My War Paint is Sharpie Ink

It was Friday night at Mel's house, where she had finally, after a fair number of scheduling conflicts, decided that today was the day they were going to have a Disney movie night and she would invite as many people as her house could possibly fit. So here they were, not quite everyone, but as many as could show up on last-minute notice, and they had already successfully finished one movie.

Ellyse had found herself nestled into Rolland's side, like usual during movie nights, and after the first hour or so he had finally convinced himself that no, putting his arm around her would not seem too forward. Not that she noticed it as anything other than a more comfortable shift in their positions.

Leah sat up on the back of the couch behind Andraste, her legs on either side of him and her arms wrapped around his shoulders. She had seemed semi-interested at the beginning of their first movie, the Princess and the Frog, but after realizing that both the main characters were wimps and the only cool character was the bad voodoo guy, she quickly tuned out of every scene that didn't involve him. She had protested loudly at the end of it, and Mel had decided to put on Mulan, hoping it would restore the other girl's faith in physically strong female characters.

Mel was sitting on a beanbag which she had claimed for herself, while Henry and Roshii sat at her feet, and Charlie beside her in another beanbag with Enri in his lap. He shielded himself using Enri for most of the previous movie so that he wouldn't have to watch, but since Mel had stood up to put the next movie in she had caught on, and now made sure that he would have to watch the screen.

Xin, Chiyo, and Alexis took up the remaining spots on the couch, and while Alexis and Chiyo bonded over the movie in quiet whispers, Xin used it as an opportunity to practice his English listening skills. He had only spoken up once to ask if Americans “really believed that alligators could talk and play horns.” That was when Enri taught him the word “trumpet”.

As the first song number of the movie came on, following with a rag doll-like Mulan getting washed and primped on screen, Ellyse began to hum the music under her breath. Charlie groaned and buried his face into Enri's back as Mel began to do the same. Enri pulled his head away from her back, then held it so that he wouldn't turn away, and could see the Disney character that oh-so reminded her of herself on screen. Henry nudged him on the leg and whispered, “It's not so bad.”

Mulan joined the procession of women with their parasols, and Roshii began to imitate them, sticking his nose in the air and trying to huff his chest out as he swayed an invisible parasol back and forth. Henry snickered beside him and Mel gave him a playful kick so he would knock it off.

“Gross,” Leah hissed when she saw them all lined up for the matchmaker. She leaned forward a little more until her head rested on Andraste's shoulder.

However, everyone could agree, it seemed, on the hilarity of the scene with Mulan and the matchmaker after the song. Rolland laughed hard enough for Ellyse to feel his ribs shaking, so she took a moment to readjust her position before leaning on him again.

But then. Oh no.

All the girls in the room—excluding Leah but including Roshii—looked at each other with the same look. A very knowing look. As they all looked back to the TV, they seemed to take a collective breath, and then...

“Look at me...”

“NO.” Charlie stood up, taking Enri with him. “No, I am not going to sit through this.”

He had begun to try to manoeuvre his way around people's bodies and legs to get out of the room when Enri took hold of his face in both hands, and looking at him very sincerely, sang, “Who is that girl I see?”

“NO!”

“Staring straight—”

“STOP.”

“Back at me?”

“ENRI.”

“When will my reflection—”

“I'M GOING TO DROP YOU.”

“Show who I am—”

Charlie set Enri down—fairly gently, contrary to his words—on her feet and rushed to the door.

“INSIIIDE!”

It took fifteen minutes of Enri apologizing outside the door before Charlie would come back into the room. By then, Roshii and Henry had stolen his beanbag and had somehow managed to fit both of themselves next to each other on it. They grinned as he came through the door, but he grumbled as he sat next to Mel on the ground and pulled Enri back into his lap. Mel gave Enri a high five for her earlier efforts and Charlie growled at her.

For a little while, at least, everyone seemed to be able to sit and watch the movie like normal people. When “Be a Man” came on, it wasn't just the girls (and Roshii) who sang, but Henry also joined in, and even Charlie muttered along.

Leah's eyes widened and a smile grew on her face as she saw Mulan improving. She let out a cheer when she retrieved the arrow, and couldn't hold herself back from saying, “Kick his ass!” when she began to beat out Shang.

Andraste got a hold of her kicking legs and turned his head to look at her. “You're coming down from there soon,” he whispered.

“Nuh-uh,” she whispered back.

Andraste didn't have to wait long to retaliate though. In the middle of Roshii and Henry alternating solos in “Girl Worth Fighting For” he leaned to the side and reached up, pulling Leah down from the back of the couch before she could know what was happening. She ended up cradled in his lap, eyes wide, as he smirked down at her.

She stared at him for a minute, and he thought she might have a snarky comment to make, but all she did was blush and turn away from him to watch the movie, crossing her arms over her chest. He chuckled slightly and held her tighter.

Charlie held Enri from behind as she sat in his lap, and as the song descended into chorus he brushed some hair away from her ear, whispering. “Hey.”

“Hm?” She turned just enough to see him from the corner of her eye.

Hogwarts had been, initially, an exciting but uncomfortable adjustment for Ellyse. On one hand, she had always looked forward to going. On the other, she had always thought her father would be there with her. On a third hand, the freedom of the castles and dormitory life was enticing. On yet a fourth, there would be no one to hold her when she had nightmares or keep her occupied through her insomnia. That was why, upon entering the school as a first year Ravenclaw, Ellyse hadn't really made any friends.

Now, yes, she had a timid and slightly skittish personality. And maybe spending all her time with her face buried in books made her a little unapproachable. It certainly didn't help that she hadn't the slightest clue as to how to start or hold a conversation with people she didn't know. It was probably a failure on all accounts.

So, instead of socializing, she spent her time in class making notes, and her time outside of class studying them. She found her way to various nooks and crannies within the bones of the school and she wrote letters to her mother and sister every night. If she got lonely, she'd read books out loud to her owl Odysseus, who would look at her with nothing but his most patient expression, as barn owls tended to do.

And every weekend she would practice the spells and charms her father had taught her until her voice fell horse and her wand arm lay limp.

Out of all the first year courses Ellyse had taken, Defense Against the Dark Arts had perhaps been her easiest mark. She grasped spells easily, reacted quickly, and never let her guard down against an opponent. It hadn't surprised her much when Professor Zailles had chosen her to demonstrate basic duelling skills to the class.

“Miss Jones,” he'd said, locking eyes with her as she stepped forward. “And...” His gaze scoured the crowd of students, but quickly fell upon a group of snickering Slytherins. “Mister Rolland.”

The snickering stopped for a moment. One boy looked up, the rest looked at him.

“Step forward, please.”

The snickers began anew as the center of attention, a Caucasian boy with dark eyes and darker hair, made his way to the front. He was not much bigger than Ellyse herself.

“You and Miss Jones will demonstrate to the class how to properly initiate a friendly duel.”

A loud laugh burst out from the group of Slytherins, and Professor Zailles tuned in as though he had a mental radar. “Mister Bates!” The laughing muffled only slightly, but it was too late. The professor stormed through the students to his target, and the pair was left at the front.

The boy turned to Ellyse, smiling a humoured smile. “Bonjour,” he greeted.

Ellyse blinked at him, frankly a little startled that he had spoken to her. “Hello.”

He put one hand over his chest. “I am Simon, but call me Rolland.”

“Ellyse,” she replied.

He took her hand lightly then, bent to bring it to his lips, and kissed the back of it. “Ellyse,” he repeated. “A lovely name to go with a lovely girl.”

The amount of blood that rushed to her face was potentially dangerous. Ellyse took her hand back, bringing it close to her body and hiding it in her sleeve.

“Don't worry,” he added. “I promise I will go easy on you. Wouldn't want to hurt that pretty face.”

Did he really just—

Yes. He did.

She stared at him. Professor Zailles had made it back to the front, and was now addressing the two of them once more. “Wands out, you two. Up on stage.”

Ellyse broke the stare, turned harshly to get to her position on one end of the stage as Rolland took the other. They faced each other once again. The boy winked, smile dancing on his lips. Ellyse remained straight-faced. They bowed, wands held at the ready.

He was slow. Left an opening. Put his guard down. Ellyse had him stunned in one spell and knocked down in another. With barely a third he was pinned. The match was over. She had hardly done anything.

And all Rolland could do was pull himself up and stare at her as if she had grown wings from her back and would fly off at any second.

The second time Ellyse saw Rolland, she had been in the halls on her way back to the dormitory from her afternoon classes. It was the small commotion that drew her attention, off down the hall, Rolland and another Slytherin boy—Bates?—were being pulled along by the scruffs of their robes out of a classroom by one rather peeved-looking Professor Smelt.

Some students had stopped in the halls to look. Others had stopped to overhear. Some just wanted to know how many house points would be deducted. Ellyse wasn't sure why she stopped. Not because it was Rolland, certainly, though it was his face she would remember, the way his guiltless smile would peek at the edges of his mouth when the professor turned away. No. It hadn't been for him.

A girl exited the classroom on her own, covered head-to-robes-to-feet in blistering pink powder that had probably caked into her everything. Voices were raised. Fake apologies were ushered. A total of forty house points were deducted from Slytherin. Ellyse turned down a different hallway to take a longer route to the tower.

Flying was probably the most interesting of classes. It wasn't something Ellyse was able to practice on her own, or study for like a test. And likewise, she wasn't the best in the class. She wasn't the worst, not by far. She was average. Just average.

But flying was fun, and so, so calming.

That is, when Madam Handmon wasn't letting the class have a free-for-all and go crazy. Or sorry, it wasn't Madam Handmon. Madam Handmon was sick and had been quarantined to the infirmary for the next three days. Professor Lane was taking her place, temporarily.

Which was a complicated way of saying it was a free afternoon with the brooms.

Some idiot had snuck a quaffle out to class with him, and many students were now gathering in groups to play a very stripped, very fake game of Quidditch. Or catch. Depended on your view of it.

Ellyse had sat out of the game, favouring instead the idea of a slow aerial tour of the outside of the castle. She had disconnected herself so much from the other students that she hadn't noticed the sounds of the game getting closer. It was only when a brown ball bigger than her head whipped past her ear and another student nearly barrelled into her that she realized the game had migrated towards her.

Cheers came from behind her. She looked forward, and not a few feet in front of her had Rolland managed to catch the quaffle and stop just in time to avoid hitting the stone walls.

He smiled at her sheepishly. “Sorry,” he said. His cheeks were a little pink, his chest moving in and out to make up for lost breath.

“It's okay,” she responded. And because they kept looking at each other, she added, “Good catch.”

His face broke into a genuine grin, and she might have been fooling herself but it was possible the colour of his cheeks darkened by two shades. “Thanks.”

Rolland turned back to the other students then, flying back to them and giving the ball a hard throw in another direction. Ellyse stopped her tour of the castle to watch the rest of the game play out.

May was a bad month for Ellyse. It was almost impossible not to be. Every year since her father's death, she had experienced crippling insomnia paired with even more crippling nightmares. She had slept less than eight hours the whole week, and the sleep she did get was restless and terrifying, leaving her in a worse state when she woke up than when she went to sleep. She couldn't bring herself to think enough to decide whether she preferred one hour of tortured sleep or twenty-three hours of waking torture.

But somehow she had made it that far. Seven days. She had kept her problem to herself, so she thought, and reassured herself that it would pass on its own if she just made it through her classes.

And currently, her class was Potions.

She had taken a seat near the back, so as to avoid suspicion from the professor, and managed to get lucky with a Hufflepuff partner who seemed to know what she was doing anyway. Various ingredients were thrown into the cauldron, hands took to stirring and simmering. Steam was nearly constantly rising. Ellyse at least had enough sense in her to view what her partner was doing, looking over the cauldron to check the colour of the mixture. First it went fuzzy. Then it went dark.

And soon enough she couldn't feel her feet.

 “Mommy!”

“Good evening,” the voice on the other end of the line spoke. “Is this the Rolland residence?”

It was still weird for him to hear that. He and Ellyse had been married for a while, but the phrase always seemed to remind him more of his parents than anything else. “Yes, this is Simon Rolland speaking.”

“Wonderful. My name is Ada Pressley, and I'm calling on behalf of the Centre. You and your wife Ellyse Jones are married and without children, is that correct?”

“It is,” Rolland answered. He couldn't think of a reason that the Centre would be calling, especially to ask about his marriage, but whatever reason they had, it was probably justified.

“And you are living together?”

“We are.” What the fuck are these questions.

“In what type of dwelling, may I ask?”

“A two-bedroom house,” Rolland answered, furrowing his brows. This phone call suddenly seemed very invasive, and he wasn't sure he liked that. “Nothing fancy.”

“Wonderful, wonderful. And your income is well, you aren't struggling?”

“We're fine.” His voice was starting to take on an edge. If this call didn't get to the point quick...

“Have you and your wife ever considered adopting, Mr Rolland?”

“Uh...” That was. What? The question left Rolland grasping for words for a moment while he tried to collect his thoughts. “We haven't... talked about it,” he answered honestly, and a little unsure. He really didn't know Ellyse's opinion in the slightest, though he knew she wanted children some day.

“The Centre helps run a program that aims to place mythic children into mythic foster families, as we feel it's best for the development of the child. Now, we have this girl, four years old, angel, real sweet. Her parents died, she has no family to take her in, and some of the other fosters have turned her away. We thought, given your wife's history with us and her lineage, that you may be a good match for the girl.”

“And why would you think that?” Rolland asked, more for the fact that he was at a loss of what else to say.

“You're wife is a very capable angel, Mr Rolland. She has previously expressed her desire to us to help the Centre in some way. We think she will make a more than suitable mentor and mother for Enri.”

“Enri?”

“The girl's name, yes. Her family was Japanese, but she has been raised to speak English.”

Rolland ran a hand through his hair. What the fuck was he supposed to say?

After a sizable pause—probably longer than Rolland had realized—the voice spoke up again. “We understand that you probably wish to speak with your wife about this. When you have reached a decision, please call us back. You know the number.”

“Yeah...”

“Thank you for your time, Mr Rolland. Have a good evening.”

Rolland hung up first. Without stopping to put the phone down, he headed almost immediately for the bedroom. “Ellyse?”

“Yeah?” she looked over at him when he entered the room. She had been changing the sheets on the bed, and was now folding another clean set to put away. She offered him a small smile, but it quickly disappeared. “Important call?” she guessed.

Oh. He must have been making a face. He tried to make his expression neutral and sat down on the edge of the bed, tossing the phone onto the mattress. “Yeah,” he answered, after a moment.

Ellyse put down the sheets and stepped in front of him, brushing some hair back off of his face. “What's up?”

Rolland took a deep breath and pulled her closer to him. “Have you... ever thought about adoption?”

He tried to look up at her face, but she only looked confused. “I... no, not really. I mean, human children just...” She shook her head. “Why?”

He tightened his hold on her hips and began to explain. “The Centre called, and they have this little girl—“

“Yes.”

He looked up at her. “What?”

“Yes.” Ellyse wrapped her arms around her husband's neck. “Do you want to?”

Rolland rested his head against her chest. “I haven't thought about it.”

Ellyse pet his hair gently and kissed the top of his head. “Here.” She shifted to sit on his leg and moved his head from her chest to her shoulder, wrapping an arm around him. “Tell me what they said.”

Rolland played idly with the hem of her shirt while he spoke. “Her name is Enri, and she's four years old. Her parents died and apparently the other families didn't want her. She's an angel,” he said, smiling and glancing up at Ellyse, “just like you. They said that's one of the reasons you'd make a good mother for her...”

After a moment, Ellyse asked, “What do you think?”

Rolland grinned and kissed her neck lightly. “I think you'd make a great mother in general.”

Ellyse smiled back and pushed him away from her neck. “That's not what I meant.” Rolland resisted her pushing, and she gave up and let him nuzzle into her neck. “You know they're right,” she said quietly.

“Do you want her?” Rolland asked.

“I think we should at least meet her, first.”

And after reaching for said knife, there was still some wrestling that had to be done before the thing would sit still long enough for Charlie to get a good angle.

Then it was just a matter of hauling the carcass off of himself and sitting up.

He turned to Mel, panting slightly. “What, no help?”

Mel pointed around the corner. “I was checking the hall!”

Charlie groaned and stood up. “Might as well check the rest of the place now,” he suggested.

“On it,” she called, heading back through the house.

Charlie sighed. It was only 10 AM and it had already been a long day.

“The shape shifter is taken care of?”

Charlie turned around only to find Enri inches behind him.

“Fuck,” he said, taking a small step away from her.

Enri rose an eyebrow—as she tended to do—and spoke again. “The mission is a success?”

Charlie rose his arm to run his hand through his hair. “I wouldn't exactly call—ow.” He winced and lowered his arm, holding his other one tight across his abdomen.

Enri looked to where he was holding his stomach. “You are injured.”

“Probably just got scratched,” he said, lifting his hand to see just how much blood had soaked through.

Enri stepped forward and pulled his bloodied hand away so she could see as well. “You require medical attention.”

“I'll be fine,” Charlie countered, trying not to think about how nice her hair smelled when she stood that close.

“Lift your shirt,” she instructed.

“I just need a bandage—”

“Remove your shirt.”

Charlie swallowed. Enri was glaring up at him. Enri never glared at him. “Yes ma'am...” He pulled his shirt up carefully over his head, ignoring the sharp pain in his stomach as he did so.

Enri was leaning over and inspecting his wound up close. “Your whiskey?” she asked, holding out her hand.

“What, no way,” Charlie protested. “I didn't bring it with me anyway.”

Enri sighed loudly. “Fine. Give me your shirt.”

Charlie handed her his shirt skeptically. “What are you going to—”

She pulled the shirt from either end until it ripped apart down the middle.

“Hey!”

She proceeded to rip another section. “Shush.”

Charlie shut his mouth stubbornly, and Enri began to tie the ripped sections of cloth together, avoiding the already bloodstained area. She slipped her arms around Charlie's bare waist and he tried his best not to blush. God, she was so tiny that she almost had to hug him to fit her arms all the way around.

When she pulled away, she had wrapped the torn shirt around him as a makeshift bandage, tying it around the front and pressing it to his wound. “Hold here,” she said, and directed his hand over his cut, pressing down over top of it so that he would apply the right amount of pressure.

Charlie took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Thanks...”

“Am I interrupting?”

Both Charlie and Enri turned suddenly, seeing Melanie leaning in from the hallway with a cheeky grin on her face.

The door opened slightly, Julien peeked in. “Still awake?” he asked.

Ellyse rolled on to her back and stared up at the ceiling. “Yup.”

He entered the room fully, closed the door behind him. “I thought you were asleep so I didn't want to wake you.”

She turned her head to watch him. “You were so quiet I thought you'd passed out on the couch.”

Julien shrugged, smiled, stepped over to her side of the bed. “I have a plan.” He leaned over her, arms balancing on either side of her head.

“You always have plans,” she said, smiling back at him.

“I've got,” he leaned down, kissed the crook of her neck, “the most expertly clever plan,” kissed her shoulder, “in the history of plans.”

Ellyse took his head in both hands, pulled him above her face to look at him properly. “There have been many plans in the history of plans.”

“This is the cleverest,” he confirmed, then nodded once as if agreeing with himself.

“That's quite the accomplishment.” She moved her hands from his face to his neck, hooking them around the back.

“Yes.” He gave her a quick peck on the lips, then, against her cheek, whispered, “Phase One of the expertly clever plan: get dressed.” He pulled Ellyse into a sitting position on the bed and jumped over to the wardrobe. “Sweaters are recommended but not mandatory.”

Ellyse stretched her arms over her head. “What about pants?” she asked, cheekily.

Julien turned to her, blushed. Quickly turned back. “Pants are mandatory and non-negotiable.”

“Hmm... I suppose I agree to these terms.” She removed herself from the tangle of blankets and the bed, opened up a drawer of the dresser and pulled out a pair of jeans. “Can you grab me a shirt?” she asked, slipping her own leg into the leg of her jeans.

“Classy shirt for a classy lady,” he said, passing her one of his pressed, button-up shirts on a hanger. Dark red.

“Thank you, kind sir.” She slipped it off the hanger, putting it on over her tank top.

Julien took a moment to appreciate the site of her in his clothing. Now, his clothing obviously looked amazing on him, but she was definitely a close second. Even with her arms barely poking out from the hems of the sleeves and her figure hidden beneath the loose-hanging fabric, she still managed to look beautiful.

“Socks,” he said suddenly.

“Oh, right,” she agreed, quickly snatching a pair of neatly folded socks from another drawer of the dresser.

After obtaining a laid-back blazer for himself, Julien moved on to what he called Phase Two of his expertly clever plan. “You shall get the blanket,” he instructed Ellyse, “and I shall get the books. We will meet at the door with the required supplies in t-minus two minutes.”

“Affirmative.” While Julien made his way to their extensive library of books, Ellyse opened up the hallway closet, sifting through towels and sheets and pillow covers before settling on midway-tacky-looking quilt. She folded it into a manageable size then went to the door to slip on a pair of shoes.

Julien joined her a moment later with a messenger bag slung over his shoulder and his sunglasses resting firmly as barriers for his eyes. “Phase Two complete?” he asked.

“Phase Two complete,” Ellyse confirmed.

“Wonderful.” He held open the door for Ellyse and ushered for her to go ahead of him. “Canadians first,” he said.

Ellyse stepped over the threshold, turning back to him with an amused grin. “We are on top anyway,” she reminded him.

He blushed at her but made no comment, closing the door to their apartment and locking it behind them.

“I mean geographically, of course.”

“R-right,” he agreed. “Geographically.” Julien turned down the hallway, holding out an arm and pointing dramatically. “Phase Three: we walk!”

“And we try not to wake up the neighbours while we do it,” Ellyse whispered, taking his other hand in her own and patting him on the shoulder.

“Fine. We walk quietly,” he whispered back, though still with intensity.

The two trekked through the hall, down the stairs, and out the of the apartment building into the pre-morning nighttime air. Julien glanced both ways down the street, then lifted his sunglasses from his eyes and tried again. “To the east!” he declared.

The streets of Fallen Point at three in the morning were empty to say the least, desolate to say the most. No one wanted to be awake if they didn't have to be, and that included the two insomniacs. But Julien was revelling in the nighttime scene of the town. Maybe the damp cool air wasn't the most pleasant, but he'd be damned if he didn't work with a good setting. And street lamps barely managing to light the clear sidewalk, grass nearly glowing in the dark, well, that was a good setting.

Ellyse leaned against his arm lightly, squeezed his hand slowly to remind him that she was still there. “How are we doing, Navigator?” he asked her.

“How can I be the navigator if you never gave me a map?” she countered, looking up at him.

“Never question the captain! I know exactly where we're going.”

“Mhm,” Ellyse hummed with a smile, then looked ahead. “Then we're right on course, Captain.” She let out a yawn and Julien glanced at her wearily.

“Almost there,” he whispered. She nodded.

They were comfortable in the communal silence for another minute or two, a few street turns, until Julien finally lead them across the street. “Land-ho,” he announced, as the came up on a local park.

Ellyse kept quiet, looking through the park with her eyes to see if she could figure out where Julien was going with all this. They walked further in, still hand in hand, until they came upon a small incline.

“Lay anchor, Navigator. I think we have found our spot.”

“Yes, sir, Captain,” she responded, letting go of his hand momentarily to unfold the quilt and lay it over the dewy grass. Julien helped her to position the edges, then quickly kissed her cheek as they straightened up again.

“Phase Four,” Julien announced, then pulled her by her hand down onto the quilt with him. “Get cozy.”

“Cozy, huh?”

“Real cozy. Get real cozy. Dare I say, almost cuddly.” His face had stretched into a rare, genuine smirk, and he held his arm farther away from his body as if in invitation for her to lean against him.

She accepted his invitation readily, but after settling into his shoulder and letting his arm settle over her she shifted again. “I'm a little chilly, actually.”

Julien probably rolled his eyes behind his shades. Probably.

But he shrugged off his blazer anyway, and simply reminded her, “Sweaters were recommended.” He draped the blazer over her shoulders, then pulled her back into him and wrapped an arm over and around her.

“Thanks.”

He kissed the side of her head lightly, about to reach into the messenger bag he had brought when he stopped. “Phase Four complete?” he confirmed.

“Phase Four complete,” Ellyse answered, looking up at him expectantly.

“Good.” He nearly reached into the bag again, but once again stopped and looked back at Ellyse, who was still staring. “Phase Five, close your eyes.”

“Aww,” she complained.

“Close your eyes.”

“Is it mandatory?” she whined.

“Yes, close your eyes.”

She let out a small puff, closed her eyes slowly, and snuggled further into Julien's side.

“Good.” Now, finally, he reached into the bag and pulled out the first of a small handful of novels. He opened carefully to the first page, ignoring book and chapter titles, then began in a narrative voice. “'In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since.'”

“The Great Gatsby,” Ellyse guessed. Julien paused and looked down at her. Her eyes were still closed. A soft smile was obvious on her face.

Quidditch practice for Slytherins had been cancelled that weekend—but that in no way meant that Sen and Rolland weren't going to practice on their own. They invited Ellyse down to join them, so, on a whim, she brought her (admittedly a little cheap) broom with her. At the very least, flying was the quickest way up to the viewing towers where she could sit and read. That's what she had assumed she'd be doing, anyway.

“That guy,” she repeated, “that guy is a lame, antisocial... jerkwad! Y'know, I try to help him out, y'know. I'm like, hey, Charlie, here, make friends.” She made a motion with her hands like she was handing something to someone. “And he's just like, grumble grumble grr.”

Melanie cross her arms over her puffed out chest, making an awkward, scrunched up face. Charlie raised his eyebrow, watching her conversation.

By now, she had broken into a full-on—very bad—impression of him. “I'd rather sit here draw pictures of everything rather than actually participate in conversations. Don't mind me, I'm just going to hog your video games and play with your brothers and eat all your food!”

Charlie wanted to laugh at her impression, but felt a little bad due to the fact that most of what she was saying was true.

“And then there's Enri!” Mel flopped back on the couch with an exhausted expression. “I'm like, here, Charlie, help me teach this girl how to live in normal society and be our friend, and he just—”she shot forward,“—doesn't know what to do with her!”

Charlie nearly went over to defend himself.

“Half the time I'm... ugh,” she stopped, flipping herself upside down on the couch, feet resting over the back of it while her head and arms hung over the edge. “I wish they'd just,” she held her hands out and smooshed them together, “make out already!”

And then Roshii kissed him. On the lips. Hard.

Even now, more than an hour into the Hufflepuff-Slytherin game, scores fairly tied up, she sat stiffly and anxiously in her seat. Rolland and Sen had been getting their money's worth of bludgers this game, which so far, they had all managed to hit away. They were good. She knew that. It didn't make her feel any better though.

Ellyse took her eyes off of the pair for only a moment, trying to see if she could find the snitch where the seekers were flying, and in that moment exactly what she was afraid of happened.

She hadn't seen it—but half of the spectators in her tower had stood up in the same second, and upon frantic searching of the field, Rolland was no where within her sight. What she did see, however, was Sen flying frantically down, then stopping, turning back and going to fend off more bludgers. Ellyse panicked. She didn't even hear the announcer. She didn't hear when the snitch was caught, or which team had won, or what the score was. The moment the game was over she ran down to the field.

Down on the field, many of the players were still coming down from their brooms, walking across the field, gathering with their teammates. All but one.

“Rolland?” she called, a hint of terror in her voice.

“Here.”

She heard his voice, turned. Saw him getting up from the ground. Saw his broom broken in half. Ran.

In a less than a second she was hugging him, head buried in his chest and the cloth of his uniform. He staggered back slightly, still not having regained his balance. “Ellyse?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist loosely.

“Don't ever scare me like that again,” she said, not looking up. Instead, she held him closer, squeezed harder.

He wrapped his arms around her in a proper hug. “I'll try not to.” He could feel a dull throbbing in the back of his head, and something was definitely up with one of his legs, but this felt nice. More than nice. She fit against him perfectly.

Ellyse moved her arms, and Rolland loosened his arms and let her go, thinking the hug was over. But all she had done was move her hands from his waist to his upper back, head still buried, still holding him close. Half of him was wondering how long this was going to last. The other half was just glad it wasn't over. Not to seem like he was letting her go, he repositioned his arms—one at the small of her back and the other on the back of her head, smoothing out her hair. He couldn't help but notice that if he were to tilt his head down just so—

“Yo, lovebirds, come celebrate.”

Rolland jumped, turning to Sen and glaring with all he was worth. Sen just finished walking up to them, shit-eating-grin plastered on her face. “We won,” she said.

Ellyse loosened herself from Rolland, rubbing her eyes with one hand and trying to put on a smile. Rolland reluctantly let her go. “That's great,” she said, a little halfheartedly, facing away from him.

Sen put a hand on Rolland's shoulder, getting up on her toes to lean into his ear. “Glad you're okay,” she whispered.

And that's where it was now. Rolland, in one corner, focused entirely on Annika and hitting on her rather heavily. Sen and Ellyse, in the other corner, leaning against the wall with equal looks of annoyed disappointment and nearly empty cups.

“This sucks,” Sen said, breaking their mutual silence.

“Agreed,” said Ellyse. She lifted her cup to her lips once again, to discover hardly a drop left of her drink. “I'm out.”

“Fuck!” shouted Sen. “This is ridiculous, why are we waiting on some guy?!”

“Yeah,” Ellyse agreed.

“He's just another jerk who's thinking with his dick anyway,” Sen continued.

“Yeah,” Ellyse agreed, getting more spirited.

“Who does he think he is, the king of the fucking world?”

“Yeah!”

“Well,” Sen paused for just a moment, trying to remember what she was saying. “He's not!”

“Yeah!” By now, Ellyse was even beginning to take an angry tone herself.

“And we're not going to fucking wait for him, isn't that right?”

“Yeah!”

Sen downed the very last of her drink and chucked the cup across the room. “We are strong, independent, sexy women and we don't need no man!”

“Yeah!”

“Emphasis on the sexy. We don't have to take this, we don't have to wait for him.”

“Yeah!” Ellyse cheered. “You're looking really good tonight, by the way. I love your dress.”

“Thanks, thrift shop. You know for all he cares, we could be making out right now.”

“Yeah!” Ellyse shouted, before realizing what was being said and covering her mouth with her hand.

“Like, you and me. Lip-locking. Right now,” Sen repeated, turning to Ellyse.

“Yeah,” Ellyse agreed, a little more quietly, staring at Sen's lips.

“With tongue and everything,” Sen continued, quieter, leaning closer to the other girl.

“Yeah,” Ellyse whispered, leaning in further.

“Just like this,” Sen whispered back, finally closing the distance between them.

It's an excuse. Almost, in a rush. Flurry of words, strangled and meaningless. It's a girl. Almost, in tears. Towers of paper, worn and wrinkled. It's the pounding in her head of whispers and shouts that haunt her dusk and dawn with mirrored sleepless nightmares and crippled sentences that make feeble attempts to navigate her thoughts and feelings in north south and east west over a never ending sphere of mountains and valleys and rivers that rush past and each is a deadly landscape in its own.

The mind speaker treads carefully through delicately intertwined silken strings, taking his time as to avoid becoming the unavoidable cause of a spattering downpour for days or a race of thrashing and crumbling rock down an ever present slope. With each sliver of reflected light caught in the dark alleyways of his sight comes a new scenario, devastating and miraculous ground together into a fine mix of powder, waiting to be washed away into a muddy landslide the instant his spindly fingers come in contact.

The crystal scene before him shines with the reflected light from the smallest of cracks in the solid ceiling splitting in its mirrored image to a rainbow only to be virtually unnoticed by the eyes on every surface. He drifts gracefully around the laser display of near invisible threads to reach the hanging elements, long heated and compact together yet never quite more separated than that moment. He echoes softly, reverberating the misty lights that dance across his vision and swim upside down in his lungs with each slow and shallow intake of cold breath.

it's what you remember

most known from childhood

as the long-awaited opening of the piggy

bank the weekend allowance

the lineup at the ice cream

truck the jingle in

your step the way you know

the tooth fairy's been there

a familiar tang the blood

behind your tongue

metal railings in January

counting your life

away through the circles

in your wallet in

your car in your

couch remembrance seeping

into your fingers sweat

shining on the surface grooves

you know like the

back of your hand raised

symbols of patriotism

collectables constantly compared

to the value of its neighbours

toonies too loonie what strange

odd names the lowest

denominator worth more

to make than hold

within your hands

are the stamps of who you

belong to the mentors of greats

for some but you no

you are remembered of

the animals that live this land

plated in silver and

gold or maybe just silver

which is all you'll give to the man

with no place to sleep

after all he's as

gross as the smell that lingers

behind reminding you what

you've changed with your

There are times, she thinks, somber and splayed out on the floor. Life doesn't always look up, and everything started doesn't always end well. There are times, like the one not two days ago, when things you thought were going well take a sharp turn down a dead end street, and inevitably crash, like they did, into the houses at the very end of it.

It was here, sinking deeper and deeper into the putrid blue carpet, that a slow realization had bloomed in her thoughts. Life, no matter what turns it took, kept going. It may be slow to pick up, pull itself out of the car through the broken window and wait until it regained enough balance to stand on its own; but Life, no matter how broken, crawled up and walked away. Life rebuilt its backbone and walked away from its problems.

He came to the office in a giant purple bunny suit, with floppy ears depressed and violet fur matted and clumped wherever it still stood. Long, rakey gashes ran across his back and seeped and bled all over the cheap grey carpet of my cubicle. He stood before me. His eyes watery; black; red; broken. I shook my head but he would not go, would not stop staring me down for my sins and my faults and my insecurities. Judging.

“Go,” I whispered, voice hoarse and about to crack no matter how much I begged it not to, “Go away.”

I swivelled in my chair, away from him. His eyes pulled me back, swung me around like a helpless magnet. I stared into those endless holes and into his skull. It was like looking in a mirror, which was the last thought I had before existence turned its ugly, hateful face towards me.

It smiled its hurtful grin, teeth sharp and pointed and jagged and yellow. It's face dirty and greasy and scraped and scabbing as its nostrils flared and snake-like eyebrows came crashing down like a target had been painted right on my face. It stood, hunched, fifteen feet tall, and here was me, not even blessed enough to be in a corner, cowering at a mere five foot five in the spotlight.

It had rained that day, but not the night. No, the night was just cold. “Dress nice,” he had told me. So I wore a dress that on any other occasion would have remained unloved on a hanger in my closet. I did my hair and put on makeup even though it made blinking feel weird. I wore those uncomfortable heels that would reopen the scars of the back of my ankles from where I had gotten blisters one-too-many times.

He didn't have a car, so I waited next to the sketchy closed-down Coffee Time for the streetcar at seven pm in the end of October. I rode, sitting next to an overweight man with ragged hair for an hour. He picked me up at the streetcar stop, my heels dipping into a small puddle next to the sidewalk. “This way,” he said. He smelled like cigarettes and alchohol.

He led me into a hotel, into a crowded room where we had to stand to watch, and didn't compliment my dress or my hair. The music started, a creepy tune, and the room dimmed. A girl in a sluttly, kinky outfit and handcuffs came out and started dancing. He'd taken me to see burlesque.

I looked away, down at the floor and tried to think of things other than how I hated the music and the crowd and how much my feet hurt. I took a glance at him, he was just enjoying the show. “Why are we here?” I asked.

He looked at me like I was crazy. “To watch the show.”

“Oh.”

I shut my mouth, went back to the floor. It was half an hour before he noticed me again.

“Do you want to get something to eat?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He nodded, lead me out of the hotel. He met his friends on the street, forgot me. I followed them down the alleyway. They lit up.