a burning effigy

chrissie.   twenty-seven.   she/her.

this is writing blog for my original characters, that will mostly be written within their own created universe. all the muses on this blog are interconnected with one another in some capacity. please ensure you read rules and information before interacting, which can be found here. thank-you.

             “I guess – yeah, um, sure. What are you having? I’ll – I’ll just.. I’ll get whatever you get.”       God. Is she trying too hard? She feels like she is. Or not enough. It’s really impossible to tell which, since she doesn’t really know Sawyer, there’s very little chance of her being worried enough to try too hard to impress him, on the other hand, she feels like she’s tanking everything she says, creating a dead end at every conversation. Emma rests her elbows against the table they’re seated at, and links her fingers with one another. This time, at least she brought her own knitwear. She bounces her foot awkwardly against the stone floor, and thinks to herself maybe she should take off her jacket, or excuse herself to the ladies room to make sure her hair is nice, do literally anything but sit here and stare at him.  

          “I don’t come here much.”       Very smooth.

Sawyer  feels  that,  maybe,  he  shouldn’t  have  a  reason  to  be  so  nervous.      Sure, she might have a reputation of being cold & not easy to get along with, but sitting opposite him now, she seems to almost be nervous. Raising a hand to flag down one of the waitresses, he gives her a little smile. If he harnesses some of the Gryiffindor bravery that he has running through his veins, this date will be a cinch.  “Oh, yeah. Me neither really. I mean, a couple of the lads like to come here, you know. Boy things. Uh -- oh, two butterbeers, please.”         His attention given toward the bar maiden who stares expectantly at him, and he slowly lowers his hand after realising it’s still high in the air. After she leaves, Sawyer turns back to look at Emma.

@pangyric​

Well. Here they are. Alone. Just the two of them (and Ben 6 metres away trying to look inconspicuous). Just a guy and a girl, out together, alone. Nothing to see here. Nothing awkward about the way they both haven’t ordered a drink yet out of either not wanting to seem too eager or worse, because they want to get out of here. 

Emma has a healthy, pink flush to her cheeks, a nervousness about her which brings out a soft lisp in a small selection of words in her vocabulary when she speaks them, her is tongue hesitant to form words, so the ones she forces herself to speak come out a little clumsy and stuttered. She doesn’t know what to order, because all of the cups in this place are comedically large and make her look ten times smaller than she actually is. She lets out a laugh, trying to break the ice. 

              “Normally I slip over at least ten times on the walk over here. I must have gotten lucky today.”  

Sawyer  hasn’t  noticed  his  friend   -- arch nemesis, the line is blurry -- sitting in the corner of the pub. He has been giving Emma most of his attention on the way here. Not there has been much of a conversation between them, an occasional comment about the weather or Sawyer asking if she had a nice holiday break. Now they are sitting in the warmth, he’s taken his hands out of his red and gold gloves to rub his hands together and try and warm up slightly.

dakota’s eyes watches the hot steam from the locker room showers swirl around her and then vaporize above her. she can feel tense muscles begin to relax, but with a cruel twist a fate, they stiffen once more like they become on the defense. it was a natural reflex these days. all clenched jaws & sharp teeth. ready to bite at whoever came too close.  it was a reflex that she found herself too quickly back in at the sound of shuffling, some laughter here, then the relief of a long day of quidditch came to a sudden halt. the steam circles around her like the thick fog of early dawn before it disappears into the air once again.  

dakota shuffles quietly out of the communal showers and raises a single eyebrow at all of her stolen belongings other than a robe and her wand. it was a retaliation of slytherin’s latest win, she’s sure. she can practically smell the prank that belonged to weasley twins like a thunderstorm rolling in. with an annoyed huff, dakota slips on her robe and grabs her wand. she jumps at the sound of sparks above her, red and gold lettering spelling out the word traitor. a free hand grips at the itchy, polyester fabric of her robe and her grip on her wand tightens as more shuffling comes into the locker rooms.   

“you,” dakota snaps, meets him halfway, and points her wand at his throat. hues of blue light at the tip once before it fades. “of course you’re here. you want to tell me who did this before i hex you into the next century?”  

@pangyric​ . 

He  had  been  looking  for  a  reason  to  talk  to  her  lately.         Not that he would ever admit it, but when a few days go by without at least staring at each other threateningly across the halls, it feels a little empty. Suddenly, she’s got her wand at his throat and he is all wide eyes and raised hands. In all honesty, he hadn’t realised she would still be in here at all, and was in here looking for Ben. With his wand not quite within reach in his pocket, he simply stands in front of her, brow raised.

           “Uh, yeah. They do.”          Emma nods, turns her attention to follow his eyeline as a bludger speeds past them. Look at her, making an actual effort not to be too bitter or too nasty! Her family would be so disappointed! She shudders at the breeze, even shoots a sideways glance at him every time he makes an attempt to talk. Once you get to know Emma, once you’re safe from her wrath in that little cozy zone of friendship, it’s easy to be relaxed around her, she even likes to give that effect — but for now as Sawyer begins to suggest that she’s not scary, she gives him a little, only semi-threatening glare. 

Eyes lock for a moment, a little laughter in her eyes as she notices the way he’s kind of floundering under the pressure, but she releases him shortly with another question.  

            “So… This is you giving me a chance after five years of being in the same Potions class as one another?”       Okay. So she’s not relieving all of the pressure.

Ben tells her she should try to be nicer to people when they’re nice to her. Something about the nice ones not deserving to get jellylegs jinxed every time they say hi, or smile at her. There are good wizards out there, Emma. For a moment she considers scowling at him, grilling him right away on what he wants, because they always want something. Then she remembers that she’s only on this pitch as a courtesy and if she starts pissing off the other Gryffindors she might find herself barred.  So. She makes an effort. 

           “No. You can sit. They’ll probably all go on for another hour anyway. Second wind.”        Emma says, her voice barely lifting from the usual deadpan it takes on when she speaks to strangers. She gives Sawyer a quick once-over, wondering what it is that’s making him so shifty. There are plenty of other seats he could have sat on, plenty of other people to annoy. It doesn’t sit right with her. 

                    “Did you lose a bet, or something? Nobody ever talks to me at these things. I don’t bite, but that seems to be the… Running gag.” 

He  doesn’t  wait  for  the  invitation  to  be  revoked.       Quickly taking a seat down beside her, he realises he might have sat too close to her and scoots down the bench slightly. This is definitely not the best of his ideas:  never been very good at talking to girls, or anyone, really. He is hoping that his awkward demeanour will come off as charming rather than uncomfortable. It is the best thing he has going for him. 

@pangyric​

Quidditch practice sucks. The part of the day where she squints up at the sky for hours trying to make sense of which player is which and where the snitch is. No real talent on a broom herself, it makes it very hard to idolise the idiots that go up on one every day knowing full well what the risks are if they fall off theirs. Usually a Hufflepuff wouldn’t be allowed to observe Gryffindor practice, but suppose being best friends with one of their star athletes has it’s perks. 

Huddled and bundled in not only her Hufflepuff scarf, but Ben’s too, she shivers and counts down the minutes until he’s done cracking jokes with the other team members so that they can get out of here. Emma wants to show him the project she’s been working on before sundown, but she can already see it sinking beneath the silhouette of the school. Maybe it’ll have to wait for another day. She watches him, trying to keep a scowl off her face, as he messes around with the other teammates, having seemingly forgotten her existence for a few minutes while they pack up their gear. 

                      “–Can I help you, Sawyer?”         It surprises her when there’s a tap on her shoulder from someone she’s barely exchanged a few words with in her time here. Her words do come out firm, almost threatening in the way she looks at his hand on her shoulder and back to his face. 

          “We could do it together. Some girl-time. We haven’t done that in ages.”           She’s sure that after tonight they won’t see each other again. Ben would never know if Maia suddenly disappeared under mysterious and supernatural circumstances…— No. That would hardly send the message that she’s stable, and totally okay being just friends. Emma quickly drops the idea, nose wrinkling in thought. Emma picks up her own brownie and sighs through a full mouth as she chews:

                  “I think I need to talk to Natalie about finding some sort of– medication. Or something. I can’t keep blacking out and terrorising my ex-boyfriend like this. I can’t keep doing this to you.”  

          “No. I couldn’t sleep, even if I wanted to. I keep trying to go over it in my head. I was just taking a shortcut home, then all of a sudden I was inside – I thought… My head was five years in the past, that’s all. I thought… I don’t know. I didn’t know,”         Maybe it’s Emma that wants to talk about it, more than Astrid needing to. She pushes the plate of brownies closer to Astrid now. A subtle movement.  

                        “You know, I remember his phone started blowing up. It was Maia. She was like. Sending tit-pics to him begging him to come over. Pathetic.”      Not the time. Not the time.     “–And then because I thought we were five years in the past, I started to lose it. He’s actually lucky that I didn’t, like, kill him. Five years ago I might’ve.” 

           “I mean. You can be. You can be angry at me even though it’s not something that I can control–”          Oh, she’s already moving on to Ben. Okay. Sure. Emma looks up to the ceiling, trying to recount what is already slipping away from her, she shakes her head.           “I was there for a while. I let myself in. He… Woke up and found me in the kitchen, tried to explain that I don’t live there anymore, I wasn’t having any of it… I don’t know. Um. I’d say maybe an hour he knew I was there before telling you.” 

Emma scrunches her face up, embarrassment being the primary emotion that’s coursing through her. It’ll be shame later, a deeper feeling of resentment for herself and her condition, but that’s for when she’s alone. 

                   “It’s all really blurry already. I… I caused the both of you a lot of grief and I don’t even – remember half of it. I’m sorry.” 

@pangyric​

             “…Would you like to talk about it?”           They’ve been silent for a little too long. Emma’s not sure if Astrid is just trying to find her composure again or if she’s furious at her for causing her headaches. Back to her stoic self, even Emma finds her hard to read at times. Which is why she’s brought the latest batch of home-made brownies out of the fridge as a form of bribery.  

                     “We – we don’t have to. If you don’t want to hear… I just – I,”  Emma struggles to find the words.   “You can be mad at me. You’re allowed to be angry. I can’t remember the things that I said to you but– You know I hate this. I’ve been trying so hard. I– I don’t know what triggered it.” 

quinn’s mouth started to open to protest as he swipes the weapon from her, but it’s dismal, so she promptly shuts it to mull over his question. dakota had attempted to teach her months before actually allowing her to hold the gun let alone giving it to her. all of her previous readings have only came from dakota’s experiences, teaching her the basic mechanics of it first. ben, as far as quinn can remember, had tried, too. with lack of interest in relearning or keeping up practice, she completely forgot everything. she considers herself more or less an expert on anything spirit and mostly academic related, but when it comes to anything outside of those things, that’s where her intelligence laid doormat.  

“i’m assuming it’s fake in the movies, too, then. the fighting. obviously, there’s no cool james bond-like explosions in the background or, uh, dramatic music either. not that i would personally know given that i’ve never, like, seen a james bond movie in my life. or been in an actual fight with, like, a physical, living thing.” quinn’s chest quickly rises and falls as if she’s trying to catch her breath in between sentences. with a sheepish grin growing on her face, she moves quickly, grabbing the gun from his hands and settles it on a nearby table. quinn bounces on her tiptoes, curls her fingers into a fist, and brings them up to her face. “c’mon, sawyer. show me the real thing.” 

SHE  TALKS  SO  QUICKLY,  BUT  SOMEHOW  HE  MANAGES  TO  KEEP  UP.        Maybe because his brain runs about as fast as her mouth does. It only makes him smile. A brief thought is given to how she and Ben ever got together in the first place, trying to talk with him is like drawing blood from a stone. He nods along, agreeing with her points, and opens his mouth to make some counter offer about how James Bond isn’t all he’s cracked up to be when she is disarming him, bouncing onto her feet. Oh! He scrambles slightly as he pushes himself up to join her.

“i’ve never actually used one of these before.” quinn’s head tilts down at the object, a small handgun, that sits comfortably at the holster of her boot. her hand sits awkwardly at her calf, the pads of her fingertips twitching at her side, like she’s debating on whether or not to grab then and there. she’s never had the opportunity to, either, but carrying one, at the least, was dakota’s idea. quinn isn’t sure what good it’ll do, anyway, given that it’s not likely the weapon would be the first thing she reaches for if if an opportunity does arrive. 

quinn lifts a shoulder and curls her fingers into her palm, weaving the fabric of her sleeve in between every other finger.  “ben—,”  a sharp, shaky intake of a breath & quinn poorly hides the fact she winces thereafter, “tried to teach me the, uh, physical stuff. the fighting, i mean. which, you know, you probably knew that. i—anyways. that was, um, before. you know.” a beat. “i just—only know what i know from reading about them. movies and stuff. is that even accurate? what they show in movies? i bet it isn’t.”   

@pangyric​ : starter call.

HE  HAD  BEEN  THE  FIRST  TO  AGREE  WITH  DAKOTA.     Having her carrying a gun would make him sleep easier at night, but when it comes to actually teaching her how to use it --- him trying would be the blind leading the blind. Not that he is about to admit that to her. He has a reputation to uphold here. Before she can make a decision about whether or not to pick up the gun, he is already reaching across and slipping it from the holster. 

dakota’s heartbeat rises in its staccato & the once - steady pulse rushes into her ears. she doesn’t pretend to hide the hitch in her breath or the quick rise of her chest as she draws closer. it’s no use to when he can see right through her, anyway. her bravado only withstands for so long before it falters ‘neath the softness of his gaze or the gentleness of his touch. 

there’s temptation to steal the first kiss, but dakota found herself unable to move. she’s too focused on studying his features as she’s done so many times before. she’s afraid that one day she’ll forget and only have distorted memories and marissa, who undoubtedly, was his splitting image. there’s a mourning that once again sinks into her stomach for the inevitable that’s to come. moments like this aren’t meant to last for people like them, right? dakota’s lips curve into a small smile and gives a quiet hum of contentment.   

“hm. i don’t think so. care to enlighten me?”  she teases & the small smile is gone as quickly as it came. “have i told you have much i love you lately?” 

They  stay  locked  in  the  gaze,      both of them too stubborn or too selfish to make the first move. Selfish for wanting more time with one another, stubborn for each wanting proof how much the other loves them. It says so much about them, the spark still there between as if they were teenagers fooling around behind locker rooms, sneaking kisses between glances their way. After everything they have been through, Miguel still feels his heart warm in his chest. Not a slow, dying ember, but a wild fire, roaring through everything with no sign of slowing down.