Large Birds. ((Ivy))

[jacob]

Conan made his way into the comfy student lounge. Making his way really didn’t describe it though; he sort of strutted his way there in his casual, arrogant way. It was a late hour, all the classes except things like a random astronomy class were out and done for the day and as usual, Conan was well beyond energetic.

For a “mature” boy, he did have his momentary lapses. These were mostly noticeable near the evenings. The worst occurrences where when he was really, really tired; when tired, Conan took on a drunken sort of hyper, that was just flat old annoying, or possibly hysterical, depending on your own personality.

If there was one thing Conan couldn’t get enough of, it was attention. For a few minutes, Conan fidgeted madly in a large chair near a fireplace, but soon that wasn’t entertaining enough for him. He looked around the room and saw that there weren’t many people around, but there were just enough that he could have a good time with them.

He threw himself out of the chair and then turned around to face it. Pulling his arms to his sides his squatted slightly, and then jumped straight into the air, and onto the large chair. He stepped up onto the leg of the chair and raised his arms high into the air, making a loud, clearing his throat, sort of cough.

“Citizen’s of this fine land!”

He lifted one leg up and placed it on the back of the chair, a sort of victory stance.

“May I please have your attention!”

Oh this would be fun.

“I would like to inform you all, that I love you. Yes you; each and every one of you. My heart calls out to you like a…like a large bird calls out to other large birds!”

[Ivy Tunstall]

There were very few people in the Student Lounge, as far as Ivy's perception of what constituted a crowd was concerned. It was already half past nine and there was only half an hour until curfew for the younger students. There were a few of those in here. She'd wait a while before heading them off towards their Common Rooms (and, in theory, bed). She was a Prefect, so it was her duty to do that sort of thing. Like everything else, Ivy treated her role as a Prefect with great conscientiousness. She'd been secretly pretty chuffed when she'd received her letter at the start of this school year, complete with shiny badge. It was silly, she realised, but a badge was a mark of approval and achievement that it was nice to know you had. When you needed a reason to feel righteous; if you'd just had to initiate some conflict because someone was doing something wrong; when you felt that you were falling behind with work and about to let yourself down - Ivy found it handy at all these times as a reminder that she had support 'from above' and that, so far, she hadn't succeeded in failing. On the other hand, during any serious problem or argument with someone she cared about (thankfully she hadn't had too many of the latter, because she needed the people she cared about), it seemed to be the most trivial object on Earth.

This evening Ivy was occupying herself quietly reading 'Persuasion' by Jane Austen. It wasn't from the Hogwarts library, where they stocked very few Muggle books, but rather a book she'd brought with her from home. She'd plucked it off the bookshelves in the tiny alcove in her living room, scanned the blurb on the back and concluded that it would do as something to read until next time she went home and could choose some new books. Ivy always brought a selection of unread books with her, and she was slowly working her way through the entire collection left there by her father. And her mother. Ivy was pretty sure this book had belonged to her mother: it had the wear of a book not mistreated but expected to be readable whether sitting in an armchair at home, reading under the bedcovers, on the bus or outside in strong March breezes and through fleeting glances in miserable November rain. Her dad had never considered books to be quite so all-purpose. And besides, the classic novel was simply so much more the sort of choice her mother would have made, as opposed to her father who had enjoyed science fiction and non-fiction far more. He hadn't been so much of a reader, anyway. In some ways it bothered Ivy to know, as she turned each thin page which seemed always to curve downwards, that she was repeating the actions of her mum from some unknown period of time. It made her wonder whether it was really what her mum would want, seeing as the idea of the magic that was in the fingertips turning those pages was so repulsive to her, and in turn Ivy would wonder why she should even try to oblige. That was an unwelcome internal debate she wanted to postpone indefinitely.

Still, it was a good novel that she was reading with the potential to be very enjoyable despite its associations, and so she was initially inclined to be somewhat irritated by the interruption that a third year Slytherin posed when he raised his voice enough to disrupt the peace of the whole room (which had previously been party merely to a subdued buzzing of occasional conversation). As he continued, however, Ivy found herself somewhat amused and was forced to look downwards into her book and make concentration force a frown onto her face. It didn't seem quite proper to smile. She would have contented herself with ignoring him, quietly amused, had she not heard a second year muttering to their companion about wishing people would realise it took peace and quiet to finish essays that were in for Professor Snape for the next morning. Ivy didn't want to stand (well, sit) by allowing the distraction to continue and in consequence being indirectly responsible for some poor girl's demise. So, inserting her tasselled bookmark which had been a source of fiddling for the past hour back into her novel, she picked herself up from her armchair and approached the boy.

"D'you think you could be just a little quieter?" she asked him politely, and then, smiling to herself a little, added, "Not everyone has the time right now to pay attention to being loved." Ivy hated it when she came across boys that actually saw flirting openly with several different girls at the same time as a pastime - it seemed to her just another form of male chauvinism - so she couldn't help giving him a somewhat uncharitable glance. Then she decided that to do so was a little unfair - he had made her want to smile in the first instance - so she condescended to add another comment. "You should be careful who you're calling large birds - it might get you in trouble. Actually, standing on that chair will get you in trouble if you break it." She looked dubiously at the legs of the armchair, hoping that they wouldn't be buckling under the weight, and then back up at the boy who of course was taller than her with the extra height he gained from the armchair. She was somewhat anxious to gage his reaction - she hadn't failed to notice the Slytherin crest on his jumper and so she was on her guard lest he turn out to be a really unpleasant character.

[jacob]

Conan watched, still calling out the room, as an older girl got up from her chair and approached him. Conan knew who she was, but she probably didn’t know him. There were some people, Prefects of different houses primarily, that Conan chose to avoid. He normally wouldn’t have stood on a chair had he realized that this girl was in the room, but tonight he hadn’t cared. He had been about to start making bird noises when she walked up, and oh so politely asked him to lower his voice.

Conan loved when his acting like a dork paid off, what he loved more was when it was girls that noticed him. He smiled down at the girl and crossed his arms over his chest as she mentioned not everyone having the time to be loved. “Aw, but everyone should be told they’re loved once in a while, and everyone deserves to be loved….” Conan looked the girl up and down and then decided to go ahead and be a charmer. He tilted his head slightly. “…some more then others eh?” He winked playfully and then looked at the chair she had mentioned; the chair he was standing on.

“This thing? This hardy, strong old thing? You think it might break? Are you calling me fat?” Conan laughed and stood up straighter on the thing. “I think it should be fine.” Sadly, at that exact moment, too much weight was rested on Conan’s leg that he had perched on the back of the chair, and the whole thing fell backwards. Conan flung out his arms, trying to steady himself, but to no avail; Conan was sent toppling over along with the chair.

He stood up and dusted himself off, picking up the chair hurriedly. He felt rather like a fool now, but it served him right. He eyed the chair and then looked back at Ivy, slightly flustered. “No harm no foul right?”

[Ivy Tunstall]

Ivy detested people who attempted to charm her straight off. How could they even know whether they wanted to charm her without getting to know her first? - and if they saw it as part of getting to know her, they needed to rethink their social skills. Ivy was far from believing that charm and quick wit would get you everywhere in life. Without sincerity, you couldn't possibly take anymore than a few steps in any particular direction. So she took an immediate disliking to the boy when he tried his 'charms' on her. Had he no sense of propriety? Did Ivy really look younger than she was, so that he could have any possible excuse for disregarding the age gap between them? She couldn't actually place what that age gap was: although the other boy looked as though he was only slightly younger than her, she knew for sure that he was not in her year - spending time in lessons with people in her year from other houses meant she couldn't mistake him for a fifth year. He wasn't one of the fourth years that she recognised either, and Ivy was usually able to recognise people in the year below her as well. They'd been around the castle long enough for their faces to become vaguely familiar. Below that, everyone tended to merge into a crowd of unfamiliar faces, names, years and personalities save for what was immediately obvious.

"Some have no inclination either; that's hardly to be pitied as it's entirely their own choice. Unless of course, you're one of those people who delight in pitying people their own character and personality." she replied somewhat coldly. She'd added the latter sentence partially because of her experience with and consequential dislike for general members of his house. She'd received the impression that they thought everyone beneath them. Kris Graas had once called her decision of their characters 'prejudice'. It was rather one of the reasoned, but generalised judgements that Ivy did try hard to avoid. She'd seen very few reasons and met very few exceptions that might have persuaded her to change her opinion, though. She was convinced that Slytherins in general were disagreeable people if you were not one yourself, many of them sharing similar undesirable traits, and she had to talk to people personally before changing her opinion. She wasn't any more inclined to like this Slytherin than the next one; despite the fact he seemed harmless so far (save for his misjudged approach towards her in employing any charm whatsoever), she was sure there must be something lurking that could upset her. Bitter experience had taught her to be wary. Once burnt, twice careful.

Ivy looked on with a suspiciously straight face as the chair toppled over, leaving the younger boy in a pile on the floor. Her impulse to laugh as soon as she saw it happening, in light of his previous comment, was tempered by her slight alarm and anxiety that he'd hurt himself. Weren't Prefects supposed to prevent accidents, not provoke the reckless actions that caused them? As her lips broke into a smile, Ivy furrowed her brow before giving in as her eyes sparkled with laughter along with the rest of her face. "Draw your own conclusions," she said, her words a half-laugh. Even though she hadn't actually laughed out loud, her amusement was evident all over her features which had lost some of their background worry. She pondered his question for a while. The first thought that occurred to her was that in Quidditch, any rule-breaking meant a foul, even if there was no harm - although harm was more likely to get the rule-breaking noticed. But she wasn't that kind of person. "Hmm, knock over any more chairs and I'll give you detention reupholstering all the armchairs in this room," she said, her tone of voice indicating that she was actually in earnest. "They could do with it, anyway, but a real trouble-maker might not do the job properly."

[jacob]

Hitting on older girls was a no, no with Ivy apparently; Conan could tell that right away. Her attitude completely altered when he tried to be cute with her. Conan occasionally had moments were the seriousness of his age different from most of his acquaintances became apparent. This was one of these times. It’s funny to think about the maturity difference between age gaps. From eleven to twelve is a huge gap, between thirteen and fifteen was an apparently very large gap and then after that things seemed to mix up to Conan. He couldn’t tell the difference between fifth years and sixth years, though those in that year probably recognized the differences far better then he. To them the gap was more then likely quite apparent, Conan just never spent time considering it.

People like this girl stressed Conan out and brought him down big time. Her whole speech on some people not wishing to be loved really depressed him. That was sad to him, someone not wanting to be loved? This could have been due to his lack of sleep and conscious logical thought, but who really knows. All that was obvious was that Conan was affected, because his face immediately turned to a frown. His smiled flipped upside down at her words, and he had a similar appearance to a sad clown. “I love love. I don’t know how some could not.” He moped for a couple minutes as he looked around the room to see if anyone had noticed his fall. Of course if anyone had, they were not giving him the time of day, though he did see a few students in a corner holding books over their faces; it was possible they were laughing.

Conan was beyond pleased when he heard the prefect laugh again. Thank the lord he’d done something funny again. He thought he’d cry if her mood was permanently dampened. If there was one sound Conan was sure he loved, it was laughter. Hearing someone laugh at something he said (even when it was at his own expense) made Conan’s day. He would love to make anyone laugh, at any time of day. That was just the kind of kid he was. He thrived on attention and on happiness. He fed off of other’s good moods and he suffered from other’s bad moods. In a way he was a kind of ‘mood moocher’ but it worked for him.

“Reupholster Chairs!?” she had to be kidding him. That was not a funny joke. What Conan was struggling to understand was that she acted as if it was not a joke at all. Prefects; always so serious. Was it possible for her to just laugh at him and tell him to do it again? No. A student falling off a chair was generally a bad concept, and for that reason alone, no matter the circumstances, a good prefect would take the subject serious even if it was a humorous incident. Not because the instance was dangerous, or because it caused a problem, but simply because it was something you just didn’t do.

“A trouble maker? Why, that’s a bit harsh.” What was he saying? Did he want to fix chairs? Conan didn’t even know what reupholstering a chair would call for. “I have a name though. It’s Conan.” Great, now she could hunt him down even if he ran away from her.

[Ivy Tunstall]

Ivy had never met a Slytherin who'd given, not just two straws about what she thought, but enough straws to look downhearted about it. She was really quite astonished, and her expression softened as that was factored into it. Ivy could have a sharp tongue, but she always assumed that people wouldn't take her comments as being too barbed. Unless she was seriously ticked off with somebody, she never wanted to disconcert them from their usual way of thinking. Of course, she was pretty sure his mood was feigned and in jest, but no Slytherin had ever given her the time of day before enough to bother joking around or mocking her gently. Some had taken delight in mocking the very values she based her world, actions and justifications of her actions around. It surprised Ivy that he was bothering - he must be at an extremely loose end - but still, she supposed she'd have to give him the credit for trying to make her laugh. At least he wasn't doing it in the despicable manner he'd been doing previously. She didn't grace his assertion with a reply though - all this talk about love was getting a little repetitive for her taste.

Ivy laughed properly at the incredulity in his voice when he replied. She could tell he didn't believe her to start with; that actually made it more funny for her, in a perverse kind of way - she had been perfectly serious. That he had no suspicions of the threat actually coming to fruition was quite amusing to Ivy. She was toying with the idea of letting him know that she had been in earnest when he complained about her comment on trouble-makers. She frowned for a moment, not quite sure if she'd been understood previously.
"I was saying that you're not a real trouble-maker, and that I wouldn't want to have one of them reupholster the chairs because I don't think they'd make a very good job of it - so perhaps I should use this excuse to get you to do it." she explained. "But were you objecting to my implying that you're a lousy trouble-maker, perhaps? Well, you are - a real trouble-maker would hurt the chair more than they'd hurt their own dignity." She grinned at him, since she had deliberately insulted him this time. "But if it bothers you, I'll just call you a real-troublemaker straight off and give you the detention. Only we need know the difference."

Ivy paused for a moment, trying to remember the name of a book she'd seen in the library. She'd been in the magical sewing section, trying to get a book of charms for magical embroidery and one on magical sewing materials. She'd thought she might as well combine her Muggle hobby and the wizarding world that she'd chosen. Raising her wand, she enunciated its title clearly: "Accio 'A Complete Guide to Magical Upholstery'". Nothing happened, but Ivy did feel power pulse through her wand and replaced it in her pocket very gingerly, with a "Harrumph". She glared at Conan as though it were his fault, although of course it wasn't and she knew it wasn't and wasn't about to start blaming him either - she just felt like glaring at someone - and then went to the shelves in the Student Lounge instead. They kept books here which tried to encourage pastimes, and one of those was fashion design. She knew there was a whole catalogue of fabric samples which someone had stuffed into this overloaded bookcase, and there were upholstery grade fabrics among them. "Ivy." she said, introducing herself as well as, successful, she plonked the book down in front of his nose. "Do you have good taste? You can help choose." Her eyes twinkled slightly - at the moment, she wasn't quite sure herself whether she was serious.