A Memory
November 12, 2020 9:57 AM
Portrait of a Lady by A Memory
One moment, the prefects’ lounge was empty. Then the door opened, one person stepped in, and abruptly, two people were in the room. After a fashion, at least.One of them was not supposed to be there. She was a tall woman, narrow and angular, with thick hair which fell just past her shoulders. She was wearing a knee-length sheath dress, probably monochrome, high heels, a wide bracelet made up of many smaller stones, and a heavy necklace with square stones. The details were difficult to distinguish, however, since she was seemingly made of semisolid pearly silver material, like wind made solid, from top to toe.
Perched on a chair, she lifted a silvery, rectangular object – a perfume flacon – to her neck and depressed the atomizer, projecting a fine silvery mist toward the bare part of her neck. She turned toward the other person now in the room, and smiled, but was looking at a point near that person’s waist, and also at some point closer to her than that person was.
“Well, let me see your wrist, then,” she said, and then used the perfume again, this time at a level suitable for the wrist of a small child. “Ah! There you go. Smells good.” She started to turn back to an invisible mirror, but then paused. “Oh, all right,” she said agreeably, reaching into a small, beaded bag and retrieving a tube of lipstick. “Now, you can do it yourself, but remember what we said? Just a little on top, then put your lips together, so you don’t get too much.”
OOC: New rule: instead of having two sub-threads, this post is set up in a class-style format. There should be a max of two responses, either separate (two people posting directly to the memory) or interactive (one thread with two characters in it).
Subthreads: A lovely, lovely lady. by Evelyn Stones
My favorite professor is a portrait. by Hilda Hexenmeister
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Portrait of a Lady
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Evelyn Stones
November 12, 2020 11:55 AM
A lovely, lovely lady. by Evelyn Stones
The prefect lounge wasn't a place Evelyn necessarily frequented unless she had reason to, as most of the people she'd find there were also people she could find other places (in fact, all of them technically were) and most of the people she'd want to find there were people she would normally seek in other places. However, tonight, Evelyn was on duty, and she wanted to make sure she dropped off a bag of stuff she'd want to have with her that night so she didn't have to carry it around until then or risk forgetting it. Homework was heavy these days and it was best not carried around unless absolutely necessary.She about dropped her bag instead when she walked in and found somebody already there, although it wasn't a person she would have expected, or sought, and was hardly really a person at all. There was something familiar about the woman and her adornments but what struck Evelyn is actually how much they sort of looked alike. The woman was thin and blonde or light-haired, and Evelyn thought that she could have been her daughter if she didn't know already that she wasn't. There was something distinctly maternal about the woman anyway, and especially in the way she engaged with . . . nothing?
Evelyn watched in awestruck silence, her eyes and mouth forming round Os of surprise and shock. And longing. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to her like that. Marijke was the closest she had to a maternal figure, and the woman did a very good job, but she'd come into Evelyn's life late enough that Evelyn had needed a savior more than a mother. Ms. Heidi was the second closest but she had a job to fulfil and that job had not included motherhood for Evelyn either.
This woman seemed like a mother though. She reminded Evelyn of her own mother and her own childhood introduction to makeup, especially lipstick. Her mother had warned her not to put too much on too, although Evelyn obviously hadn't listened if her first few years at Sonora were a good gauge, and if her occasional bouts of orange lips still were. She also hadn't really done much by way of perfume. That was a fancier bag of tricks than Charity Stones had tried for.
Evelyn blinked rapidly to clear her misty eyes, surprised to find the mist there at all, and broke eye contact with the woman, although she quickly looked back. The woman didn't seem to see her but Evelyn couldn't help wishing she did. "I want to try one," she said quietly, almost imperceptibly. "You're probably a good mom."
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Evelyn Stones
A lovely, lovely lady.
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Hilda Hexenmeister
November 12, 2020 12:07 PM
My favorite professor is a portrait. by Hilda Hexenmeister
Hilda hadn't thought she'd like being a prefect, but with Jessica and Sophia both having earned the title as well, it gave them a little more in common with each other than just a desire to speak German. Neither were the extra responsibilities as difficult as she had imagined they would be. And the Prefect's lounge was an unexpected but welcome perk. She had taken to getting her homework help from Heinrich there instead of the library, because there were fewer people to disturb with her outbursts of mild frustration.Today, she wasn't planning to meet Heinrich, but she was planning to work on homework in a safe space where she wouldn't be distracted by younger Pecaris or feel obligated not to shout at her textbook when it didn't make sense during the first read through.
She stepped into the lounge and looked around for other occupants - the aforementioned shouting was a no-go if there were other prefects about, but the lounge was preferable to the library because chances were fair that any present prefects would be able (and possibly even willing) to help explain to her what the purpose of occamy eggshells in a potion was (or, for that matter, what in Perchta's name an occamy was).
She did not see another student, but she was not alone. A woman was there, and not one of the school's staff members, or any of the ghosts she'd seen before. She did seem to be a ghost though.
"I can help?" she asked, figuring if any place was the right place to be prefectly, it was the prefect's lounge.
The ghost ignored her and addressed someone else. Perhaps someone she remembered from life?
Hilda felt a pang as she realized the ghost was a mother. A mother giving make-up advice to a daughter, she would guess. A conversation Hilda's mother had never had a chance to give her. A conversation the dead woman would only be able to provide to a daughter who was no longer there.
She couldn't smell the perfume, and she didn't own any lipstick, but Hilda still set it to memory that the way to apply it was to put some on her top lip and then rub them together. She would still have one more ball here. Her lips rubbed together in practice, and she tried not to let her eyes sting because it was the wrong mother teaching her.
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Hilda Hexenmeister
My favorite professor is a portrait.
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