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Post by Quinn Ashwinder on Jan 13, 2010 11:59:03 GMT -5
Quinn looked up from the chest and took a goblet with another small smile, and she tucked a few more strands of hair behind her ear. She lifted the goblet to her face and inhaled, pumpkin juice she thought. Lyric seemed to think she only liked strawberry, but it wasn't her favorite...then again neither was pumpkin, but it smelled warm and safe too. "I like pumpkin too. It smells like autumn," when the sun was up over the leaves in the forest, slightly decomposing and giving life back to the trees, the trees she would harvest for wands. She took a small sip, but couldn't taste anything vastly different than regular pumpkin juice.
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Post by Trent Frey on Jan 13, 2010 12:21:29 GMT -5
Lyric had only brought up strawberry in the first place because it was the only thing he had that was really flavored, but he wasn't thinking about it anymore, only nodding absently at whatever the girl was saying. He was fixing his own drink now, very carefully. When he'd finished, he picked up the goblet and downed the contents. Then he looked back at the girl, his eyes flickering momentarily to her goblet, which still looked full. "Drink it, or it won't do anything," he advised.
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Post by Quinn Ashwinder on Jan 13, 2010 12:29:20 GMT -5
Quinn nodded, as she had watched him drink the contents of the goblet, she was also wanting to know what it felt like, to not care about the past. It had seemed something best done slowly, but then again, she didn't know anything about this. Lyric seemed very quiet, and since it seemed that this was something that perhaps took quiet, Quinn had decided not to talk, as she drank what was in the goblet that he had given to her. Instead she took everything in the room in, the lighting, the way Lyric was sitting. Those silly shoes he was wearing that she had rather clumsily said she liked, but what else did you say to someone you scared off the first time you met them?
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Post by Trent Frey on Jan 13, 2010 12:45:04 GMT -5
Lyric could feel the girl looking at him, and it made his skin crawl. It was a different kind of attention than he was used to, and it disturbed him so that his attention moved back and forth between her and what he was doing. He wanted everything put away, sealed up safely to clear his mind that much more.
His spells needed concentration, so it took a minute or so more before he sat back and shuffled further down into his pouf to relax. "When's the last time you ate?" he asked, though what are you staring at was the question hovering in his mind. "It makes a difference," he added.
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Post by Quinn Ashwinder on Jan 13, 2010 13:04:48 GMT -5
Quinn thought about it for a moment, "I was on my way back from lunch when I ran into you." Stumbled might be more appropriate she thought to herself. Lyric hadn't been expected, she hadn't been seeking anyone out today. In fact she'd been thinking about going to her shop and staying for a few days. Her grades in potions and herbology were going well. But she just couldn't bring herself to care for many of the other ones. The teacher in History was cute enough, but all she heard when he talked was about the subjugation of women, children, and other magical creatures.
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Post by Trent Frey on Jan 13, 2010 13:34:03 GMT -5
Lyric let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "We've got a while," he said. Something near half an hour, and if he could think about anything besides when it would kick in, it'd be a surprise. He glanced back at his box on the table next to him, thinking about the contents and about what was going to happen. "What's your name?" he asked, almost absently. He figured he might as well know, and there wasn't any use pretending he hadn't forgotten.
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Post by Quinn Ashwinder on Jan 13, 2010 13:38:49 GMT -5
Quinn blinked, stunned to find that yes, we was a little hurt that he hadn't remembered twice. Then again, he was still talking to her, and was asking her what her name was, so didn't he deserve the opportunity to know it? Especially if she wanted to keep him as someone to talk to. "Quinn. Quinn Ashwinder." Quinn noticed his glance to the box. "Why does it take so long," she wondered aloud.
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Post by Trent Frey on Jan 13, 2010 14:05:55 GMT -5
Lyric glanced back at her. "Because you have to digest it," he said, though that was more a guess than any kind of true knowledge. "There are other ways to do it that are faster, but they don't last as long." And though he could begin to rationalize starting off easy, it wouldn't sit right making an entire lesson out of it. His goal was to eventually make some money, not to get half the school's innocents hooked.
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Post by Quinn Ashwinder on Jan 13, 2010 14:11:39 GMT -5
Quinn nodded made sense in the way that you had to wait for a potion to simmer before an ingredient truly reached it's potential. "Makes sense," was all she could manage as she looked at the box he had taken things out of. "Who gave you the box? It's...well the carvings are...I like to carve," she finished kind of lamely she thought.
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Post by Trent Frey on Jan 13, 2010 14:55:50 GMT -5
Lyric glanced at the box, then out into the room. "My father," he said, his voice lowering a bit with the words. He looked at the box again, his eyes traveling the familiar carvings slowly, as though he might find something different this time. As though he might find some kind of answer. There weren't answers, though. He mentally shook it off and picked the box up, surprised to find that his hands weren't trembling with the thought. Not just at this moment. He never really thought about where he'd gotten it. He held the box out, silently offering it to Quinn to look at the intricate patterns.
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Post by Quinn Ashwinder on Jan 13, 2010 15:08:17 GMT -5
Quinn took the box, her fingers covering the curves and pitches of the carved sections. "My dad died, before my sister and I were born." She sighed as she thought about the one photo mother had given them, before she'd been taken completely away from them. "My step-father...well he never gave me anything that I wanted," her tone was, suspiciously off-handed at that. She hated to think of how much of an understatement that was, since he'd given her plenty of things that she'd hated and had given her reasons to wish she had never been born.
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Post by Trent Frey on Jan 13, 2010 15:42:29 GMT -5
Maybe gave had been the wrong word for how Lyric had gotten that box. "I took it from him, he didn't give it to me," he said. He knew he should have acknowledged that Quinn's dad was dead, that she'd never even met him, but he couldn't let her think that he was that lucky. "I wanted it and he was leaving, so I took it." And no one had said a word.
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Post by Quinn Ashwinder on Jan 13, 2010 15:45:00 GMT -5
Quinn nodded, "did you want him to leave, or was he leaving, and you wanted him to stay." It was very different, she wanted a chance with her dad, but her step-father she wished would leave. No, she wished he would die. There was a distinct difference. "I was lucky when I got to come here, I got to leave." It wasn't worth smiling about, given the circumstances, but she couldn't help but feel a bit relieved.
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Post by Trent Frey on Jan 13, 2010 15:51:22 GMT -5
Lyric diverted his gaze at the question, and rather than saying anything at first, he only shook his head. "I don't know," he said. He wouldn't let himself think about it to decide if that was a lie. He wanted all of that to stay blocked out, to stay in the shadows with everything else he didn't want to think about. But worse things had happened, and those were the things that broke out of the shadows on their own. Those were the things that haunted him. "Why were you lucky?" he asked absently. Maybe he could get her attention off of him for whatever remained of their grace period.
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Post by Quinn Ashwinder on Jan 13, 2010 16:09:53 GMT -5
Quinn looked down at the box, "my mother married a man who wasn't happy with us. Because we were half muggle, because we were both girls, because we looked nothing like him, and because he never had another child that was his." Quinn's fingers traced the edges of the box, "he really wasn't very nice to us at all," she whispered.
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