Post by on Sept 23, 2009 16:43:59 GMT -8
(Help me out with the date! I'm unsure of what else has happened and when this should be placed, but I'll give it a shot)
December 27, 2010
6:17 PM (EEST)
Katya’s quill scratched away across the parchment, leaving behind its tip a swirl of her elegant, slanted script. She halted suddenly, lifting the tip off of the paper just enough to not let it start blotting, and tipped the feathered end to lightly run along her bottom lip as she thought. Her hair flushed violet (and so did the tips of her ears) as sudden inspiration hit, and once again the quill raced. Her bottom lip slipped between her teeth, was worked there, and then was released in favor of the right corner of the upper.
She was writing an essay for Menagerie – roughly equivalent to Care of Magical Creatures – which was definitely her favourite academic subject. That made writing the papers easy as pie. Her chosen subject for this particular assignment was developmental differences between different subspecies of merfolk and how they corresponded to environment. It was a complicated, fascinating subject; in it, if she could do it just right (and she would!), she would be most likely to find a win.
Deciding that it was too dark with only the blazing fire beside her table in the library, she rummaged disparagingly through her robes for her wand. Once she found it, she whispered “Lumos!” and set the tip down on the table near the top of her paper, continuing to write.
“Sirens, on the other hand...” She murmured to herself in Bulgarian, resuming her lip-chewing and pointedly ignoring the student behind her who was lurking, probably shyly trying to solicit help finding something without asking. Well, they would have to swallow it and ask – she had better things to do than try to suddenly learn to read minds. Or did she? She stopped, her quill ceasing to scratch and squeal on the paper, as she thought about it. Reading minds. That would be incredibly useful... and fun.
Without saying anything she turned, looking contemplatively into the face of the young woman (probably a third year) who had been lurking, picking at book bindings on the nearby shelf. The girl started to smile, opening her mouth just slightly to ask a question, when Katya turned away. No, she thought to herself, I should probably just concentrate on finishing this essay first. Who would ever teach me to read minds?
After some time, the young woman behind her gave up and started to walk away. Relief flooded her first, but then she felt a twinge of guilt. Would it really have been hard to have just asked the girl what she needed? Oh well. Too late now. And anyway, the key to learning was asking for help, and if the girl did not learn to do so, then she would only damage herself. Katya just wouldn't enable her.
Feeling justified enough to forget the whole thing, she finally concluded her rough draft -- and then rethought it, scribbled the last sentence out, and reworded it. Finally satisfied enough to give the poor worn out, scratched and blotted piece of parchment a rest, she sat up and looked around herself. Hardly anyone was around. No surprise there; almost everyone else was at home for the holidays. Katya's hands flew together in sudden nervous agitation, her right thumbnail slipping under then nail of her left ring finger, as she thought for the millionth (well, maybe not that many) time that maybe declining to go home was a bad idea.
Trey was engaged to Angelica. A step-mother! Katya didn't want a step-mother! Mostly it was because she was adopted and had been raised without a mother. Although that may have seemed odd to anyone else, she freely admitted to herself that all of her "real parents" dreamings excluded the possibility of an adequate "replacement". In her head, she had written love stories and heroic tales aplenty about her birth parents; and it always ended in a tragedy completely out of their control that made her have to be adopted. It wasn't that they hadn't wanted her. Her eyes teared up, for she knew that that was ridiculous -- some British teen had had an unexpected pregnancy and had put her on the chopping block in favour of a future. By now, that future had come. The truth was probably the real tragedy; that right now, while Katya moped alone in this library, her birth mother had 2.5 other kids and a fat husband, and her father was off drowning his career failures in ale.
Unable to accept that projection, Katya shoved it away, returning to the base question: should she have gone home? She had been angry at Trey. Angry at Angelica. Afraid of losing the little shred of family and belonging that she had found in Trey, and of having to see them kiss and cuddle and ignore her. She'd rather be alone of her own volition than ignored or unwanted.
Katya's hair flushed a deep gray, and so did her skin. Yes, she should have gone home. Being here alone was just plain depressing. There were no distractions to be had.