registry
POSITIVE | NEUTRAL | NEGATIVE |
▷ meeting riley ▷ maya hart enters the scene ▷ becoming a prefect |
▷ finding fluffy ▷ MEMORY :| ▷ MEMORY :| |
▷ parents fighting take one ▷ first christmas alone ▷ realizing they'll be separated |
▷ stuart at the train station ▷ MEMORY :) ▷ MEMORY :) |
▷ first day of primary ▷ lucas friar and a boat ▷ MEMORY :| |
▷ stuart's dismay ▷ MEMORY :( ▷ MEMORY :( |
▷ MEMORY :) ▷ MEMORY :) ▷ MEMORY :) |
▷ running away to the matthews ▷ MEMORY :| ▷ MEMORY :| |
▷ MEMORY :( ▷ MEMORY :( ▷ MEMORY :( |
0/? | 0/? | 0/? |
no subject
Received: Day 221
You're huddled on the staircase watching the front door with wide eyes. You hear your mother saying something, but for some reason she doesn't register. Come down here--Why? He'll be here soon. Yes, but watching the door won't make him show up faster. You know that. Even so you remain perched on the first flight of steps. An already well-worn screenplay in your hands, Pippin.
You're seven.
Your dad's been gone for weeks now on some business trip. Your mother had only come back last week, having left to "recoop" after a fight with your father. Already you're far too used to being left to yourself without your parents around. But you want to see him and them together, even if it means you'll hear them fighting by tomorrow.
Your mother calls for you again but instead of answering you notice the clicking of the door knob and are instantly on your feet. The man that enters doesn't look worn from his businesstrip. He's dressed professionally, hair styled, and a smile on his lip. Only, by now you've watched it enough to know it's not a happy smile--Those moments when you've accomplished something and he takes pride in it.
"[REDACTED]," he says with a tone that's just borderline amused as you launch yourself downstairs.
"Father," you return with barely contained excitement and nervousness, clutching the thin book by your side.
You see your mother come out of the living room with fold arms but try to keep your parents occupied instead of noticing each other.
"I want to be Pippin," the words sound so forced and firm to your little ears.
"What was that, [redacted]?" Your father asks with uncertainty.
"I want to be Pippin," you recite once more, your father finally laughing while you mother smiles slightly. "And why is that, son?" Stuart asks.
A beat as you consider the comment before piping up, "Because I want to rule the world!"
Your father laughs once more, rubbing the top of your head. "Don't you want to the family business?" He questions lightly, "That's what I've taught you so far."
It's your turn to make a face as you shake your head rapidly. "No," you say just as firmly, "I want to be Pippin."
You watch the way your father's features seem to flatten in disappointment. Somehow you know you said something wrong. He's always taught you to take after him and to take over his business when you're older. He started as far back as you can remember. But as much as you like it you want to rule the world. Is that a bad thing?
"Well," he says after a moment with another forced chuckle, "that's certainly ambitious. We'll see how far you go, okay?"
You don't like those words either. The small smile fades from your lips and you keep your eyes downcast. "Did Cory teach you that?" he inquires and just as rapidly you shake your head. You shift the book just somewhat behind you as your mother says your father's name a bit more tersely. He straightens himself out and looks at her more firmly.
"[Redacted]," she says with a too gentle tone that you've already categorized, "dinner will be in an hour, why don't you go upstairs?"
You nod knowing that meaning, too, and race up the stairs before you can hear your parents start talking. You keep going until you reach the rooftop that's already been made yours. A telescope stands proudly looking up into the blossoming night sky and you shuffle towards it taking comfort in the horizon.
no subject
Received: Day 222
Type: Significant neutral
This was a long thread so I'll give a brief rundown of it here:
-Farkle gets a message early from a girl named Elle. She's complaining about having to wear plaid and inevitably a fancy dinner party she doesn't approve of (As her aunt is a Pureblood supremacist and talks about that).
-He laughs at her so she decides he needs to come with her. As his family is equal in power/money in hers it'll make her Aunt more okay with her skipping the meeting.
-Farkle tells her he'll do it but she owes helping him make it up to Riley. So definitely knowledge they're dating at this time, welp.
-He tries to look presentable because rich adults are rude.
-He spends most of the day feeling guilty
-Farkle decides to take one of the few cars his dad owns since he likes technology. They're also still underage to use magic outside of school, so it's easier (both of which he explains to Elle later).
-Elle decides to kiss him on his cheek when she arrives which just about kills him.
-Reveals his love of astrophysics even though it's a "muggle field". States that no matter what anyone says he plans to go to the moon and eventually Mars.
-Teases Elle about the knowledge of car crashes so she just needs to trust him. But she was already panicking at the idea so he tried to reassure her. Even as she shouted that someone was coming at them too fast.
-They discuss their magical and non-magical counterparts and their history.
-Immediate knowledge that he's kind of scary smart.
-The memory will end just as they're arriving at their location.
no subject
He almost apologizes and calls it off at the last second. Farkle’s eyeing the last text sent to Riley for the millionth time as he approaches the Sinclair manor. He knows it’s bothering her even when she doesn’t tell him. He couldn’t claim to know her better than anyone else if he wasn’t aware of that much. But as much as stopping an turning back to tell her to be honest vibrates through him, so does the fact of thei promise. And if she wasn’t going to be honest then he’d… Do what she said.
Even if it killed him a little inside knowing she was hurting.
Huffing out a breath, he scrubbed at his eye as he approached the door. Then gave a cursory glance down at his clothing. Not for his own benefit, but in spite of it all Farkle did come from a rich, pureblood family. Even if his parents never cared who his riends were there were other family members and families as a whole. There was a reason when Elle mentioned the Minkus’ being approved of that he knew exactly why she chose him over anyone else. Out of all of their connected friends, aside from Riley, he probably was the only one that fit elitist pureblood criteria.
And he’d been to enough fancy danners to not wish that upon anyone.
Still, he had to doublecheck that his attire wasn’t too likely to be frowned upon. He thanked whatever gos might actually exist for making it a social norm that teenagers tended to wear muggle fashion because the jeans and jacket he wore were comfortable and appropriate enough. Finally slipping his phone back in his pocket he made the treacherous knock on the Sinclair manor door and waited.
Elle sets down her phone as she waits at her vanity, looking doubtfully at her last text. She knows she has Riley’s blessing, but she still can’t help but feel slightly guilty at forcing her friend’s boyfriend to go on a date with her. Farkle certainly wasn’t her first choice. They might have found a mutual respect over each other’s ambitions that allowed a strange kind of friendship, but if she was to spend her afternoon with anyone it would be Max or Rory. But Farkle was the only one who fit, and escaping this Witches’ Luncheon was about much more than wearing plaid.
The Sinclair family was a proud family. They were proud of many things. They were proud of their great, great, great grand-father who helped invent the first Veritaserum potion. They were proud of their naturally fair complexions and overall natural beauty (there was one case with the late William Sinclair who had a larger than normal nose, but the family didn’t like to mention that particular faux pas). But what they were most proud of, something few knew but many suspected was their blood. Purebloods. All of them. Those who were men carried on the Sinclair name by finding the perfectly pampered and ready to please Pureblood wife. The girls, were married off to become the Pureblood wives and no one was more passionate about that than her Aunt Ursula.
She would take her niece to the parties and luncheons. She would teach her how to bat her lashes and keep her mouth shut at the dinner table, to walk into empty rooms to let the men speak about politics while the women gossiped about each other. When Elle was little she could hide in her room, but now that she was older it was harder to avoid the world her Aunt had decorated for her.
And all she wanted was to avoid that world.
Farkle had been the answer. How does one get out of a Sinclair approved function? They put themselves in another Sinclair approved function. With his pureblood and his family name, Farkle Minkus was the perfect fake date to win her Aunt’s approval. She just hoped it wasn’t too selfish. Because she already knows she’s a coward.
Elle puts down the lipstick she had been applying as a pop tells her Bernie has entered her room.
“Mrs. Sinclair would like me to tell you there is a boy waiting outside for Miss Sinclair,” croaks the old house elf looking at Elle with kind eyes. The elf knows her well for she continues, “Mrs. Sinclair seems pleased. She’s watching him from the window.”
“Excellent,” Elle whispers more to herself than the elf. She crouches down to pat the elve’s wrinkled skin affectionately. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Elle hurries down the staircase, making sure she is light on her feet so her Aunt doesn’t hear the rapid clicking of her heels. She would get scolded if Ursula discovered her niece had hurried instead of gracefully descending the stairs incase Farkle suddenly develops X-Ray vision. She takes a deep breath, pausing for a moment, before painting on a carefree smile and opening the door.
“Farkle,” she says, leaning in to give the boy a kiss on the cheek before he can protest. She’ll hex herself for Riley later. She grabs the boy genius’ hand and pulls him away from the front door, looking up to give her Aunt a wave. She can see Ursula’s smirk of approval from the window above, and she doesn’t know whether or not it relieves her or makes gut clench.
Farkle’s stomach is already doing somersaults and no in the pleasant way he found in spending time with Riley. For all those years he was considered to be a flirt he was never prepared for dates. Never. Even his recent date with Riley was filled with corny lines and hurried, random remarks. A good date talker he was not and in spite of suddenly being a boyfriend he hadn’t gotten any better. Even if he knew this wasn’t a date he can’t help the coiled feelings in his stomach because to the public eye it would be. He was officially the worst boyfriend ever.
Scratch that.
When Elle opens the door he tries to put on a sheepish smile. Not that difficult, all thing considered. He was sheepish arriving at Riley’s house on their first date and he’d been going there since he was six. The smile falters when she suddenly kisses him on the cheek and instead he kind of gapes helplessly when she begins to pull him away. No amount of rationalization can stop the incoherent noises from leaving his mouth as they walk away from the door. While he successfully doesn’t faint, he does trip over his on feet once or twice which forces him to hold her hand in turn to keep from falling.
Now he was the worst boyfriend over.
“O-okaaay,” he finally manages in his old squeaky tone. At least it was something coherent as he closes his eyes and tries to figure out how to smooth himself out He was bad with Riley, this was just awkward. The ring on his finger seems to burn as he tries to piece together what he as supposed to say “Please don’t do that again,” he manages meekly, “I might die next time.” Because certainly he’d move straight past fainting into heart attack territory
Elle masks the wave of sympathy she feels as she look over at Farkle. Kissing someone on the cheek was by no means a declaration of love, but it wasn’t exactly the most innocent action to a bystander. Elle knew this. That is why she did it. With her Aunt watching from above, she needed to at least look like she was trying to woo the Minkus boy to some degree. Sinclair’s played to win, and that included the hearts of rich purebloods.
She should have just put up with the luncheon. Then Farkle wouldn’t be looking at her as if he had just witnessed a horror film. Then Hogwarts wouldn’t hate her for “getting in between” the world’s most perfect couple.
If only she could talk to Max.
But Max had his own life and his own problems to deal with, and it wasn’t his responsibility to sweep in and save her when she made a mistake. Elle would go through with her plan, and she would do so painlessly for all parties involved.
“Sorry,” Elle says her voice neutral despite the sincerity of the word. She looks over her shoulder as Sinclair manor fades from their view and lets go of Farkle’s hand as if it was a boiling cauldron.
“No deaths allowed,” Elle commands waving a finger in front of the raven claw before adjusting the hem of her dress. She brushes a stray curl away from her face and exhales a puff of warm breath into the chilly air.
It was all her fault. It was always her fault. She had been stupid to think this was a good idea. She was selfish. She was a coward…
“Thanks,” Elle finally breaths after a pause. The word is still tight in her mouth, not used to being spoken out loud. She says it to Max all the time through her actions, but Farkle does not know her as well. Elle knows he actually needs to hear it, even if it means exposing just a bit of how uncomfortable she truly was with the whole endeavor.
Clearing her throat, Elle flips her hair over her shoulder and taps her foot impatiently. “So how exactly are we going to this gallery? Fake or not I expect this date to be acceptable.”
This is the day of guilt. It’s really not like it’s all that much–He knows they have to play the part in some small fraction, but he didn’t think about what all it might entail. He wanted to help because he knew all too well the feelings and even Riley too, in her own way, which is why he knew a part of her didn’t mind the helping a friend thing. It was just what the rest of it entailed. He was already planning his thousand and one apologies.
He can’t help the small sigh of relief that escapes his lips when he’s allowed to reclaim his hand. The ring on it seems to burn less now that it swayed uselessly by his side At least he could say there was no tingly sensation when Elle held it And for a moment he’s distracted by the thought that Rileys had fit perfectly in his hand– Quickly he shakes it off as the other girl waves a hand in his face.
“Noted. No dying,” he breathes out, the squeak still etched in his tone, and I’m the one who should be sorry. I should have been more composed.” But composed and Farkle Minkus weren’t necessarily used in the same sentence anyway. So hopefully her aunt knew that. Or at least could go with flustered boy and pretty girl scenario. Elle was very pretty and he knew that, but he just couldn’t look past his sun.
He tries for a weak, hopeful smile knowing he’s not the only one awkward about the whole thing. He knew he was hardly Ele’s idea of choice company an that wasn’t likely to change. They may have ran in the same friend circle at points, but he wasn’t usually anyone’s first pick to hang out with unless you were Smackle, Lucas, Riley, and Maya. And he wasn’t so sure on the Lucas part of that equation right now.
“I’m not the one you should be thanking right now. I know how it is,” he says with a nod back to the manor, “…but I already plan to properly apologize to her later. She’s probably of sending carrots to their graves.” The ‘she’ in the equation doesn’t need to be mentioned. He may understand and Riley may in her own way, but he wasn’t going to fool himself into thinking she was okay with it when she admitted to being jealous over a book.
Taken aback a moment, Farkle shakes his head. “I usually take the subway, but I already figured that would be a bad idea,” he says quietly, “so one of the cars are just up the road. That work?”
Elle purses her lips at the mention of Riley Matthews, even though Farkle doesn’t even actually have to say her name out loud. It doesn’t take a genius to notice the way his ring finger fidgets uncomfortably by his side, nor does the still lovesick look that comes across the boy’s face leave any room in the conversation for anyone but his Sunshine. Seriously? Who moons over a girl’s ability to murder vegetables?
She tells herself she will make it up for Riley later. She will. She has to. Not to many people gave Riley much credit, but Elle knew she was one of the strongest people at Hogwarts. She fought with kindness, even against her own demos, and held nothing but Elle’s respect. Elle didn’t want to hurt her, even if she suspected she already had.
But there was nothing either of them could do to help that now, so Elle just nod in agreement to Farkle’s words as she tries to get her mind to stop pondering over ways to send Riley and Farkle on a romantic night and focus on her own date with the Minkus boy.
Elle bites the corner of her lip at Farkle’s chosen transportation. “Not really,” she deadpans honestly, but gives a shrug that shows she isn’t bothered by the fact. “I’ll just tell my Aunt it’s a new wizard trend. She still won’t like it, but she won’t question it.”
At least he realize he’s being a bad date and stuffs his hands into his pockets. It’s impossible to not think about Riley but he can at least concentrate on conversation. This doesn’t really feel like a date right now at all anyway. “It can’t be helped,” he mentions with a shrug, “I’m still not seventeen, so no apparating. They’re renting a building out right in the muggle side of town. So portkeys can’t be used and it’s only a two week long exhibition so that’s too much paperwork to put it in the Floo Network for such a short time. No fireplaces anyway. Of course that means broomsticks are out, too, never mind I’m terrible at flying.”
That was the longest explanation ever. “Sorry,” he said quickly, darting his eyes away knowing few people rarely enjoyed it, “I just mean to say that wizarding methods aren’t really open to us in this situation anyway I think everyone knows dad owns a helicopter anyway since he usually talks about it” Not to mention most teenagers seemed to own cellphones, so that doesn’t really help.
“Sorry,” he winces at that, “again.” He doesn’t really give an explanation at that at first and realizes it probably needs one. “I know I’m not someone you’d want to go out with and I’ve only been one date before now. Just a few days ago at that,” he considers, “but I can at least try to make the exhibit entertaining.”
Elle relaxes a bit at Farkle’s lengthy explanation. To his credit, Farkle seemed to really be trying to help her. Elle isn’t quite sure why. She isn’t Maya, Lucas, or Riley. She’s just some scary 5th year who happens to have a mutual interest in politics. She should at least try and make this an interesting experience, even if it meant showcasing a crack in her heavily polished armor.
“I know,” Elle says shrugging her shoulders as they walk towards the car. “Believe me. My Aunt is just stubborn, but really it doesn’t matter. And the clarify,” Elle pauses to give Farkle a slightly mischievous look very different than her usually haughty demeanor. “I adore the subway.”
The smile that had appeared on her face vanishes at Farkle’s second apology, and she lets out a sigh in reply. “Farkle,” she says with a long drawl that hints at disapproval. “I’m not exactly your first choice to spend the afternoon with. I know that, which is why I am just grateful you are here. I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important.” Her voice grows quieter at this last part, and she isn’t sure she wants to continue. She suspects Farkle already understands many of the true reasons for her desperation to escape the luncheon.
Giving a shake of her head, Elle’s confidence returns as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Anyways. Where is this exhibit again? We’ll also need to stop by the gift shop when we are there to get something for Riley.”
no subject
Glancing at Elle, he’s somewhat uncertain with not being able to read this girl. “Well, considering how was supposed to spend today was reading a book on astrophysics, you’re not a half bad secondary choice,” he says, a certain lightness to his tone before he shrugs, “I do know. I would have said no if I din’t have a pretty firm guess on as to why. Riley, too.”
At least hr as honest, though mybe it was something coming from dealing with Riley as a girlfriend more and more these days. Pausing at the question he shakes his head. “We don’t have to gt Riley something,” he says quietly before moving towards one of of the doors for the family car and instinctively opening it for her “but it’s on seventh street So a twenty-four minute drive from here.”
“Astrophysics?” Elle asks with a raised eyebrow. Normally being referred to as someone’s second choice would deem an angry hair flip and a hex, but since it was Farkle and she had all but forced her company on him she let it slide. “Isn’t that a muggle field?” Elle isn’t disgusted or offended, merely curious. She has never read any muggle text as it never was widely available to her nor did she care enough to search. Potions was her true passion, followed by her great adoration for wizarding politics and history of magic. One had to know the mistakes of the past to change the future.
For her own pride, Elle chooses to ignore his next comment. She hates others learning about things about her family. There are many secrets the Sinclair’s keep, some that Elle hadn’t even gotten the courage to share with Max. The less people who cared enough to learn them the better. But she had dug her own grave, and it was a mere crack to a wall that had been built and fortified for years.
“Well, maybe you don’t,” Elle says clicking her tongue as she glides into the Minkus’ family car. She look at her reflection in the car mirror, pinching her cheeks and readjusting her curls. “But I personally am going to get her something. Probably of the shiny variety.”
Elle turns away from the mirror to look at the car steering wheel. A sliver of anxiety curls up her spine. Max had often told her about the muggle method of transportation referred to as driving, but Elle had never actually witnessed it.
“You do know how this thing works, don’t you?”
He didn’t make the comment unkindly, at least, it was a testimony that if you could pull him away from something about education he actually cared. For whatever it was worth. “It is,” he says motioning wordlessly to the space shirt under his jacket as if it was an explanation, “astrophysics is the study of chemistry and physics in space. They try to understand the pull and make up of planets and bodies. It’s one of the only things wizards can’t properly study no matter what they say. I’ll be going to the moon one day. Mars, too, if I can help it.”
Because the one thing about having an educated background is accepting the different ideas and aspects of the world. Perhaps that’s why he was better suited for Ravenclaw than Slytherin, he was perectly okay with accepting science over magic. There’s a reason he studied so much of the magical theories as opposed to only practical.
Shutting the door behind her he moved around to the other side of the vehicle. Usually, he’d just have the family driver take them, but it was the holiday so they’d given them the time off to spend with their families. When he slid into the other side and pulled the keys back out he quirked a brow, smile on his features somewhat amused.
"Do you really want me to delve into the exact makings and workings of a car? We’ll be here all day,“ he said pulling his seatbelt on before nodding at her, “yours, too. It’s against the law. As is driving one of these without a license. I just happened to get mine before school started, so you’re in luck: No dying today.”
“No,” Elle replies quickly to his question, giving a small huff with her nose in the air. She gives Farkle a small glare, but it holds more pride than malice. “I don’t care how it works as long as it does.”
Which is mostly true. Mainly Elle’s main concern is not getting injured. She pulls the seatbelt across her body, wrinkling her nose in distaste. Not only does it cover her outfit–which despite being dressed for a fake date is still tres chic–but it also looks flimsy and overall useless against any distress. She is about to voice this opinion, when Farkle’s last words float into her ears.
“People die in these things?” Elle asks in horror, the anxiety once again wrapping tightly around her. She immediately blamed the seat belt. Muggles and their stupid not-safe safety mechanisms.
Farkle can’t help the amused grin on his features as he shits the car into gear. At least like this it feels less like a date and more like an explanation. “If it stopped I think we’d have some other issues since it’s brand new,” he commented making a face, “works better than a broomstick, anyway.” Since it’s on the ground and perfectly heated and all.
He only half glances at her to make sure her seatbelt’s on before focusing on the road. The only good thing about being anxious an panicking a lot is that it meant he was a pretty cautious driver. He still sometimes forgets to answer people when they’re talking and he’s driving.
Now’s not one of those times as he stops with a start. “People also die on broomsticks, have major accidents with portkeys and apparations, and a dozen other thing. I could go into statistics, but that won’t help,” he said trying to sound reassuring as he shrugs, “you’ll just have to trust that I’m a safe driver. I didn’t miss a single question on the test.”
Elle’s nose remains wrinkled as she grips both sides of her seat uncomfortably, trying to keep her composure while also trying her best not to aid in death. There are cars whizzing all around them, and though Elle has seen them thousands of times she has never been in the midst of the chaos. She decides, even with the odds, she much prefers brooms. At least then she is in control. Not to mention if someone hits you on a broom it is less likely to cause nearly as much damage then being hit by one of these wheeled muggle monstrosities.
A car horn blares at them from behind, and Elle jumps in spite of herself.
She definetly prefers brooms.
“They let people drive these things who didn’t answer all the questions correctly?” Elle asks, the realization coming to her. “Why? Why would they do that?”
Even as he drives he can’t help but notice the girl out of his peripheral. He tries not to make too much of it knowing her pride– a common trait for Slytherins and even purebloods alike, but it’s not in him to watch her stay like that. “Learning curve?” he suggests warily, “people pass O.W.L.s., N.E.W.T.s and even apparation courses with mistakes. It’s not that surprising. Muggles don’t have as many methods of transportation as we do.”
Frowning slightly more, however, he considers and then speaks up in an attempted tone of nonchalance, “Want to take the more rebellious way of the subway?”
“No,” Elle hisses immediately, hands coming off the sides of her seat. This was now a challenge, and Elle wouldn’t back down even if she was going to die. Max would never let her hear the end of it if he found out she couldn’t make it through a single car ride. She would not give him the satisfaction.
“I am quite enjoying my ride here, thank you very much,” she defends just before her eyes grow wide. “Look out for that car!”
Elle leans back into the seat and closes her eyes, only reopening them when the danger of being hit has passed. She sucks in her cheeks, refusing to give up.
“Tell me more about this exhibit,” Elle commands, needing a distraction.
He glances out of her out of his peripheral once more, wanting to contest that. A person who was enjoying a ride did not hold onto a seat for dear life or look about ready to have a heart attack. Farkle would hate to see her with a more reckless driver, he mused quietly, turning his complete attention back to the road. Really, this was normal traffic fare so it was hardly that intimidating to him even if he had limited experience due to being in school.
…Until she gives that exclamation and his hands tighten around the wheel as he feels his heart drum against his chest. They weren’t going to be hit or anything, but in that instant he almost felt they were about to die from that sound. Luckily, he’s able to stop himself from slamming on the break and lets out a small, distressed noise. “Please try not to do that,” he whined dramatically, “otherwise something might happen if you think it might. Besides, Maya’s driven with me all of once and she tells me I drive like a grandparent. In carspeak that means I’m too cautious to drive at say 80-miles-per-hour. We’re safe, I got this.”
Assuming she doesn’t panic again and thereby he panics again. Then they’d be in a circle of panic, but he tries to convey confidence so hopefully that doesn’t happen.
Letting out a breath he shrugs slightly before going on, easing the vehicle into a turn into the back of a line in traffic. At least they’d be there a moment so he could talk without worry of getting distracted. “Well, as you likely know, Western magic is traced all the way back to ancient Egypt. We still have people trying to break the magic used on pyramids today. A lot of its archaic, so no one’s managed to crack it. Greece came to Egypt, hence Alexandria. Alexander the Great. Then Rome conquered Egypt. You can find a lot of crypts in Egypt still where you see a mix of Roman and Egyptian burial methods,” he pauses at that furrowing a brow.
“Sorry, too much background. Let me retrace my steps,” he defends, “I mean to say that Western magic has been engraved in ancient culture. You have to remember that the Statue of Secrecy wasn’t even around until well after Rome collapsed. 1689 to be exact. Muggles began to persecute people in the fifteenth century, right? So what makes the exhibit interesting is that Egypt, Rome, and Greece have one thing in common: Wizards and muggles lived and worked together. So much of what muggles thought were acts of gods were in fact magic. Take the story of Hercules. When his second wife was attacked by a centaur, muggles now would assume it was false. We know otherwise. If a Hercules existed a centaur isn’t abnormal.”
“The exhibit displays that. Muggle and wizarding history intertwined in our ancient past,” he pauses, furrowing a brow before adding, “maybe not entirely the best choice today. I still say its appropriate.” Since maybe they weren’t discussing it, but if her family was anything like some of the purebloods in his family he knows at least one person will frown upon the idea of wizards and muggles having any association with each other.
Elle sends Farkle a glare at his reprimand, her heart still pounding. She has to fight the desire to close her eyes once more. It isn’t that she is scared. Elle Sinclair does not get scared. The car is obviously too primitive for her advanced habits of transportation. It’s also loud and scary and surrounded by other loud and scary vehicles.
Obviously archaic.
“Well I wouldn’t have to if they would stop moving!” Elle snaps her hands still gripping both sides of her seat. She purses her lips, turning her glare to the cars around them. “How do they expect everyone to move along the same small strip of land in big metal machines of death? It’s insanity. Did you see that there? That guy just pulled in front of us without any warning whatsoever.” Elle leans forward and removes one of her hands from the side of her seat to display a certain finger to the driver in front of them. “Use the light thingy idiot!”
The car lurches forward slightly once more and Elle’s hand immediately return to their secure place clutched around the seat. Max had wanted to teach her how to drive on of these things? What had she ever done to him?
Elle knows she has probably made a fool of herself, but she will be the last to admit it, so instead she keep her head as high as she can without getting too good a view of the traffic in front of them and listens to Farkle’s ramblings.
“Interesting,” Elle says, and she means it. “I’m not super familiar with ancient magic. It should be informative.” She clicks her tongue. “Muggles and wizards are intertwined. Some people just haven’t accepted that.”
“The only way they can get to their next destination is to keep moving,” his voice firm, a hint of reassurance in it Maybe not gentleness or calm, because he doubts that would go over well, but if he’s not panicking then maybe she won’t. Biting back the grin trying to form on his features, he shakes his head, “would music being on help?”
He didn’t particularly care for music being on while driving if only because he preferred to hear everything, but that’s not really am matter in question right now Making sure she was comfortable and not going to have a heartattck took priority. “Blinker,” he returns, “it’s called a blinker and sometimes people are terrible about using them.”
Farkle at least doesn’t seem to think she’s making a fool of herself even if this isn’t exactly ha side he’s scene of Elle before. It’s like seeing Maya cry, new But he doesn’t pay it any mind as he glides the car on through the thong of people “Most people don’t. You’ll notice we never talk about it that much in class. Mostly when England and its colonies come around,” he pauses before imploring, “any guesses why?”
Elle purses her lip and leans across to turn on the radio in answer to his question. Even though she is terrified of the vehicle doesn’t mean she didn’t inspect every angle of it before stepping inside. The radio was the easiest contraption to figure out.
An instrumental piece comes from the speakers and Elle wrinkles her nose in distaste before instantly switching the station to something more her speed. Justin Bieber’s “Sorry” fills the car, and though Elle isn’t exactly a fan of the muggle pop star she closes her eyes and lets the music calm her in her seat.
“That’s a stupid name,” Elle mumbles grumpily, eye still closed. If she can change her anxiety into annoyance she’ll be fine. At Farkle’s explanation she sucks in her cheeks, “Enlighten me.”
Farkle flinches slightly when the music first comes on even as he saw her turn it on in his peripheral. Shifting his fingers on the steering wheel, drumming them slightly, he let the music flow through before speaking up again. Manners were always somehow first when it came to ladies and in this case it meant making sure Elle was comfortable. Especially when he hadn’t taken into any account any possible fears of the road way.
“Someone might say Quidditch is a stupid name. Or Muggle, or Farkle, or even Elle,” he comments, the Ravenclaw in him showing, “names aren’t the important thing it’s their function And in this case they tried to make the names easy to understand. Blinker, something that blinks. Steering wheel, wheel the guides. You get the picture. Even spells are like that in a way.”
He makes a humming sound at her question and shakes his head. “It’s more like theories, but propaganda,” Farkle manages, “a lot of history from that time is lost, right? It’s interesting how people went from working together to Muggles persecuting wizards right around when the Anglo-Saxtons appeared. It’s not to say I think there wasn’t some persecution, but what if it was dualsided? I mean just fifteen years ago a lot of purebloods loathed Muggles. A lot still do but most of us have phones now. So what changed?”
no subject
Type: neuneu
what it is:
link here
This memory does have very light mentions of light mentions of child neglect and abuse. It takes place at the very beginning of their fourth year of school and he's still self-conscious of bruises. He's reflecting on some mentions healers made about him at the end of third year. There is no real emotion in this memory and his thought process remains logical and factual. Overall in spite of his consideration of Riley it's kind of cold from himself.
no subject
Type: tripos
What it is:
+messing with maya's head
+friendship
The small blonde walks into the Great Hall, broomstick still in hand, with windswept hair, rosy cheeks, and an unusually bright smile. She plops down on the bench next to her friend, drops her broomstick onto the floor, and starts piling her plate full of food.
“So,” she begins, though pauses to take a long drink of pumpkin juice – just to add suspense. Maya smacks her lips and places the cup back down. Finally, she announces, feigning nonchalance: “Guess you’re looking at the new Slytherin Seeker.”
Well, he had been reading over the new Daily Prophet when she’d approached. He knew try-outs were recently and the announcements were soon– he knew too much– but hadn’t had time to get up and go look yet when she approached.
So he looks up from the article he’s reading and then shakes his head. “Great,” he tries nonchalantly, “so could the new Seeker pass me the toast down there?”
You may have taught them too well, Maya.
His nonchalant reply, though she knew was teasing, offended her a little bit; she wasn’t gonna lie. Maya’s eyes narrowed slightly at Farkle.
“No,” she sasses. “A Seeker’s job is to catch the Snitch. If you’re looking for someone whose expertise lies in passing from person to person, you may want to consult a Chaser to pass you that toast.”
No way would Maya let Farkle out-sass her. Out-smart her, maybe. But out-sass? Never.
“If you’re wanting to be technical shouldn’t it be that the Seeker’s job is first to locate the snitch. In this case: the toast. Then they catch it and bring it back to their team for a win,” he comments slyly, “I may not be a fan of quidditch but I know that much.”
“If you’re not gonna congratulate me for making it onto the team on my first try over fifteen other hopefuls,” she replies coolly. “Then you can get your own damn toast.”
“Hey, I just have doubts I’ll finish breakfast before all the vultures eat it,” he comments easily, turning back to his paper, “however, I did not have any doubts you’d make seeker.”
“Yeah, well there are some things that are more important things than –” Hold on. Did she hear him correctly? Maya blinks. “Wait – What did you just say?”
“You mean the toast?” He responds slyly, “yeah, teveryone’s been eating it in five minutes lately.”
“Shut up,” she snaps, though her mouth twitches at the corners with a slight grin. “No, not that. You said that you knew I’d be Seeker. But, Farkle.. have you ever actually seen me play Quidditch before? How could you possibly know…”
“Because I know you,” he says quickly, reaching for the toast for himself, “if there’s something you really want to do you’ll always accomplish it.”
He doesn’t say he believes in her it’s implied.
Pausing to munch on the bread he shrugs, “Besides, I know everything, remember?”
no subject
Type:
Canonly, Farkle is seen as something like a profiler in Criminal Minds, as a baseline. He's capable of figuring out people in seconds as well as the general plotline/purpose of things. It may take longer in more complicated situations, but he does figure it out within a day or two. This is also a "calculation" skill. Which means that he can figure out trajectories, where things will hit, etc. It's not a fighting ability, but still useful.
With this ability he also gains his observations and in depth knowledge of people around him. Namely Riley, Maya, Lucas, and Isadora.
no subject
Type: SigNeg
What it is:
You're back in your family home. Tomorrow is Christmas and you know the Matthews will be coming over and some your friends. There'd be a lot of people here and for the first time in weeks you'd get to see Riley. That thought is what helped you last through the long week of family activities. You would see your girlfriend-- you're practical fiance in all but name-- and even if the two of you couldn't be alone that was never important. Seeing her had always made you feel better and there'd be plenty of people here to do stuff with.
But now you dread the idea of tomorrow at all. Instead, you've found yourself in the personal library attached to your room. You're flipping through books, trying to pay attention to them, before snapping them shut and pacing across the room just to grab another one. You're head's pounding as you go through one too many thoughts. Categorizing elements, stars, trying to take in the new information, and trying to numb out the memory from the evening before that won't seem to sink away.
Because you know you'll pay for that. You're supposed to be obedient and never disagree. You knew it was stupid, but there was no way he was going to talk down about that.
You can't leave yet through magic. You'd be arrested for underage magic, but you hold on by telling yourself that's only two months away. You'll be seventeen then and you could run away-- even with a year of school left. But right now you were stuck here and your family home is far enough away from the city it would take a full day to walk there. He'd definitely find you by then and things would be worse.
So you wait and think. You force yourself to remember that you said the truth and it was important and your mind won't change--
"Farkle."
You suck in a breath. Closing the book in your hands shakily, you turn to the man in the doorway. It's your father, polished as always, and with the same tight smile. A smile that tells you everything: It's his smile that you've disobeyed with him and that he's unhappy with you. Your father is all about image, though, and aside from furrowed brows that smile is all he'll go to mere his features.
"Father," you try amicably, forcing the politeness into your tone. At least after your years of etiquette training you could do that effortlessly. He steps in, for the first time you don't step back. Your father notes that with an arched brow, but you continue to give him a steady look. So much of you wants to look at the floor, but now you're nearly an adult and you have to do this one day.
"About last night," he states coolly. Finally your eyes dart away and you continue with the same forced politeness, "Yes? Was something wrong?" Somehow you're speaking with sass. That should make things worse, but you've numbed yourself. You don't think or feel you're just there as you feel him come closer. "You know you did something wrong, Farkle," Stuart continues, tone borderline unimpressed.
You pause minutely. "I don't think I did," you recount and your father's face darkens, "It's my life. It's not as if I'd be destroying your image." Your voices weakens, but you try to keep as firm as possible. "Do you really think that, son?" He questions and you give a slight nod. Your father shakes his head. He takes another step forward and you don't even need to question where this is leading.
He would never hit you where anyone else could see. Or do anything too noticeable that people would notice. A sprained wrist or broken rib, maybe. And you could heal the former. Sometimes, he'd use magic if he felt you needed that punishment. But it was important to ensure no one could tell because Stuart Minkus was all about showing perfections. No one would believe you if you said.
"You're mother's out getting the rest of the presents for tomorrow," he keeps a tight-lipped smile, "why don't we talk about this?"
You lick your lips and hesitate. You can't combat this with magic, you're barely even physical, and it really would be worse. You know that, but you're body vibrates to do something and before you think about it you suddenly pipe up. "That's not what I'd call talking," you say voice quiet at first before picking up, "but I guess you have difficulties with intelligent de--" Suddenly you close your mouth with a wince but the damage is already done. You know he's pulling out his wand before you see it.
Even if you wanted to defend there's no way to do so before your body arches with a searing pain. The torture spell. Your eyes roll back and you seize up on the floor. You almost forget what breathing is as the world goes dark. But he casts another spell and you grow alert once more. He wasn't going to give you the comfort of going to bed just yet. And so it goes on, but at the end... At the end you can't help but feel satisfied at standing up for what you felt.
It was one of the first times you did so. And it was to him. Even as you force yourself to not get upset, the satisfaction remains. Even if you have to figure out how to tell the others not to touch you tomorrow.