tired heart.

Mary was certain that at this point, she had all but memorized the article. The details, the death toll, the names - all of it seared into her brain. Yet that didn’t stop her from constantly pulling it out of her bag and reading it. Placed on the table beside her, already having gone over it once before breakfast. The last names rolling around in her head, a sudden voice broke her concentration. “Oh - no, I’m fine, thanks.” Truthfully, she didn’t have much of an appetite since news broke anyways. News that was now causing heat to rise to her cheeks, realizing her error in leaving the paper out. “Of course, yeah, I’m … sorry, Hestia. Kind of just can’t seem to put it away.”

Hestia felt like the names were on what seemed a merry-go-round in her mind; an endless spiral of ‘Alfred Chittock... Evangeline Meadowes... Naveem Shafiq... Richard Cattermole... Lyssa Trelawney... Jacob Abbott... Heracles Jones...’ whirling around, CONSTANTLY. Her head remained bowed, breathing coming a little easier as she ate, staving away the constant emptiness. One look at Mary’s face, and the guilt started to rise up like an uncontrollable wave. “Yeah, me too.” The smile that she half-catapults onto her face feels forced, stretched, before she lets it drop. “Honestly, I’m only eating ‘cause I know the House Elves’ll be upset if I don’t.” She shrugs, pushing the food into her mouth and slowly chewing before she responds to Mary’s apology, a flash of white-hot guilt sending her stomach into knots. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to snap. Seems to be the general consensus, not being able to put it away.”

“Hestia Jones, large and in charge, I like it, I do,” Miriam complied with all of Hestia’s demands, taking the sausage, moving the dishrag. She’d be LYING if she said Hestia’s sharp tone didn’t effect her, make her feel a bit on edge, the harshness slightly cutting – but her feelings didn’t matter right now. They didn’t. Bracing herself for whatever outpouring of emotions she was about to receive, Miriam looked at Hestia, seeing a girl in pain. “Can I get you anything, Hes? Name it, I’ll try my best.”

Hestia was quickly filling & filling & filling the empty spaces in her heart with anger, bitterness, anything to keep people from getting close. Her lips parted, as if she expected to say something, before she closed them at Miriam’s words. The EMPTINESS in her chest felt like it was spreading -- she couldn’t let anyone else feel like this, couldn’t let anyone feel like they had lost nearly everything that mattered. She let her shoulders droop as she tried to conjure the words -- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you, but they wouldn’t form, and it felt as if it was a stone, a stone her hand refused to let go of, to drop into the sea. She sniffled, rubbing at her philtrum, before she looked back up at Miriam, hastily. “No -- I... I don’t even know what I want. I don’t even want to eat, but I have to.” She turned her attention back to her food, beginning to push food into her mouth, the words ‘I have to’ circling her brain, as she tries to fight back the urge to say that what she wants, she can’t have. She can’t have her brother back, because he’s gone. “I have to write my mum back, I have to tell her that Heracles really detests Celestina Warbeck and only puts - put - up with it because he thought she liked it, I have to tell her not to invite Carrie, because she’s his ex and they haven’t been together for three months -- I have so much, so much to DO.”

Wendy was feeling good. This was her scene: a pretty spot in nature, with plenty of pot brownies and beer to go around — she could hardly not feel at ease. She was on her way to the photo booth, just to see how it was going exactly, when Hestia’s words entered her ears. “I’ll go, but only if you join me! I mean, have you even taken a picture of yourself yet? You MUST take one, if not a hundred, ‘cause of this being your idea and all.”

Hestia had been as stressed as she’d ever been up until the party started, hovering around the photo booth with a look of concentration on her face, furrowing her brows and entirely, very much so, sure that helping run the party was a terrible idea. That is, until the first guests jumped into the photo booth and the peals of laughter that followed reached her ears. Her lips twitched up into a ghost of a smile, voice warm. “You and Miriam will be the death of me, I swear it, Wendy Slinkhard.” She dropped her voice for a minute, swirling her drink around her cup before downing it with a grin. “Only a few, okay? I’m not taking a hundred. Bloody hell, I’d be sick of MYSELF.”

Jasmine grinned at Hestia, slightly giddy from the alcohol she’d consumed. With her part Veela heritage, it took a lot for her to get like this. “Fancy taking a turn actually in front of the camera with me?”

Hestia scrunched up her face, the seconds ticking by as she took in Jasmine’s giddy expression - she was glad that at least someone was enjoying the more social aspect of the party, as she often neglected to do so. She let out an exaggerated sigh, smiling. “Fine, alright. Might as well.” 

“sorry…. were you talking to me?” he turned around, glass of butterbeer in hand. cyrus looked the girl up and down, assessing the photo booth. “no thanks, i don’t do pictures.”

“i was talking to the people - never mind.” hestia half-grit her teeth, offering a smile she was sure looked as if it reeked of sarcasm. “not even for when you're old and gray? what do you do, then? people watch?”

“ god, no. “ nate found the words coming out his mouth reflexively — to much of a gut wrench instinct to moderate his tone to anything other than instinctive vehemence. “ I’m not waiting around to take a picture, I’m just … well, apparently, unfortunately, standing right by the photo booth. hm. “ nate frowned at himself for letting this happen, then took a sip from his cup, lifting his eyebrows at hestia in lieu of actually saying ‘what can you do?’

“ charming, burke, ” hestia raised an eyebrow, offering a smile over the rim of her drink to the next occupants of the photobooth, ignoring burke for the moment — she wasn’t offended by his tone, nor his refusal to use the booth. she, herself, was hesitant about getting in front of the camera. “ maybe you should move then. wouldn’t want you accidentally being swept up in a rabble of drunk or high teenagers who don’t take no for an answer. ” she let an awkward smile rise, shrugging in return to his glance.

Let’s play: FUCK, MARRY, KILL

FUCK: Kitty.

MARRY: Miriam. She’s already basically tethered herself to me for the rest of my life, might as well make it official by putting a ring on it.

KILL: Why do I have to kill any of them? Can I not, just, like, hex them, or something? I guess I’m going to have to say Benjy. Sorry.