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throughfartheststars · 11 months

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A Ka Dua

The upheaval of sudden evacuation left the glimmering halls of the House Aset in disarray, knocked vases and shed fineries littered the marble and cracked under the dutiful weight set into my greaved step. My entry was through the Lady of Ten Thousand Names bedroom, per the usual, although the visit was not to be as social or joyous as the space where I emerged in full raiment.

Without song, bustle or animal faced attending... the vastness of the Kemetic Kingdom was felt in how empty it was. Marble and sandstone carved in hieroglyph towered so far overhead it kissed the starstrewn silver skies above me, and I found myself transfixed in the ethereal beauty of it as the mechanisms on my armor and sword whirred with their reports of absorbed energy. The display inside my helm told me the reason for the evacuation was near, a mass of heat tracked some hundred meters ahead in the courtyard. A duty I hesitated and remorsed, though my thoughts did not stay my march.

As I exited the great doorway of House Aset I was greeted with the monstrosity that shambled with confusion upon the sand dusted tiles of the courtyard. It bore a naked skull with protruding horns for a head, and from that it was lion, in silver mane and down matte sludge figure of too many legs and scales peeking from under it’s ilk of fluid mass. A Shade. I studied what it had for weapons... saber fangs, six spur horns jut from its forehead, talons extended from each of it’s 8 paws, some kind of stinger hidden in the tuft at the end of a tail nearly twice the length of it’s figure. It was massive, biologically armored and well suited for combat with something as comparatively slight as I stood.

“Beautiful, beautiful thing...” Awe in my whisper as I knelt out of it’s sight, studying how it prowled the empty space, sniffing where market stalls stood abandoned and pawing over awnings that its face couldn’t fit under. It sought the noise of the recently evacuated population, and it was clearly perplexed how such silence had occurred so suddenly. Natural, and no indication to me of any particular intelligence developed. I knew it to be at least as old as a millennia, and in the scope of the lifecycle for it’s kind that meant little other than it was fully capable of hunting its own food.

I settled to watch it’s methodical track around the marketplace stalls, intentionally toppling each it came to visit in hopes it would find one of the gods usually standing within. Familiar with the concept of things hiding, and apparently familiar with there being empty space enough under a stall to hide a figure. It didn’t seem much to care that wares and fruit and baskets were crushed under it’s feet as it pursued this investigation. Shade, known to the stars, are vicious. Difficult to kill and belonging solely to the duties of a handful of well decorated combatants like myself to be handled when they appear within Divine spaces. My caution to approach ran deep, as the call was made through unorthodox means for my intervention, and the order was not yet confirmed for the felinid I was stalking to be killed.

No report of untoward violence had been made of it, in fact no individual report of it’s existence had been made at all until mere minutes before my arrival in the House Aset. It had been rather suddenly brought to my attention that the creature was being harbored by the Kemetic, and had been for at least one millennia. Upon this discovery I had incurred full evacuation and dressed in my raiment meant for exploring far less immaculate grounds and hunting such creatures. Here where I crouched now aware of something that appeared far more mature than the kit I had expected to find. I made a frustrated huff into my helm, and its ears swiveled before it’s head did with two glowing violet orbs appearing in the sockets of its skull, these cut through with narrow black pupils.

I felt no chill or fear as it focused in my direction, trusting my armor to conceal me until I didn’t want to be concealed. I did, however, feel a sliver of uncertainty creep down my spine when its gaze shot up behind and above me. The swivel of my own head to follow it’s focus, and what I knew to be more frightful was scraping its way down the hieroglyphic wall with a snarl in it’s throat. A second, identical to the first save for the glacial blue color of it’s eye glow. A second - implying the possibility of a third. And ensuring me entirely that I was in no position to eradicate them alone.

I watched this second un-divine interloper scale down the wall and leap to the courtyard before it’s match, growling and trilling in an uneven series of sounds... a language between them that the violet eyed one seemed to understand. It was reporting, communicating findings that the Duat above was also empty. For as much expression as a naked skull could give, the violet eyes seemed more perplexed. They swung back where it had heard me, and where I had remained in my concealment. I found my breath bated as the other turned it’s gaze too, both boring their focus into the space I occupied in a weighted silence.

“We must not linger if they are gone. We will be discovered, and we will be attacked.” The third, as I had suspected there would be, climbed up from the stairwell that led down to Nubia. This was a slimmer and slightly smaller display of the same species, distinctly feminine and sporting spiral to her horns as well as her pupils. Her gaze followed theirs, another violet gaze trying to decipher me where I felt so very not hidden.

“Where else would we go? We depend on the Dua for our safety. We know nothing outside of their Kingdom.” The hiss voice responded from the glacial blues, breaking gaze from me to look to his peer. “They say we are not safe outside!”

“They say we are feared outside. Perhaps we would follow our instincts, find our way into the dark. Mother always murmurs about the dark.” The first spoke in interruption of the tension between the others, grunting lightly as it paced around them. “The dark is safe for us, perhaps there will be more of our kin.”

“You would leave our mother to make that journey? She is hardly capable of defending herself!” The feminine nearly shrieked, concern lacing her body and bristling her fur up. Something in my instincts truly doubted that whatever they called mother was as weak as they assumed.

“We should consult her, we have finished our scouting. She will want to know.” The blue eyes spoke, and he padded ahead of his siblings. I moved careful not to make a sound on the stone tiles, following the trio of young Shade with trepiditious certainty their mother would not be nearly as refined a figure.

We traversed the shadowed stairway down to Nubia, them picking up confidence and speed as they reached deeper into the darkness of the lower realm of the Kingdom and me picking up determination to bound and track them at pace as they sprinted over the dead sands. Spirit reacted, briefly, to all of us in passing. Flickers of soul scattering from how our astral bodies collided through it, and regathering in hollow stares that followed us to the edge of the chasm where the Duat river flowed as starlight above.

Down they leapt, and down I followed into the everblack, far beyond the depths of any hell that could be promised elsewhere. They plummeted with wild confidence so kin my own, breaking the air they descended through with paws in dive and leaving a wake for my descent. It was half an age that we seemed to fall through, colliding in unison with the ground to a thunderous impact of flared powers. My flourish, luckily, blended into the flash of theirs without drawing their notice.

It was another sprint through the bottom of the chasm, yet deeper into it and to the right they slipped into a cavern. I was cautious as I followed, stepping over lose stones and minding my silence as I pursued through the tunnel and came to the vast chamber where the kind of Shade I had expected to meet upon arrival lay in a heap of bleeding shadows. She was glorious, from cracked sabertooth skull crowned in a multitude of spiraling white antlers and spurs to the end of her lax tail where a hooked sting gleamed with poison dew. Easily did this mass of black dwarf her kits, and even labored in her breathing did she look fearsome with white spines bristled two meters up from between her shoulders and thorny protrusions jutting from every elbow and ankle. Utterly primeval and armed to far greater combat than her delicate little ones.

“You... brought.... him...” She panted the words, scant murmurs that announced me despite my armor. I felt the full weight of her pale white eyes come to bear upon me, undoubtedly aware through the concealment of my armor.... a thing shed in respect to her notice. All three kits leapt back in fear, clinging to the stalagmites above and hissing like common street beasts for the startle.

“They lead me here, not of their own purposes.” Fearless in my voice as I approached the labored monarch, carefully reaching up to trace where her skull had been damaged so terribly, noting that she lacked the energy to protest this most painful invasion of her space. “I did not know what to expect to find.”

“Weaker... would.... be...” She grunted, pausing to breathe and shuddering with the effort of communicating while I patiently stood beside her tooth, a thing as long as I was tall. I noticed, close as I was, that her jaw was as well dislocated, and beneath her bleeding shadows many of her bones appeared to be broken. “Dead... for... this.”

“You can not move, and I can not move you.” I stated the obvious, and she huffed out an aggravated agreement in grunt. “We work here.”

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argumentl · 3 years

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The Freedom of Expression Ep 24 - The more its restored, the less like the original it becomes.

K: This is Dir en grey's Kaoru, starting this episode of The Freedom of Expression. Joe san, Tasai san, welcome....*points to Joe with his bare leg showing*..Errr, are you hot?

J: No, I mean, its hot isn't it?

K: Yeh, it is.

J: How do you feel about Summer? Im really bad with Summer!

K: Well, I don't like the heat, but I don't really go outside all that much.

J: Really? By the way, what are your favourite seasons, Kaoru?

K: Autumn and Spring.

J: Well, yeh right? Which do you hate the most? Winter or Summer?

K: Im really sensitive to hot and cold.

J: Oh really?!

K: But, hmm, which one? Maybe Summer is better.

J: Summer is better? Ehh? But in the winter you can always put on extra clothes if you are cold..but in Summer...we have our limits, right? Summer is...

K: Can't you just put the aircon on?

J: I do...but..

K: If you go outside, right?

J: Outside is also hot, and if you leave the aircon on constantly inside, you'll catch a cold. Its hard, I really don't like summer at all!

T: Haha

J: You're also limited in what you can eat, right? You have no appetite, you get bored of eating soumen noodles every day.

K: Yeh, that does get boring.

J: In winter you can have big hot pots, and all sorts!

K: I eat hot pots in the summer too.

J: Really?!

T: Ehh?

J: Incredible! Ah, but on the other hand, yes, that kinda works.

T: Wouldn't you feel cooler? After eating it?

K: I feel hot.

J: You feel hot? haha.

K: Hahaha

J: Its is hot!

K: I get really hot! Haha

T: Do you eat it with the aircon blasting?

K: Well, even with the aircon blasting, I still sweat a lot.

J: Its hot, right? But doing that feels good? Conversely?

K: What have you been eating?

J: Salad, basically.

K: Did you say you were on a diet?

J: Yeh, my belly is getting round.

K: Weren't you going to the gym?

J: I am going to the gym!

K: Haha.

J: I started with squats, and when I lifted up, it was so hard*1.

K: Hahaha

J: My muscles hurt a lot today. I can't walk up the stairs.

T: Hahaha

K: At 50, you're like...

J: Getting my teeth out...

K: Getting your teeth out..

T: Doing squats...

J: Yeh, well im divorced, and im aiming to remarry, so this is my last spurt. If I havn't reached my goal by age 55...

K: You've entered a plan to reform yourself?

J: Yes, I have.

T: Joe, you're young!

J: If I havn't managed it by 55, I'll give up...*gestures to camera* So, please, everyone.

K: Why are you smiling?

T: Hahaha

J: I've kinda been wanting to do that.

K: Hahaha

J: Lets cut that bit.

K: No, we'll show it

J: Hahaha

K: We won't cut it, haha. Ok, Joe san. Today's news please.

J: Yes, this is today's news. We talked about this news a little bit once on the radio show, didn't we?

K: Yeh, we did.

J: Right? Well this is news about how "The more it was restored, the less like the original it became". So in Spain, its been disovered that an amatuer tried to re-touch a famous work of art, and failed twice. The altered work is a oil painting copy of the 17th century piece by the Spanish Baroque artist Bartolomé Esteban Murillo. The title of the work is, 'The Immaculate Conception of Los Venerables'. The owner of this piece, an art collecter based in Valencia, who paid 1200 euros for it, had requested an employee of a furniture repair company to clean the painting. But during the cleaning, the Virgin Mary's face changed. After not one, but two restoration attempts, the painting was completely ruined, and the owner was apparently very angry. So, if you search for it, you will be able to find the images online. We can't show you them here due to the issue of image rights (*On screen text: Search for Spain painting restoration*). But...yehh..

T: Its incredible, isn't it?

J: This is shocking!

K: They weren't looking at how the picture is supposed to be, were they?

T: *Looking at his paper* Is the top picture the first restoration attempt?

K: Yeh, the one on the left is the original state, and on the right is the first restoration.

J: The top right, yeh.

*Lots of giggling*

J: This has zero sense of Maria! It looks like some vandalism.

K: Its looks like those pictures they stick up outside the police box *2

J: This first attempt is bad enough...

K: Its terrible, really bad!

J: But it generally still fits with the original Maria's line of gaze, right?

K: Yeh, but like, you can see the whites of her eyes. The top half is totally black.

J: If this is restoration work, it means they took money for it?

T: ??? *3

J: Really!

K: How did they actually do it though? Normally you have to use a matching colour to the original, and just do it like this, right?*imitates dabbing paint finely*

J: I think so.

K: But it seems like this person has just gone like "Gahhh' *imitates waving a paintbrush around roughly*

J: They re-painted it, right?

K: They are just slapping paint on, you can't see much detail.

J: Re-writing it! Its terrible!

K: They were somehow trying to remember what it used to look like.

J: At least they could have taken a photo..

K: Without that, this third try is never gonna work.

J: Everyone, please search for these images online. The third image is shocking!

T: The second pic is still looking upwards and kinda has a bit of the orininal feel to it, but the third pic is just staring straight forward!

K: Its the same person who did them both, right?

Kami: Um..I just..

J: Ah, Kami is here.

Kami: Um, I had a look at it, but where did her clothes go?

J: Huh? (*looks at paper*) Ohh, her clothes?

Kami: Yeh.

J: In the original, the area from Maria's chest and up is visible, but by the third picture, the clothes cover up to her head. This is awful!

T: Its scary, isn't it?

J: This is...well, where is the real problem? Even this kind of person has the authority to do restorations, even people at this level.

K: I dont know if they had the authority, they were just asked.

Kami: Yeh, the owner asked a furniture business to do it.

J: Yeh, someone from the furniture business came to restore it.

Kami: If you ask a furniture store to do it, this kind of result can't be helped.

K: For sure. ????*4

Kami: Maria got really ugly.

T: Ahh, I see! Originally, they were supposed to be just cleaning it right? Like, removing the dust.

J: Yeh, that might have been it. Like the painting was deteriorating, and in order to stop it getting worse, or something like that. They must have thought it was ok to go ahead and re-paint it.

K: The person who did it was quite eldery weren't they?

J: Ahh, I see.

T: This is crazy

J: But after seeing their first try, they should have given up trying to fix it for a second time. Somehow, that would've been better.

K: The owner shouldn't ask the same person to fix it, right?

J: Right!

K: But, well, it won't go back to its original state will it?

J: No, it won't.

K: Even if a new person could get to back to this (*points at the first restoration attempt*)

J: ??? Its like hell if you keep going, and hell if you stop. In the end, its like ??? *5, it would be no good...Well, its an impressive thing.

K: Yeh, but imagine if you wanted to keep viewing the painting, as for the first restoration, if you look at it from far away, it kiiinda still resembles the original a bit. But the second one is no good at all.

J: Yeh, its no good. In the first one you can kinda still see that they were trying to paint the virgin mary, but in the second restoration, it looks like an old woman..not even a proper portrait.

T: Her nose is well defined though, haha.

J: Well, yeh...Isn't the Virgin Mary a friend of Kami's?

Kami: Well, the one in the original is my friend. The third one is totally different.

J: Its no good?

K: That kind of old woman, really.

J: Do you consider this to be a profanity? Is this ok?

Kami: Well, its ok, isn't it?

J: Hahaha.

Kami: That kind of thing.

J: Ah, its ok.

Kami: The original is really well painted isn't it?

T: Mm, yeh.

Kami: Yeh, I think its a really good picture.

K: Its a copy though right? There is someone who painted this as a copy?

T: Yeh, there is a proper original.

K: It would be pretty expensive to hire that person to fix it, right?

J: I think they were trying to save money. 140000yen was too much for them. I wonder how much it usually costs to have a painting decently restored? How much did they save?

K: It probably takes quite a long time to do.

T: I think it takes a really long time.

J: Yeah. Well, when they saw how it ended up, it says the owner was angry, well, yeh, he would be angry wouldn't he?

K: Yeh, he would. Cause its his precious painting that he just wanted cleaning.

J: Yes, thats it.

K: I can only laugh at this, haha. Its a total disaster, really.

T: It really is.

J: Well, the lesson to learn from this is that a ricecake maker makes ricecakes. If you want anything repairing properly, hire a professional..otherwise this type of thing will happen.

T: Thats it.

J: Don't be stingy!

T: Its problematic if they pretend to be a pro, then take your money. But in this case they were just a furniture store.

J: Asking a furniture store to do it was the mistake. Why did they ask a furniture store?

T: But they still said, 'Yes, we can do it', right?

J: Hmm, yeah.

K: They had the look of someone who could do it. The owner was fooled.

J: Its like 'The Guild', they may have had the look of a craftsperson. You have to be careful with appearance too.

K: Well, I think we'll finish here. Please subscribe. Thank you very much.

J: Go Hanshin Tigers!

*1, 2 Couldn't make out the last words, but i think its something like this.

*3, 4, 5 Couldn't make out.

#dir en grey #the freedom of expression #tfoe #薫 #kaoru

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bluebrine · 4 years

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it’s still... odd to me that other people had such different experiences growing up with this series than i did. i had such a personal relationship with it... seeing others talk about the sequels, what they liked and disliked for the series- and it’s like, really? we had very different childhoods (...story of my life, ha).

in my elementary school, our library only had one of the books- Dealing With Dragons (the one with this delightfully cheesy cover by Tim Hildebrandt lol).

(also, please note, there is no indication here that this is the first book of a series. just..... keep that in mind.)

haha, what if 🤭 ..... i was beautiful princess, and you were a dangerously charming dragon 😜 ..... and we were both girls? 😳💦

good god, little me LIVED for this book. i checked it out & reread it over and over again- the librarian must have got sick of me at some point but i didn’t care lol. i stayed up too late reading it with a flashlight under the covers, i read it during class beneath the desk (i was not... particularly stealthy. they kinda just let me think i was getting away with it lmao).

i know every young kid likes books with fantasy and magic to make their boring lives less lame, but the way i buried myself in this one was... 100% pure escapism. (pour one out for all the weird kids who had no friends outside of books, am i right ladies?)

the story has a theme of just..... running away from it all, cause everyone else apparently knows so much more about what’s Right for you- what interests are Right for you, what clothes are Right for you, what boys are Right for you, everything! everything was chosen for you, no dystopian YA lit required!

(CAN YOU POSSIBLY GUESS WHERE THIS IS GOING?)

i didn’t know what the concept of a lesbian was or why no one else thought it was weird that you couldn’t have interests that were Not Like Other People (the Right People), but that’s what this book meant to me. the entire core of the story was showing kids that you could pick your own hobbies, your own home, your own family & friends and it wasn’t up to the Right People to decide that for you.

fuck ‘em!!! run off to the mountains! live in exciting domestic bliss with a giant, well-read, protective dragon lady who can breathe fire and loves to eat your cherries jubilee every night (ABSOLUTELY NO METAPHORS HERE NO SIR)! back home your family is freaking out (but kinda relieved)- cause this is crazy, dragons are dangerous and ruin the women they steal away (where have i heard this before?), but also your family doesn’t... really miss you. they don’t actually want you back- as you were, anyway. once the prince sweeps you off your feet and away from the dragon’s evil clutches and properly marries you, oh sure, then you’re welcome back with open arms! (but that will never happen.)

fuck ‘em!!!!! make cool friends with other misfits and live a life full of adventure with the family you found along the way! there’s witches who live in eccentric homes with 50 cats, there’s neighborly old dragon grandpas who love chocolate pudding, there’s other girls who don’t think you’re weird and like to hang out and read magic books in the library too! you can make friends and be happy! it IS possible!

and that meant so much to me as a kid. i never fit in (i wonder why), i never seemed to like the Right stuff (I WONDER WHY), and for the things i did care about, i went about it wrong- according to the Right People, who didn’t much care about what i thought at all.

...anyway Dealing With Dragons is an allegory about the power of lesbian escapism & independence and i love it very much. i still love it, over a decade later. it’s a fun, captivating, whimsical little tale that means more than childhood nostalgia to me. i spent hours daydreaming about the story in elementary school, content with the characters and setting in a way that just... settled something in me.

but then i read the other books.

because there were... OTHER BOOKS!? WHAT??? (again, i never knew it wasn’t a stand-alone story lol).

when i got to middle school and had a whole new library to consume, i naturally looked for my fav type of books- those with cool fantasy ladies with swords and dragons on the front (that’s a genre, right?). and, lo and behold, there were more parts to my favorite story!!! lads, i lost my goddamn mind. there were THREE MORE? WHAT??? utter batshittery. how had they kept this from me? i had to read them immediately.

what would the stories be about? i saw Cimorene on the covers, sword-wielding and pants-wearing (’fuck yes’, said little me). what adventures would she get up to with Kazul, now that she was king of dragons? what would life in their new home be like? the new libraries and treasuries and kitchens would be massive- what secrets would they discover? what was living in dragon society like, now that they sat at the top together? what new recipes would Cimorene cook with her friend??? (that one was very important to me lol).

i checked out all of ‘em at once, and channeled deep into the obsessive focus that only a truly lonely middle school girl can attain. I was SO EXCITED for this.

-- and got my heart ground to dust under Patricia C. Wrede’s heel.

...because, see, i hadn’t known there was an Enchanted Forest Chronicles. i hadn’t thought about what that actually meant. it, as inevitably as the tides, meant the incoming of the one thing that made me truly hate reading sometimes- romance. cause these books weren’t about Cimorene and her friends or Kazul at all. they were about a sudden love interest and the child Cimorene had with him cause of course that’s what fucking happened. what else was i expecting? what else could stories possibly be about? i read through all of the books, feeling a little more like somebody shot my dog with each chapter, and could only feel sick when she got married & pregnant at the end. i was 11 years old and i knew something was wrong but not why.

(aaand looking back now, was that baby’s first taste of queerbaiting? does it count if you do it to yourself?? ah, youth. i don’t let myself get my hopes up anymore.)

for a very long time, i hated the idea of love (...quite the oxymoron, that one). cause it always, always meant that the people i cared about changed in ways that i didn’t understand at all. what, some boy you’ve never met before shows up, and suddenly your important quest and friends and family are... an after thought? why? don’t you care about them? don’t you love them too? why does this always happen? why is there always a boy and love and babies and nothing else? (why, why, why indeed? and yes, i was one of those kids who got fucking mean when their friends started only looking at boys, how’d you know?)

anyways. i hated it. i couldn’t possibly have articulated why back then, but it always made me so mad, despite the fact that the words on the page were telling me that this was the best thing that could ever happen in life. that just made it worse, cause why am i getting so upset over this? it’s a good thing, objectively- they’re in love. they’re happy. why is it making me feel so fucking angry instead?

this series doesn’t really... deserve any of the repressed vitriol it made me feel, though. Cimorene’s love interest that appeared in book two, Mendanbar, is actually a pretty cool guy! he has an innate, natural connection to his magic forest kingdom. he’s sick of fairy-tale tropes, he has a sweet anti-wizard sword, he’s very kind and brave- and i fucking hated his guts (...lmao, sorry dude).

there’s nothing actually wrong with this series’s romances. the couples care about each other and support each other well. i’m glad for all the kids who got to see some happy romances, i truly am. but god, that wasn’t for me, and it probably wasn’t for the other lonely kids who picked up a book about running away from what the Right People wanted for them either.

for a series about rejecting what society tells you is the Right thing to want, the characters just... end up wanting that exact same thing anyway. oh, the thought of marrying a man and spending your life with him, baring him heirs until you die, sounds unappealing? so distressing, in fact, you’d literally rather get eaten by dragons? WELL DON’T WORRY, this one particular guy is actually good! of course you’ll fall in love with him! you’ll want to be pregnant forever with his horrible frogspawn! you’ll be happy!

...what do you mean this is what you were running away from?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

i spent... an inordinate amount of time as a child reading Dealing With Dragons. while i cannot possibly blame the author for my individual experience with their work, which WAS written as a series (the finale was written first, actually! way back in 1985), the fact remains that my interactions with them were... soured.

in a way that was out of the author’s hands, really, but i just don’t know how to think about this series without that bittersweet hurt in my chest. i cried like, twice, writing this stupid, rambling essay thing, and i don’t actually know how to look past that. i suppose the tried-and-true method of just... rereading the first book and pretending everything’s fine always works lol.

i own a few different versions of these books. there’s a full set i was gifted later in middle school -the nice glossy ones, with Peter De Seve’s lovely cover art! -which i have never once reread. they’re in immaculate shape, really.

i also own an absolutely, completely beat-to-shit paperback copy of the same version i must have read a hundred times as a kid. its cover is creased and peeling, there’s a bunch of weird stains and rips and dogears, and i adore it. i picked it up this year at a used book place, and every time i look at it i can see some small, desperate kid who doesn’t even know they’re lonely but still curls up around that book again and again.

#personal #long post #dealing with dragons #the enchanted forest chronicles #(which. apparently WASN'T an allegory for lesbian escapism #anyway i was robbed but its fine <3)#ok to reblog

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what-ever-happened-to-chip · 3 years

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Marcus/Lana story I wrote, takes place after Gray had his freak out in the kitchen in the last story.

Marcus didn't release my hand the entire walk to his bedroom. He pushed the door lightly shut and dug in his deep pockets for his cigarettes. Marcus' hands were soft from lack of doing just about anything with them and his bulged knuckles locked safely between mine. Although he always loved to talk, it seemed like now he didn't just want to, he needed to. "Heyaa...you alright?" Gotta start somewhere Lana. "Yes would be a vague statement on the matter, but yes I am ultimately okay." He exhaled the thick Pall Mall smoke. He gave me a reassuring smile. "Any incidence like the such can shake someone, we are all made to preserve our mind and body and to see both at jeopardy leads essentially back to our own selfish motives of survival. A crass reminder, but a neccesary one." "Yeah I guess I'm sorta used to it being in camp by now. I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing." "Would you excuse me for just one moment, dear." He gently placed my hand on my own knee. As he swiftly exited the room, I could feel the warmth leave my hand. My eyes gazed around his room. He was neatish, but very cluttered. Spread across his desk was piles of notebooks and books, notecards with his immaculate penmanship jotting ideas, overflowing ashtrays 90% pall mall filters. His closet was packed to the brim with blazers, cardigans, many dulled colors of the rainbow mismatched together. He loved clothes and took the pride to dress up in his own unique fashion everyday. These thoughts made me love him more. 'THIS IS BOOOORING, she's just sitting there, let's follow Marcus and see what he's doing until she gets back." "Perhaps he is only using the faciluties." I was gonna show him wrong, check and mate, camera engaged to Marcus, and bam, harry was right. Marcus at a reasonable fast pace, hands in pocket, walked down the stairs and turned the corner on to the third door on the right. He gently knocked and called out, "Denny, would this be a bad time to inquire for your time?" "Uh shit, hold on.." "Oh my god Aiden don't, he'll see" "Babe, it's cool, chill..." "whisper whisper....whisper" The door swung open. Jenn was rearranging loose strands of hair while trying to hold the comforter over her exposed bra. She was always jealous to give up alone time with Aiden, but Marcus was his friend and he needed a best friend, especially a cool one like Marcus. "Whatchu need homes?" "Would you be able to spare a gram for the night, a sharp too? I have been outta stock at the present time. "Yeah fer sure, if Joni hasn't fucking washed me out. For a bitch that can get free drugs whenever she wants, she seems to never have any of her own shit. Gray has ghosted the bitch so she's crawling around my shit these days." In a little flower shaped box, Jenn had lovingly gave all Aiden's "shit" a proper place to live in the bedroom. No twice used needles in her perfect little world. Marcus laughed in his head at the concept of a girlfriend being more worried about the physical mess of addiction rather than the cause it had on the boyfriend in case. However, the only annoyance drugs had in Jenn's life was it meant Aiden would talk to his friends more. Aiden held out the box like a bowl of candy and Marcus proceeded to pick out a 1/2 inch rock and assorted tools for the activity. "Thank you good friend, we'll converse tomorrow. Goodnight, Jenavieve." Most of Aiden's friend didn't bother acknowledge Jenn, it felt good that Marcus always at least gave her a greeting or a goodbye, sometimes both. They hugged each other tightly, for almost a full minute. Aiden rested his head on Marcus's shoulder like a toddler. Marcus closed his eyes and held a soft smile. Harry was bored. Thank god he was finally leaving. Oh fuck. "Ayyye ya Marcus, how ya doin?" Harry boringly sat through another 20 minute conversation him and Gippal had about dead romantic languages. This was so stupid, he never thought he hated Gippal until this moment. "Of course, to interpret any eastern religions, namingly Hinduism, Buddhism would never be the proper message without rudimentary knowledge of traditional Sanskrit, we could only roughly use Hindi to roughly define it, but well, jo hai no hai." They both let out pretentious laughs. "Well yeah, but couldn't ya say that about dead greek, latin, and all the like? Lots of those Christian fanatics like to use Latin instead of language, makes it deeper er something like that." he leaned back and clicked his tongue for no apparant reason. "Well fanatic indeed is the key word their, seemingly Christianity's domination of the whole western world led to Latin's prevelance yet today, however Sanskrit is actually still spoken as a live changeble language. The difference between a dead language lies not in the fact their are speakers still, but rather the ability to alter and update language to our modern needs." "I guessum, but maybe the inflexibility makes the language more understandable, certainly easier to learn, hell, sed quid scio?" "Clearly you know a great deal, my friend." This was so gay. Harry couldn't give a fuck about language or latin or anyone of it. He knew some Latin cause of his spells, but he didn't need to speak it. Just speak English, i'm sick of having to put on the translators just to get a joke. Oh thank god they are finishing up. Finally. "Indeed somethign to think about. Very well, Satyricon amicus~" "Oib, oib. facile accipere pitto" "I detect by your accent shift that was Al Bhed?" "oui kud ed syh, hmmm, lmajan" "That's just it, written Al Bhed is an easy cryptograph, so I am more or less fluent there, but spoken I have not quite grasped the dialect." "You got it man, just like any other, you gots to talk with it. Yer good at talkin so it shouldn't be no problemo" "Indeed so, I only find it would be fair to speak Lana, and your, natural language, makes for better conversation to speak the way another thinks." "How's that girlie doin' these days?" "Oh quite well, but to know for sure i'd better get back to her company" "Do yer thang man, I gotta work on some....." he began muttering whatever bullshit to himself and pacing away. Fucking finally he proceeded back to where Harry wanted him. That was super annoying.

The slouched Lana perked up at the sight of him returning. She'd paced the room and looked through his writings, he didn't ever have a concern for privacy and if he did he would never tell her, he would merely just keep it a secret. She was used to being patient when it came to Marcus. He wasn't neccesarily easily distracted, but easily engaged in whatever was around him. She hated herself for being disappointed that he brought back H. "I'm sorry I kept you so long darling, as we rest society continues to thrive." He used many pet names with people, however darling he seemed to save for more special situations. She felt more relieved. It was cute seeing them together, but Harry wanted more. He needed more. "Fuck this i'm drugging her to ask him questions, i hate waiting for the bitch to do something. " "Indeed so Harry Potter." As much as Harry loved the sound of his own name, it was starting to bother him the way Christian kept saying it, like he was mocking him. Harry opened a secret cabinet to the left of the monitors and began scanning around for the proper potion to guide the situation into what he wanted. "Mmmmmm I think I'll use a dash of love, a bit of truth....." He busily mixed away. Christian sat completely still, but scanned the room thouroughly with his eyes. "That's the magic touch! Okay this should make her start asking him things that might make things funner..mwah haha...." "More fun." "Excuse moi?" "Funner is not a proper word. The expression would be 'more fun'" This guy was really getting on his fucking nerves. Ugh. He placed the potion in the vaporizer, isolated to only work on Lana and pumped it through the vents of Marcus's room. Immediatly the effects engaged. Lana uncontrolablly began to talk before comprehending fully what she had thought. "I thought you weren't using lately?" Oh god she sounded like a bitchy controlling girlfriend, but she really was just curious. Who was she kidding she was bothered and she didn't know why. He never got annoyingly high, he always coasted at a light level, stayed attentive and active in the conversation. Since the day she met him he was a drug user so why now would she want it to change? She truly hated being 'this girl.' Dammit. Why did she say that? "Of course I wasn't lately, but a break would not be a break if one did not return would it, just simply the way things were." He smiled warmly again and excused himself to the bathroom. He knew she didn't like watching him do it, so it was considerate of him, but a pang of loneliness ran over her. Moments later he returned a wave of contentment ran over him, yet she still wanted to talk. "So are you using because you got by upset by before?" Fuck Lana, why do you keep saying these things? Stupid, stupid. "Perhaps there is a connection there, of course, any sitution like that not only is alarmingly in it's own right, it's probably the past associations I share like any human does. Familiar negative stimuli. And well comfort is occasionally do." He went silent and pondered on the wall for a moment. He beginning scurrying around behind his worn out recliner he spent the better part of his time in when he was alone. He pulled out a wooden guitar and begin picking random chords. "Sure, it just seemed you....whatever. I don't know what I'm saying." "Lana dear, are you feeling well? You seem to be rather confused in your sentiments. I mean that in no way condescending, really are you alright?" "Yeah I just wanna know you're okay I guess, not hiding." "I am well, however certain thoughts have the tendency to make one over think so i'd rather level my brain out and find a way to express it more productively." "I guess, but....." She wanted to be careful to not say anything else stupid, but all her thoughts felt like diarrhea spewing out of her mouth. She didn't even mean all the thigns she said, they were just stupid insecurities that passed though, they weren't her. Were they? Dammit, dammit.

"Lana i'd like to show you a song I had written a long time ago, one that reminds myself of this feeling."

Song

Harry was on the edge of his seat. He fucking loved when kareoke/watching people came together so neatly. He could feel his jeans get tight. Lana watched him intently, trying to catch every word, tears welled in her eyes and she couldn't help but to fall even deeper. Fuck why does he do this to my head. "Wow that was......beautiful. I wish I was better with words. That was...." As she rose from the bed, he moved the guitar aside to make a seat for her on his lap. they sat in silence for a moment as he rocked the chair back and forth to lull them. "Perhaps times where words are at a loss is when music is essential. Of course, I could say something, but well I figure it gets the point across." "hey Marcus, i was just wondering.....what are we?" His eyebrow raised in genuine confusion and turned her on his lap to be face to face. "What are we you ask....as in the title given to the intimacy we share? We've been over this dear, I've never needed the security of labels to define what I share with the ones in my life." "I mean yeah. I know.......but Liza wasn't she your girlfriend, what made her different. I mean I get it if you felt a different way....but I guess after all this time, I don't know. I'm being stupid." "Stupid? No never, what possibly gives you that idea? Oh Liza.....yes my 'girlfriend' Liza, a term she demanded be told to all our companions to solidify her insecurity with the situation. I honestly felt that it made no difference other than the way other's view a connection, but the power of word does hold a weight in our lives. Language is a strong tool, but not the only one, of course. Could you elaborate what it is you desire from this?" Lana's cheeks flushed. Jesus is this how Memo felt every time she talked to a boy? This is horrible, no wonder she doesn't like dating. "I guess it's not always I need to know, just sometimes you seem you forget about me. Like your devotion... wow that's a gay word....comes and goes." She felt even stupider now, why couldn't she stop talking? It was like diarrhea coming out of her mouth. Fat chance he's gonna like me the same after this. I'm just the same insecure girl he's met 100 times. "Lana I wish you would tell me your first reaction rather than the contrived one you think I wanted to hear. This isn't like you." His eyebrows began to tighten into a concerned look. "Talk seems like it might only make you feel more minimilized, here let me play your song again. It seems our memories don't always stay constant in this camp. I know I had a memory of playing it, but it's as if someone erased it from our minds to try and relive the experience." He briefly glanced directly into the camera. Fuck he was on to Harry. How did he know that he purposely erased it so Marcus could sing it again like the first time? Whatever, it was working exactly how Harry wanted. Bingo.

Next Song

Two songs in my watching. Harry was rock hard. This was good so good. "Damn that was so CUHH YOOOT! You know they're your fav couple now too J, just admit it." "J?" "I didn't say that, why would I be thinking about J? He's actually gotten pretty boring and annoying, i say Jay like the name, it's a nickname we used at hogwarts to mean friend." "You do not need to lie to me Harry Potter, the results are futile." Lana pulled Marcus's hand and led him to the queen bed in the middle of the room. The slowly began removing clothing and kissing softly. They proceeded to make love, not fuck, for many hours. Harry got shy and turned the camera off.

"Do you fear intimacy Harry Potter?"

"noooo I just think it gets boring when people just screw forever and don't talk about things. On that note Harry pulled his robe around his body and scurried away to the restroom.

Christian remained in his seat. Smiling.

#cheeseskittles #marcus #lana #harry #christian #i know i did them in kareoke but originally i had them here #so enjoy

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bi-apps · 4 years

Text

Accepted - Narcissa Black

Narcissa App!

(So sorry if this somehow submitted twice! I’ve had an issue with the"I am not a robot" thing on a browser, so I’m submitting with a different one, but it may be that it worked the first time :’) )

OOC Information:

Name/Age/Timezone - Maddie, 26, GMT/BST

Activity Level - 7/10 on a good week (where work is not pilling up), at least around 5/10 in general.

Ships/Anti-Ships - I tend to ship Lucius/Narcissa, but am honestly mostly just focused on Narcissa/Chemistry and my greatest favourite of all, Narcissa/Angst.

Did you read the rules? I did! I’m also very confused by this question. Is there a code in the rules that I should have found and inserted here? Because I couldn’t find any and can’t tell if it’s because I’m terrible at finding things :’)

IC Information:

Character Name - Narcissa Black

Age/Birthdate - 23 years old, born June 22nd 1955.

Faceclaim - Sarah Gadon, Elsa Hosk, Johanna Braddy

Occupation - Philanthropist, socialite. Narcissa pours old family money into many a great causes which will make her look good and influent on paper and talk with all the right people. She might have liked to be an arithmancist or a healer, but these are dreams she never fancied to let take roots in her heart and mind. Her fate has, after all, been determined for her since birth.

Blood Status - Pureblood, from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eights, something she is highly unlikely to let anyone forget.

Traits - Charming, ambitious, clever // Manipulative, vain, secretive

Patronus - A magpie, a homemaker perfectly capable of sensing danger and with a penchant for all that glitters and is gold.

Boggart – Someone who matters to her. Dead. Because there is nothing worse and more certain than the unquenchable grief coming from losing the ones you love, paired with the shame and pity of society when they hear there has been a death in the family.

Key Points –

From her earliest years, Druella prided herself in her youngest’s well-mannered, calm-tempered demeanour — The perfect diction, the perfect smile, just the right way of not getting stains on expensive dresses. Narcissa’s childhood was less one of a happy child and more akin to that of a pretty, untouchable image (an image which, paradoxically, was not quite herself and that she had to live up to). Images are seen and not heard, trapped in a set point in time which would be the only thing ever remembered of them — The thought is small, reductive and frightening; that Narcissa will always be the fair-headed girl with immaculate dresses, expertly placed hair locks and pretty smile growing on her lips ( inviting, almost friendly behind the unattainable coldness of her soul, caught deep within her pretty blue eyes. Her pretty blue eyes and her pretty smile and her pretty dress and her pretty hair and her pretty manners; that adjective taking over her life, making it feel cramped and empty at the same time ). It is not so much that Narcissa aspires for more. After all, she has never known anything else but being the youngest of three — the one who had to be perfect when her other siblings and cousins were not, who was never berated or out of line, who seemed to fade into the greater than life entity that was the House of Black. She was not Cissy Black, then, she was the legacy she had to uphold, heavy on her tiny shoulders and heavier on her heart, coming with the intrinsic knowledge that all of these reasons that made her special and pretty and perfect were also the reasons why she would never be valued by her family as something other than a pawn, traded off in marriage for an alliance. A perfect pawn, but a pawn all the same — A spare, where Bellatrix was her father’s rightful heir. Even as a young child, even with Andromeda’s positive presence in her life, Narcissa could tell this was how it all worked. She was not stupid, she could perfectly make out the part they all expected her to rise up to and the fact she had no choice in the matter whatsoever. And so she played the part for all her life. She figured then that perhaps this was what love and devotion were all about — following the family’s path, heading the family’s comments, not because she had to but because she persevered in that mind-set despite of it all. Self-abnegation, a quality she has much less of now that she has figured out not only how to play the part but also how to play the game.

Being the last of her offsprings left at home during the school year, Druella took to parading Narcissa around pureblood society, an attempt less at connecting with her own daughter and more at reinforcing her image as a homemaker ( an image which practical, to-the-point, ambitious Druella at times seemed to not match, but Cissy knew better than to question her mother. If she was particularly well-behaved her mother would entertain her in practicing French, a language her side of the family had very distant ties to, instead of her usual straight-forward replies and reminders her daughter’s tutor was coming soon ). Then, Narcissa was also expected to smile and keep quiet unless spoken to, which would then only require a sweet smile and clever answer. One might think, then, that Narcissa honed her social skills through her mother’s connections, playing with the children of other witches whose company Druella cared to be seen in. While this is for the most part true, her mother’s behaviour never truly gave Narcissa much to learn or to observe, her ways always engrained deep inside the young witch’s soul as if it were a brand ( the Black family stamp, its crest proudly metaphorically marking Narcissa as one of its own ). Cygnus Black the Third’s manner ( walk, posture, speech pattern ) was far more intriguing for the youngest Black sister who understood that by being the last to leave and the most overlooked, she would also have the strategic advantage of being the one who could easily observe and take in her father’s taste for the political. This is perhaps the first time Narcissa would ever grant herself the right to form a fully fleshed out thought ( an idea, concept, something to hold on to ) of her own, without her parents’ will and her sisters’ opinions clouding her own judgement. From this moment forward, the blonde swore to her future self that she should not allow people to so easily manipulate her, a promise which she believes she has kept for the most part ( doing things out of love does not count. It is not manipulation, it is her choice ).

The Sorting Hat is perhaps the first entity to truly acknowledge her own complexity ( She is eleven, she is worried. All her family has been in Slytherin and she cannot defect from that rule. She almost feels incredibly small on that stool, and then hears a whisper that she seem to have more potential and ambition than what first glance would tell you. Slytherin, of course ). And then little Cissy Black ( fragile, pretty, well-mannered Cissy Black ) is free — Free to be her own person, to use her time at Hogwarts to perfect herself and her magic in a way which interests and benefits only her, not her family. And Narcissa has perhaps the most comforting realization of all and does not do any of that ( does not want to do any of that ). She is a Black, and it is an honour to bear the family name, and she will be nothing short of the perfect, focused student everyone expects her to be. Too busy romanticizing her sisters’time at Hogwarts, Narcissa assumed hers would mirror theirs in a transcendently self-defining way, but now that she is here, it becomes apparent she does not want any of that. The part that was written for her was made that way for a reason, and though she had always respected it and understood it, it is the first time in her life in which she genuinely looks forward to it. There is safety, security and comfort in this path she knows so well — And this is what Narcissa craves. Her parents had not made her the heir, like Bellatrix, or the spare, like Andromeda ( though she had once believed she shared Andy’s burden ). They had, albeit perhaps unwillingly, made her a politician — Someone who would grow into an elegant, poised, respected socialite who would never have to worry about her position at the top of their community so long as she fulfilled her duties and married well.

She is invited to attend the Slug Club with some of her cohorts, which she uses to her best advantage as a networking event, forging bonds and collecting information with and about people who could prove useful or otherwise significant once she would be done with her education. She sets herself up for the perfect life, a life which would not entirely depend on the match and marriage that would be made for her — A life that would benefit whoever her husband would end up being. As per her mother’s teaching, the blonde never let go of her air of purity, sitting pretty and quiet — But pretty and quiet were the façade, the pureblood trademark which hid her agendas and desires ( and worries ) in an effortless way. Narcissa is just about ready to start her life when events take a different turn, tainting this overall masterful use of the popularity given to her because of her family name forever and devastating her even more. Andromeda leaves home. No. Andromeda is dead, dead to her and to the rest of her family, not even a footnote in the blonde’s story where she used to be a main character. And Narcissa aches for things to be different, for Andy to come back and say this was all a weird and intricate prank played on Aunt Walburga, but it never happens. And soon, too soon, Sirius follows through the door Andromeda has opened, and Narcissa does not know what to tell Regulus. She does not even know what to tell herself. Narcissa’s ghosts are now people of flesh and bones and feelings she should not and does not want to be feeling, instead of the immaterial figures roaming Hogwarts.)

Graduation is a lackluster event in the midst of a war where sides have already been chosen for her. There is no joy, no feeling of accomplishment, just a tick on the predetermined path of her life, an insurance her betrothed will have an educated wife. They are all underestimating her, but that is quite alright. Narcissa wants to be underestimated, to lay low. It’s the only way she might save at least a small piece of herself to be hers and hers alone. And of course, the blonde is proud to fulfil her duty — Proud to make alliances for the great and most noble House of Black, and the Malfoy heir is intriguing enough that she feels she has no reason to complain. But being the poster child for pureblood excellence and being herself, at least just a little, are not mutually exclusive. Besides, she likes the excellence — Likes the parties and the pretty dresses and the expensive jewelry and the imported wine; likes to tell people of her family’s French heritage, on her mother’s side, and how beautiful Paris was the last time she went; likes to be looked at and envied and adored. She is selling a very specific brand of life, one that everyone should feel envious of and wish was their own. And she is doing it perfectly — The only missing link is the grand, scintillating wedding which would be the envy of all.

She sometimes wishes it all could be different, of course — Wishes her neutrality in the conflict were more honest than it currently is, wishes she could marry for love and have work like any other witches her age and wishes she could pick up that quill and write to Andromeda. But where would be the prestige and fulfilment in that?

Changes/Extra Info - Narcissa is an occlumen. This is one of the many secrets she keeps, and she is the only one to know about it.

Para Sample -

Trembling hands smooth softly over the fabric of her robes, making sure not a single ungracious crease would tarnish the perfect image the blonde was trying to convey — A vision in diamonds, teal tulle and lace. Soon enough, Mother would come looking for her and ask her back to the annual Black family Christmas fundraising ball ( back to entertaining guests with bright polite smiles and toss of her hair which sparkled under the lighting from the chandeliers ). For now, then, the youngest Black supposed she was allowed to take in the view from the third floor balcony, bitter December night wind sending chills down her spine as a reminder that she was alive. Hands went to hug herself for warmth, then, and because maybe if she did something with them, they would stop trembling.

“What are you doing here ? Mother has been asking for you ?” The familiar voice shook her away from her thoughts and a slight ( melancholic, lonely ) smile grazes the corners of Narcissa’s lips before it is gone. An instant passes. She is not quite sure she can be truthful with Bellatrix, right now.

“And Father ?” Comes her reply, witty and with a forced amused smile as she leans closer to the edge of the balcony on the left, to leave space for her older sister to shuffle in next to her. This is nice. Not truthful, but nice — The two of them snuck away from a family affair, looking at the glistening stars above the nearly invisible skyline. Bellatrix scoffs, a scoff which sounds more amused than annoyed, and that is all the answer Narcissa needs.

If she were braver, perhaps would she tell her sister about how hard this was — to be here and pretend everything was fine when in reality her world was crumbling in on itself. This is the first Christmas fundraising event since Andromeda left, and Narcissa can feel the weight of every guests’ eyes burning into her, as if looking for the holes in her heart and cracks in her smooth and collected façade. Vultures, all of them.

“I needed some fresh air. It has been a while since we have gotten to see a night sky as beautiful as this one. If you look over here, you can clearly see Sirius.”

“The only Sirius I care to see.”

She lets out a regretful laugh. It feels so real and almost like a memory, her dark-haired sister’s joke still heavy in the air, filled with meanings and truths that Narcissa could not ignore — Not even for tonight, not even if she desperately wanted to. Too much is happening.

“Bella!” She scolds, and it is almost uncanny how much she sounds like Mother, now. “Mother would hate for you to not be taking the moral high ground here.” A truth ( one truth, she will allow herself that much ). Her cousin might have kept questionable company, but he was still here — And Regulus still needed him ( looked up to him, in a sense, Narcissa believed ). Petty mockery would not do — Especially not behind his back. “Besides, this is not my point. How long has it been that we have not done this?”

“You were still a child, probably.”

The smile on her lips is more genuine, then — Slight, barely perceptible, the peace of mind of infancy which had come and gone. Her hands rub up and down her arms in a false attempt at generating the warmth to fondly associated with these retrospections. “I was.” A confirmation neither of them needed. “And soon enough, I will be someone’s wife. This feels like all our stargazing happened a lifetime ago.” Maybe it had. From the corner of her eyes, she can see Bellatrix’s lips thin in her own recollection of what Narcissa knows are darker than her own — A different form of loneliness, one where ‘Dromeda had already left them and all that was around were Cissy and Bella, picking up shards of the life the middle sister had left behind and that threatened to lose meaning or humiliate them. Hand reaches out to tightly squeeze her sister’s ( her older sister —— her only sister ) as the blonde witch turns to better face her, all pretense of fighting the cold gone. “Promise me, Bella —” Childhood nickname sounds more authentic on her lips this time around, the ghost of their past heavy between them. Neither of them would dare mention it, albeit for different reasons ( and this perhaps hurt Narcissa’s heart even more — the fact they were not on the same page ). “— Promise me we will never let go of this, regardless of the trials to come. Promise me we will still be sisters.” There is candor and despair hidden deep in the back of her throat, that ever overwhelming fear of Narcissa’s that she might lose her family or be cut off from them — But not Bella. At all costs, not Bella. Her strength had been Narcissa’s, when all the blonde had wanted to do was break down at the loss of the stranger that used to be their sibling. She could not fathom what might make her ever forsake her older sister.

And, because Bellatrix’s answer terrifies her just as much ( because she knows what her oldest sister is about to say ) — “I should go. Mother is expecting me. Please use a hot-air charm to keep yourself warm if you intend on staying out here any longer.” She squeezes her sister’s hand one last time and gracefully slides back inside, quickly and silently. A smile ( pretty, though not much else ) plasters on her lips as the blonde makes her way back to the ballroom. She can do this — And even if she cannot, she must. ( She will, playing her part to perfection. )

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