Post by katya on Oct 12, 2011 18:12:40 GMT -8
самотен
lone·ly
[lohn-lee]
adjective, -li·er, -li·est.
1.
affected with, characterized by, or causing a depressing feeling of being alone; lonesome.
2.
destitute of sympathetic or friendly companionship, intercourse, support, etc.: a lonely exile.
Dinnertime
September 20th, 2011
People were still keeping away. She'd been assured that this was only normal, that because she was a novelty she would either be harangued or avoided; and novelties weren't novelties forever. It was just that it was still early in the year. And anyway, she wasn't sure that she wanted friends. There were two equally empty spaces on either side of her, so she had plenty of elbow room in which to prop her Bulgarian-English dictionary, a half-written letter to Trevor, her plate, and, well, her elbow. Idly swirling her spoon around in her squash soup, she flicked through the pages of the dictionary for a word that she wanted; and once again, unable to help herself, glanced up and across to the Slytherin table.
Layla had lost all pretence of sisterly affection following the incident at Puxley. Trevor had been frazzled and had snapped at her, telling her that his other daughter needed him just then; and Layla wasn't going to take that without some amount of retaliation. The pretty blonde first-year looked up and caught Katya's eye, then rolling her eyes, turned back to her gaggle of admirers. Perhaps, Katya thought, it really is a choice. But those weren't friends, not in her opinion. Layla just had no problem with using her fame to her advantage whenever she could, and Katya, well... did. It wasn't some misguided sense of her own nobility of character, though; she just hated flatterers and social climbers with a passion.
Things weren't bad, though. Far from it. She'd gotten the position of seeker on the quidditch team, she was doing great in her classes, and the guards had been warned not to show the Williams girls particular attention. If only they would find and save Maeve McLeod, things would be great. Even better if they could gut the pigs who attacked them. And maybe if she knew if Trey was okay, and if she hadn't hit a dead end trying to find her mother's death record... well. Little things, anyway.
Occupied with her thoughts and the task of glaring at her little sister, who was sending nasty faces her way, she didn't notice that she was still holding her spoon when she abruptly lowered her arm. The spoon and its spicy yellow contents went flying off to her right, clattering (and spattering) across the bench and onto the shoes of a student who had been traversing the aisle, innocent and unmolested, a moment before. Katya shouted a very unladylike word in Romani, turning around on the bench to assess the damage. Layla's laughter drifted loud and unabashed across the room.