Would you like to see? on Labyrinth Gardens

Cissy Tarwater

April 09, 2008 9:05 PM

Would you like to see? by Cissy Tarwater

Cissy Tarwater held her wand from her face at eye level, gazing at it admirably. She had no idea she could do such fun things with a wand and Cissy delighted in what she was able to do. No, she hadn’t rid herself of Horace, the big idiot who wasn’t even frightened of her and her wand. But the spell that was meant for him had hit Paul, and rather worked rather nicely despite being on the wrong person. Paul, she normally only caused flesh wounds to him, small curses that allowed her to test the extent of what she could do. She wouldn’t try to kill Paul, just as a scientist would never try to kill their guinea pig. Lussni either, both of them were a necessity. And while Cissy had been mad that the curse she had used was not strong enough to fatally wound yet, the fear on Paul’s and Horace’s faces the rest of that summer was just perfect for her.

Paul had always known what she would have liked to do to Horace, she told him her plans. And she believed that Paul would stay out of the way, but when the boy had approached her (as his mother told him to do every time she was home) and Cissy turned darkly on him her brother decided to come down from his broom. That was what she’d resolved on, he would never put himself in that kind of danger to protect someone else. Paul was a stupid boy, pretty much a coward, he probably didn’t notice what was going on down there (though deep down she really did know that he could sense her anger a mile away).

And of course Horace heard the spell, knew the spell both before and after he dove to the ground and left her brother wide open. And Paul had the full (no, half power) of Cissy’s spell hit him.
The rest passed her in the blur, Cissy cared nothing for Horace’s protection towards her or Paul’s time in the Hospital or the Healer asking her and Horace exactly what happened. All she cared was that she had the ability to do that much damage to one person. Two, to be precise, Horace had avoided being around her alone the rest of the summer (not that he needed to worry at that time, Cissy had been too busy priding herself to notice anyone around her). Cissy wondered what it would have felt like to her if the spell had been entirely successful.

Not just if it had hit Horace, but if it had hit Horace full force. She imagined it would have felt even better, and why in the world did she even have to stay in school when she could cast things like that? School taught her nothing but useless little charms that she could pick up in any book and how to be nice to disgusting Muggles. What Cissy learned on her own was much more useful in life. Hers, at least.

Cissy smiled at her wand, her baby now, and stretched out her legs to straighten out her knee-length, black skirt so she could find that pocket where her wand belonged. Cissy looked a lot better than last year when devastation and emptiness filled her up. She had lost the sleepless circles under her eyes, as well as the dimness in her eyes (that was replaced with it’s old cruel spark). Her black hair was actually clean and not matted untamed around her ghostlike face. She had brushed it and placed a blue hairpin on the side of her bangs (matching her eyes). And she wasn’t ghostly anymore really, her face glowed.

A book lay beside her, no title anywhere on its musty and cracking spine. Even back in the day, this kind of book’s title would not be looked at kindly. Cissy did want to learn these spells though, these things that were so close to what she almost did this summer. Laying the book on her lap, Cissy cracked it open to the page that held a silk bookmarker and began to read. There were people in the Gardens, quite enough for her to be afraid that one would see what she was reading about. But Cissy wasn’t really afraid of losing her mask anymore. In fact, she didn’t think she was afraid of anything anymore.

0 Cissy Tarwater Would you like to see? 0 Cissy Tarwater 1 5

Tyrone Astin

April 13, 2008 11:48 PM

Were you expecting anyone? by Tyrone Astin

Tyrone Astin knew only a very few things to be certain right now. One of them was that his parents didn’t want him around. This was obvious, because they were never around, and now he was separated from his whole family (except his cousin, who had half been asked and half volunteered to go with him, but that wasn’t the issue, was it?) and he now had to sit through questions about Aladren from his mother. And stories. Just because she’d been in the House didn’t mean she had to talk his ears off—write his eyes out, whatever. One of the few other things he knew for certain was that he wanted to hate this place. Hate it with as much passion as he could muster.

At the moment, however, he found that he couldn’t hate the place itself. Maybe the school, the idea; the physical place itself wasn’t so bad, really. There were lots of nice plants, and the main hall was, admittedly, amazing. He ran an idle hand along the leaves and the sound startled him into closing his eyes briefly and letting his mind slip into a reverie he rarely allowed himself. The world was alive with color if you knew where to listen for it. He stepped forward, and heard the crunch of his foot on the path; lighter yellows and oranges than the actual color might imply. The leaves rustled as he ran his hand along them, dark green with hints of lighter blue when the wind rather than his hand touched them.

He followed the line of the hedge down, and heard the cheery plop of water, and, his eyes still closed, he took a few steps away from the hedge to run his hands over a fountain. The water would be sparkling, he knew, and would be singing in the sunlight if he only looked at it. He let the water run through his hands, imagining it. This was why he rarely let himself lose track of his thoughts like this. It was too easy to get completely lost, to forget to pay attention to the less important things that always came to trip him up.

Like, for instance, the fact that he definitely had a brand new broom and his blanket from back home—the one Aunt Eleanor had made and that had charms to keep his bed just the temperature he liked. That, and a note from his father. Therein lay the crux of the problem. Tyrone knew (despite his attempts to convince himself otherwise) his mother was by nature a rather caring person, and that as such she did care for him. Whether it was more than she cared for him than any random stranger she had to treat as a Healer was unclear to him, but… his mother always cared. About anyone and anything, but also therefore about him. At least he was something.

But Da was the one who wanted to be out and about all the time. Da couldn’t settle down, Da wanted him to live in Scotland, Da was the one with the primary job. Mum mostly went along as Healer for Da’s group of magical-creature-dealing-with-people, as Tyrone thought of them, just because he was there. (According to reports, they were often dragons, as his da had an unhealthy fondness for fire.) Da was really the one who had no use for a small child. But his mum hadn’t let him buy a broom—saying he didn’t need it—and Da had stayed behind at the Quidditch while Mum and he bought robes.

I thought you might want this, just in case.

Just in case, the note had said. With his eyes still closed, Tyrone frowned a little and ran a hand through his curly blond hair. It didn’t make any sense, really, that absolutely wonderful broom. Splashing the water with no little irritation, he turned a little and continued on his way, only keeping marginally intact due to the hedges. Eventually he managed to figure out, based on the feel and the sounds he kept constructing his mental image of the gardens with, more or less where the middle of the path was, and kept to it. This is a nice place, he thought, for coming to be alone…

It was at this point that he learned the hazard of wandering through a public garden with eyes closed. Namely, other people’s legs on the ground.

He landed in a rather untidy, awkward heap over and somewhat to the side of Cissy’s feet, mentally cursing his luck as he struggled to pull himself somewhat upright. His amber eyes flicked briefly up to look at who he’d tripped over, before he automatically reverted to his habit of not looking people in the eye. His robes were, by now, covered with various plant and garden matter (and a little wet), and now his face was too. “Uhm. I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” the undersized Aladren boy muttered, his Scottish accent somewhat thicker than usual.

0 Tyrone Astin Were you expecting anyone? 0 Tyrone Astin 0 5

Cissy

April 14, 2008 5:13 PM

Not particularly by Cissy

Cissy's eyes skimmed the words of some of the spells, catching instantly to others as certain words seemed to draw her into the spell. Cissy wondered if she was strong enough now to cast some of the best ones here, and really how should she go on testing them. Paul was out, these were far too dangerous to risk on her brother. The cat too. Anything that was close to her own family really was something Sierra was not going to touch with something fatal (though she was completely for anything fatal, having done so before).

The what ifs ran through her mind, what if she mastered this? What if she tried this on Horace again? What if he chose not to protect her this time? What if she ran away from home, from school, to live alone and just master these? What would anyone do? Would they look for her? Cissy doubted that, unless her mother really was the freak Cissy thought her to be and went to look for her so she could get her beloved share of Horace's mother's money from the darn planned marriage. That was pretty much the only reason it was even agreed to, them being down on their luck with Thomas Tarwater's condition affecting his job interviews since the day he was bitten.

Cissy wondered then again, what if she used one of these spells on the people who turned her father down a job because of said condition. Had Thomas had a steady job, and a steady cash flow (however little it was), this would never have happened to Cissy. And to be honest, neither would have Paul's submission into himself. That curse, as she said over and over again, was meant for Horace. It was his fault. Paul and the cat only tested the weaker ones, painful but not fatal. A random doe in the woods, maybe one of those annoying Unicorn activists.

If you thought about it, if you needed a scapegoat for it, it was their faults. Cissy wasn't going to blame her father for being bitten, nor even her brother for wandering outside at night to find their father's wand which she had actually dared him to steal (back before she had more interesting things to watch). And her mother, as nuts as she was to even think of setting Sierra up with a total stranger and distant cousin (despite setting her up with anyone at all), was not to blame for their need of getting money to circulate the house.

Cissy shifted her legs slightly, leaning farther back. A sudden pain in her legs awakened her to the rest of the world and the nameless book of spells was slammed shut and hidden behind her as she glared up at the scrambling younger boy. Cissy's hand was on the edge of the wand in her skirt pocket, and her knees were drawn up to her chest (another hand kept the skirt hiding what it should). "Really now," Sierra spat angrily, wondering whether or not she should try one of the smaller curses now. With people around. "Watch where you're going, you might trip over the wrong people at the wrong time."

0 Cissy Not particularly 0 Cissy 0 5