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 Sapphire & faded jeans, Lilith!
Isidora Argyris
One of those “don’t-call-me-a-chick” chicks
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May 1 2018, 09:17 AM   Link Quote
There are some things that belong together, that when placed side by side simply feel right. The sight of them leaving behind feelings of comfort and satisfaction that cannot quite be explained unless using one of those oddly specific words that some languages seem to have. Like German, because the German lexicon has a specific word for just about anything, right? Yet, sadly, such is a language over which this particular narrator possess no mastery, leaving us to rely on descriptions that hopefully both evoke appeal and cause understanding (would you like some Spanish instead? I can definitely do Spanish!). So, back to those things that seem to simply belong together… sometimes they’re scenes. Sights that, while perhaps perfectly common and mundane, are capable of bringing a smile to the faces of some, just because of how familiar and expected they seem to be.

The sight of Isidora Neith Argyris standing before of a copper cauldron; hair braided, sleeves rolled up and wand in hand, was one of those sights. It had repeated itself countless times ever since she was a child, even back during those days when she needed to stand on a stepping stool or the cauldron had to be placed on the floor because she was too small to possibly reach a table without standing on the tips of her toes. Not that she was all that much taller at the age of seventeen either, as standing at a rather unimpressive five foot two, she was most definitely not an intimidating sight to gaze upon. But that did not matter, did it? What mattered was the fact, the way she seemed to be almost both alert and relaxed, her comfort with potion-making so terribly obvious as Lionfish spines were carefully minced before being taken to a mortar to be crushed. There was no hesitation to her movements, there was no doubt, all of her focused placed entirely on the task at hand, deep blue eyes glancing at the ingredients laid out on the table from time to time.

After all, in the mind of the young witch, known and previously studied potions were one of those things that could never go wrong: add ingredients, follow your recipe to the letter, and you will get results. It was simple, it was easy, and it was right. There was no challenge to it, no need for hypothesising or expecting anything unexpected to happen, and while the repetition of something that had already been perfected by previous generations surely brought little to no advancement, it did come with a certain feeling of reassurance that caused her to love the potion-making arts. In a way, it was both soothing and consoling, a small solace in a life where so many situations caused turmoil to rise in her mind. Yes, that’s right, when things got all too complicated and confusing, it was to things like those that Isidora turned to in order to seek calm – totally nerdy, right?

So, while if asked she would have declared that she was obviously studying the making of advanced potions for her coming NEWTs, the truth was that studying wasn’t the real reason why Izzy had gathered ingredients and walked all the way to the potions classroom that afternoon. It was because she needed to calm her mind, to relax; to have a moment where everything was logical, simple and right – a moment that would allow her to forget those images that had filled her thoughts ever since the most recent Quidditch match. If only it had been that easy. If only crushing ingredients into a mortar had the secret power to clear her mind from all that sweet sweet teenage drama and angst. It was wishful thinking if anything, and the girl knew as much. It showed. It showed in the way her gaze seemed almost nostalgic as she looked at the mortar from under the brim of her hat. It showed in how slow and paced her movements were, tattooed fingers calmly adding the mixture from the mortar to the cauldron before wrapping gentle around the handle of her wand. And mostly, it showed in her whole demeanor, completely absent-minded and oblivious to anything that happened beyond her task. The whole room could have been burning around her, and Izzy would have stayed where she was, mixing ingredients into a cauldron.

Ever played one of those ‘spot what’s wrong with these pictures’ games as a child? Well, that’s kind of exactly what this was like.


@Lilith Woodland
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May 1 2018, 09:10 PM   Link Quote
The world was full to the brim with things designed to walk hand in hand through life, activities and people so perfectly designed for each other it became scary to imagine a world without them side by side. Michael Jackson and music, Peanut-butter and Jelly, Harry and Potter. A world that contained so much balance, however, was bound to contain some things that simply did not work together and one of these things was Lilith and potions. Where Isidora had a harmonious, sharing relationship with the copper cauldron, Lilith's was more prone to a catfight in which she occasionally managed to wrestle the results she had hoped for... but more often was left battered, bruised and none the happier for it.

The things Lilith Woodland enjoyed, she excelled at. More often than not, in her head these things simply made sense. This state of understanding could be reached through hard work and determination with no exceptions... or so she had thought until the young Ravenclaw experienced the beast that was Potions. Poisons, she mused, she understood. They counted as potions, right? She could rattle off the fourteen different medicinal and conflicting uses of hemlock and wolfsbane but put strange and foreign potion books in front of her and she became about as literate as a goldfis- no. That was an insult to Goldfish. Lilith became worse than a goldfish. Her mind was too literal for potions.

But that didn't stop her bullheaded stubbornness from trying.

Satchel filled to the brim with reagents, hair tied back and eyes downcast, Lilith made her way towards the hopefully empty potions classroom for what she predicted was to be another night of explosions and regrets. One had to admire her determination. Each footfall bringing her closes to the source of her dread, she couldn't help but begin to regret the many life choices that had brought her to this moment. I'll get it this time. This is it.

The room wasn't empty.

Lilith's eyes alighted on the girl that struck some vague and distant level of recognition in her mind, a frown curling the corner of her lips as she grasped and scrabbled for a name at the edge of her thinking. She'd seen the girl around the N.E.W.T potions class, an over-achiever. Isabelle? Izarus? Damnit. Teeth clamping down on her lower lip as she contemplates the fastest route back to the Ravenclaw common room... until she saw that look. The look of someone finding solace in an endeavour, seeking escape from the world around them in something simple, something well known and familiar. For Lilith, it was the room of requirement or the rain... for this girl, it seemed, it was potions.

She must be insane. Lilith mused in her head, unable to draw her gaze from Isadora's every movement, tracing the confident, gentle movements of her hands and the way she didn't so much as hesitate prior to acting. This was Isadora's domain, by comparison, Lilith felt a fish on the scorching beach sand, floundering where Isadora danced.

Beautiful.

Lilith, in that moment... felt a rare feeling of complete vulnerability. Watching this girl who she didn't even know, she felt no need to withdraw into her shell, she felt no need to hide. Literally and metaphorically, her eyes were wide open, not hiding what others might insult as being strange or different. The Ravenclaw stood tall, ice blue and soft hazel eyes settled on Isidora as her crimson hair loosely framed slightly parted lips.

"What are you hiding from, down here?" She asks with a soft, almost caring tone. Strange, given she barely knew this girl. That was Lilith for you... socially awkward to the extreme.





@Isidora Argyris
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