And Oh, My Tongue Is A Weapon

“No shit Sherlock,” Ira mumbled, rolling his eyes for possibly the hundredth time that day. “I thought this was prison camp !” He rolled his eyes again at Lissy’s explanation, both because it was ridiculous and also because eyerolls were his response to practically everything. He wouldn’t be surprised if he woke up one day and his eyes were just gone. “Like talking to you shows I’m being social,” he scoffed, trying his hardest to peek at the book his cousin was reading. Probably something boring a teacher had recommended. “I wouldn’t scrub for the rest of my days anyway, they can’t keep me here once I’ve graduated.” Maybe not the soundest logic, but it seemed to work for him.

“You’re always fucking studying,” Ira groaned, noisily dragging his chair on the floor. Sure, that was what people went to school for, but Lissy was taking it way too far. He scrunched his nose at her first suggestion, and the second had him gagging. “As if, and hell no. Why don’t you go back since you’re such a study nut? You could get your golden robes and all that. Anyway, I think she asks me about you just so she can read phrases like ‘always top of the class’ and ‘nearly living in the library’ in my handwriting to pretend it’s about me. Just write to her so she can get bored and ask me about stuff, okay?”

Nearly all of his mother’s letters mentioned Elisa, so much so that Ira was starting to suspect Emi didn’t feel like writing several letters but was more interested in her sort-of niece than her own son. ‘Have you seen your cousin lately’, ‘I’ve heard her grades are so good’, ‘she must be very dedicated to her studies’ and so on, it was a right bother.

So on a dull Thursday evening, Ira made a beeline for the library, Elisa’s true dorm. Honestly, if she weren’t boring she would have stayed the night in there sucking face with books, but last Ira heard his cousin didn’t have the mischievous streak like he did. Probably why he had ended up in Gryffindor, if he was honest. Spotting the Ravenclaw from a distance, he walked to her barely trying to avoid the chairs in his way. If people didn’t want to take his bag to the head, they should study closer to the table.

“For you.” He merely said, dropping Emi’s latest letter over whatever Elisa was working on. He just had enough decency not to speak loudly. “Well I mean, technically it’s for me but it’s almost all about you, so read it yourself.”

Ira: Like your baby daddy is a fucking saint. Stop being so two-faced, that's not the kind of influence I want around my nephew :)

Ira: He's not high all the time and he wouldn't put Matei in danger. It's like being afraid a hippie would skin your pet rabbit to wear it at Loud Park Festival.

Elisa: Not all the time? Only most of the time? My mistake! That is fine then!

Ira: Leave Aurel out of this.

Ira: My cooking skills are a gift from God himself icymi.