beyond anything he thought he could have imagined, to know that he was regarded as the bad guy. Or a bad guy, anyway. There were a few. But to be lumped in and numbered among them… It had helped that he’d had Tatiana’s letter to warn him that was coming. In the Floo call, when Dorian had finally said it, he’d been able to keep a lid on his feelings. Not to the point that he hadn’t argued it, hadn’t begged for Dorian to see it differently but he had not gone to pieces when he had said it.

How can you be the light when you’re part of the darkness?

He’d done it later. When he had regained the privacy of his own space. And so many nights since. He could take the weight, if Dorian would let him. He didn’t need Dorian to be better, and to talk about the future with sweet, unguarded optimism. He could take over being the one to believe in that, for a bit. But only if Dorian was still on board with getting there. It was one thing to believe it wasn’t possible because society was going to kick you down and never let you have it. It was a different problem entirely if Dorian wasn’t sure he wanted it with him any more.

Dorian had agreed to see him though. Writing letters had been torture. The Floo call, though it hadn’t gone well, had at least removed the agonising wait in between exchanges, in which feelings spiralled. He had to hope that had been the poison being sucked from the wound. And that seeing each other in person - being able to touch, to smell, to comfort - maybe it could start to heal.

The same person he’d seen from the fire was making his way down the street. Coming over without the sparkle in his eye when he looked at him.

“Can I give you a hug?” Jean-Loup asked sadly, asking both because there were a substantial number of other people around and because he wasn’t sure right now whether his boyfriend was going to accept that from him.
13 Jean-Loup Arceneaux Am I the bad guy? (Tag Dorian) 1506 Jean-Loup Arceneaux 0 5

Dorian Montoir

April 02, 2020 7:23 AM
On a practical level, Dorian was ready to see his boyfriend. ‘On a practical level’ consisted entirely of having got Professor Brooding’s permission, prior to the trip, to spend the time with a non-Sonora partner. She had said it was fine, so long as he checked in periodically.

That just left… everything else.

The conversation with Jean-Loup had not been great. He felt like they’d ended up being angry and hurtful, and he had wanted to keep any more of that from happening. He had to admit, it had gone better than anything was going with Mama at the moment. At least Jean-Loup was listening. She kept writing back to his letters with details of what was going on with Matthieu. With assurances that everything was fine. Going to be fine. Going to be able to go back to normal.

He had snapped several times. Written ‘And what about the fact that I AM GAY?’ Screwed it up. Thrown it in the fireplace.

He wondered whether he was holding back because he didn’t want to fight for him and Jean-Loup. Or just because it was too hard right now. Because he had no idea how to get her to listen. Because it all just hurt too much when he thought she might not accept it.

And that was kind of the crux… He wanted to put his life back together, but he had no idea what order to start picking up the pieces in. And he kept coming back to Professor Xavier’s point. What if they didn’t fit any more? There had been supposed to be a sense of optimism there, he recalled - logic said that how they had been had not been great. But it was a lot of pressure to work out what he wanted to make out of them instead.

Jean-Loup wanted Dorian to choose him.

Dorian was trying not to say that he wanted to crawl into a hole in the ground and have the earth close over his head. He didn’t. Not really. He didn’t want to end so defeated when everyone kept promising it wouldn’t feel this way forever. But he didn’t know what else to wish for, seeing as ‘everything back how it was’ was a bad idea, and that brought them back round to him having to work out what the answer was. He wished he knew.

He was so nervous about seeing Jean-Loup. What did that mean? You weren’t supposed to feel that about the person you loved. But did he really, or was it just everything else making him feel that way? It was like his sense of his own feelings had been scrambled. Like his ears had been jinxed, and he could still hear but whether it was pleasant music or discordant noise escaped him. Only with emotions instead. Something was constantly firing. His brain was jolted with the electric signal of Feeling, but he couldn’t say what it was.

It amped up a notch as he caught sight of Jean-Loup.

This was the heart-achingly gorgeous person whose lips he knew the feeling of. They kissed softly but were often just the slightest bit chapped. Same with the rough tipped fingers that had been worn by years of holding a beater’s bat but could brush his hair gently back from his face or press forcefully into his back.
Every neuron fired, skating down those memories, feeling light for a second, until they all joined back to form the concept of ‘my boyfriend’ and found only a black pit of despair filling the space that held the label. Give in to that, and put those away as memories, or try to rebuild what had been in there before?

Can I give you a hug?

“Of course,” Dorian answered, feeling a slight stab of guilt at the fact Jean-Loup needed to ask. There were people around, sure, but Jean-Loup had casually slung his arm around him last time, the side on shoulder squeeze of a friend. “I… I don’t not want to hug you. Or not want to see you,” he assured him, knowing that much at least was true.
13 Dorian Montoir It's complicated 1401 0 5

Jean-Loup Arceneaux

April 03, 2020 7:17 AM
Of course.

Those two words were the best thing that had happened to him in weeks. What came after might have seemed like damning with faint praise but honestly, he was too relieved to care. Too relieved both that his boyfriend wanted a hug from him and that he finally got to give him one, after all these horrible weeks apart.

He wasted no time in pulling Dorian in, both arms wrapping tightly around him, holding him against his chest. There were a million things he wanted to say. A so many things he wanted to do - to lean down and kiss the top of Dorian’s head, or stroke back his hair, or… or just keep holding him. But he was aware that whilst a fierce hug might pass under other people’s suspicions, especially if they were aware Dorian was having a rough time (and surely anyone with eyes would notice, even if they could not see it in every single way Jean-Loup could, surely they could see enough to know this was not the same person who had walked amongst them prior to Midterm?) - whilst this might pass for ‘normal,’ other things would not. And, once he opened his mouth to say one thing, he would find it very hard to stop there.

“I missed you,” he allowed himself, not so much releasing Dorian as loosening his grip enough that he could pull back if he wanted to.

“Can we go somewhere? I have an idea of somewhere to take you,” he clarified, feeling encouraged by the fact he hadn’t been rejected outright. He had considered where they might go, remembering the small-town claustrophobic feel. They needed somewhere they could talk. Somewhere that was private enough to allow that to feel easy. But he had also played that scene in out in his head a few times, and expected that too much talking could be a problem. They also needed a distraction. And he had flicked through the Floo directory for Tumbleweed until he had found the perfect one.
13 Jean-Loup Arceneaux How about we make it easier? 1506 Jean-Loup Arceneaux 0 5

Dorian Montoir

April 03, 2020 8:30 PM
Dorian was surprised by the ferocity of the hug he was pulled into. Here. In public. At this point, he felt he had very little left to lose, but Jean-Loup still did. Still, right now he was less concerned about what other people were thinking and about how this felt. The safe, strong arms. The way his head fit so neatly against Jean-Loup’s chest. The familiar smell of high-end cologne, whose notes and tones he had no idea how to analyse but which undeniably smelt good, in and of itself and also because it smelt like every memory of getting close. It felt good.

But it didn’t stop feeling complicated.

Jean-Loup loosened his grip, and Dorian half pulled back, not really wanting to let go either. His hands longed to slide up around Jean-Loup’s neck and to continue being held and comforted. He’d felt Jean-Loup’s hand twitch on his back, like it wanted to go somewhere, and his own hands felt the same pull. He wasn’t sure if it was real longing or just muscle memory.

“I missed you too,” he answered, glad that Jean-Loup had chosen that and not a different three word phrase. It would have been rude not to say the same back, and - with this phrase - that was enough of a justification. He also thought there might be an argument for it being true. He had been nervous about seeing Jean-Loup, sure, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about everything that had happened. But it had stung to have him taken away. Not being sure what to say to someone wasn’t the same as not wishing that they were there to talk to.

“Where?” he asked, when Jean-Loup mentioned taking him somewhere. He was not opposed to going somewhere with him, especially if it was somewhere they had a bit more space to be themselves, but he had always been the look before you leap type.
13 Dorian Montoir How? 1401 0 5

Jean-Loup Arceneaux

April 04, 2020 8:03 AM
“Can it be a surprise?” Jean-Loup asked as they stepped apart. He saw a flicker of doubt or anxiety cross Dorian’s face, and he wondered whether because he just wasn’t very good with surprises or because he didn’t trust him. “I want to take you to see something that I think you’ll like,” he clarified, hoping to offer some reassurance without giving everything away.

“Okay,” Dorian agreed, trying not to sound wary. His capacity for dealing with the unknown was pretty maxed out right now. Still, that meant the only option left was to just go with it, and trust. He didn’t doubt Jean-Loup’s intentions at all, and he probably knew Dorian well enough to know what he liked. He took a deep breath, falling into step beside his boyfriend, finding that he was sad not to be able to reach out and hold his hand.

“How are things?” he asked instead.

“More or less the same as before,” Jean-Loup answered. “No one knows anything… Nothing changed. Except having to worry about you.”

“Sorry to be an inconvenience,” Dorian huffed. Great. The most miserable part of Jean-Loup’s life was currently him. Like he’d chosen to get punched in the face or have his life fall apart.

“I didn’t say that!” Jean-Loup prickled. “I just- this does suck for me too, you know. I am allowed to be worried about you.”


“But how am I supposed to fix that? I can’t just… magic myself better. You think if I knew how to fix my life, I wouldn’t have done it?

“I didn’t- I just - I-” - am allowed to have some feelings here too. It was Dorian’s family though. So was he? He felt like this was a thing that had happened to him too. And it wasn’t like he had anyone else he could talk to about it. And he hated that part of him was getting so angry that he wanted to scream. Not at Dorian. He would never do that. But nonetheless, would it prove everything his boyfriend had been saying, if he revealed any kind of frustration or anger? He was that kind of person. The sort that gave in to yelling, to kicking a trash can to vent his feelings. He still didn’t believe that put him on the same rung as Matthieu, but it clearly kicked him far enough down the ladder to matter to Dorian. And that made him want to scream too.
“We’re here,”,” he pointed out. It was not a big town, and they had now reached their destination. That, at least, could put a pin in that fight before they could have it. Which was what he had been hoping for.

“A pet store?” Dorian asked curiously.

“They have bunnies,” Jean-Loup answered, his green eyes anxious but hopeful, “And we can pet them. I checked that they wouldn’t mind us doing that. I mean… both that we don’t intend to buy them and that…. They don’t mind us. I just wanted to make sure it would be nice for you,” he added, not sure how Dorian would feel about him confessing their personal lives to strangers, and somewhat worried that he might not be pleased with what Jean-Loup had done. Even though he’d had the best intentions…
13 Jean-Loup Arceneaux With bunnies? 1506 Jean-Loup Arceneaux 0 5

Jean-Loup Arceneaux

April 09, 2020 6:43 AM
That was… thorough. Dorian imagined Jean-Loup, head in the fireplace or writing letters. All in an unfamiliar language. To bring him bunnies. To check they could pet them. To check they could pet them.

“That’s really sweet,” was what he said out loud, still sounding halfway sad or stunned about this fact, though he reached out and gave his boyfriend another quick hug.

They entered the shop which, even by the strange standards of Tumbleweed, was rather on the odd side. The front of the shop had a small counter, behind which one of the resident ghosts and her corporeal assistant were chatting happily. The back half of the shop looked substantially larger than the front of the building had suggested was possible, and seemed to have all manner of animals wandering freely in fairly naturalistic terrains. Dorian watched as an eager little crup trotted up. At the point at which the grassed half of the shop stopped to give way to the business side, the cruppy stopped. Dorian marvelled for a moment at how well trained it was before he realised its nose had squidged slightly as if being pressed against glass. Indeed, as it stood up onto its hindlegs, wagging its tail, it was clear its front paws were resting against some kind of invisible barrier.

“You can cross but they can’t,” the ghost explained. “You wanted to see the rabbits, yes?” she added. She was mostly addressing Jean-Loup, who she clearly recognised from whatever call he’d made, but he seemed to be defaulting to letting Dorian do the talking. Apparently, he had enough English to get by when he had to but would happily pass on the responsibility when he could. Dorian supposed that was fair.

“Yes please,” he agreed. They made their way in, stopping to scratch the cruppy’s ears and throw his ball, the ghost leading them to a back corner.

“See the place where the grass changes colour?” she asked. Dorian nodded. “They can’t cross that line. And you won’t be able to when you’re holding them. We’ve carved up the space a bit, keep predators and prey away from each other,” she added, nodding to a tree just past the line where some curious owls were gathering, heads oscillating in anticipation as they looked into the area full of pygmy puffs, rabbits and other small animals. “Make yourselves at home,” she invited, drifting back towards the desk - this still had a clear line of sight to them to make sure they were treating the bunnies nicely (though there was little doubt about that really).

“This is lovely,” Dorian smiled, sitting himself down in the grass near to a grey and white rabbit and holding out his hand for it to wiffle at. It lopped a little closer and he stroked it, wondering where to begin with… everything. And finding that he wasn’t quite ready yet. “Do you think the bunnies have any magical powers?” he asked instead.

“Oh, absolutely,” replied Jean-Loup with a grin, settling down near Dorian and offering a stroke or two to the same rabbit. “I think you can’t feel completely sad or really angry whilst you pet one. Is it working?” he asked.
13 Jean-Loup Arceneaux And petting! 1506 Jean-Loup Arceneaux 0 5