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Posted: May 11 2017, 10:26 PM
Music rocketed down the hallways. It was loud, and a little haunting. The instruments twanged nad plucked with a far eastern cadence. Even the language was foreign, syllables smashing and crashing together in ways that made sense to almost nobody. And yet, buried beneath the lulling tones and gentle rolling beat, the unmistakable strumming of a high energy electric guitar gave it a very familiar rock and roll vibe. Underneath it was a soft scratching droning on as the music played. That tiny sound meant it had to be a vinyl record. It was basically some of the only technology that really worked at Hogwarts, and it had taken Ram two years to even get that far. The record player, an honest to goodness gramophone from a hundred years before he was born, had been collecting dust in the storage closets off the Great Hall. Hogwarts had dances so infrequently it hadn’t seen actual use in years, and Ram had…acquired it.
He put it back, most of the time, after he was done playing whatever music he listened to for the night. But he was definitely making more use of it than his school had. Tonight he was in an abandoned classroom on the second floor, far away from any of the dormitories and hopefully where nobody would interrupt him.
Except her. He wanted her to show up.
Ram’s face lit up briefly at the thought of her, a soft shift in his features and thin smile. He paused a moment to picture her, yelling her head off about this or that again, which caused his quill to blot ink on his potions essay, ruining it. He grimaced at that, his entire face contorting in short form. Once warm, chocolate brown eyes became momentarily stormy, and deep lines furrowed around thick eyebrows, showing his discontent as he discarded a third draft of his potions essay due the next morning.
He grabbed his wand, which was near his side, and slashed it almost angrily at the record player. Despite a soft red light leaping out, seemingly nothing changed. Until the next song started playing, dropping the Indian inspired music in favor of harder drums and more shredding guitar. Classic Rock, it would seem, was the music to fit Ram’s sour mood regarding potions. He’d been doing that all year, transfiguring the record to play a different song. It was just as good as a cell phone or an ipod. The only limitation was that he needed to know the song front of back in order to change the record correctly. But that wasn’t too huge of a problem. It just meant he could only play his favorites.
His music dilemma settled, the fourth year reached out for yet another roll of parchment, preparing to begin his essay on the effects of the polyjuice potion one more time. He silently hoped @Jetta Stone would interrupt him, because he’d take any excuse to stop working at this point. Also because she made his nights more fun. But right now it was mostly because he wanted to quit working.
Jetta and Ram had come to a kind of silent agreement. Ram would play music, loudly, and would generally tell the Slytherin when he was doing so and where, if he knew. Jetta would drop by at some point during the night and would tell him the stresses of her day while he worked out whatever schoolwork he needed to finish. Ram wouldn’t say much, which was fine with him, and he’d get company while he worked. It was, all in all, a very civil arrangement. Ram wanted to say they were becoming friends, but one didn’t really become friends with Jetta Stone. You just kind of weathered the storm.
Still, Ram liked to believed that Hurricane Jetta was lessening, becoming a Tropical Storm instead. It was probably just wishful thinking.
Posted: May 22 2017, 07:57 AM
Life had become increasingly difficult for the young snake. It was uncommon for stress, anger and sorrow to build up in the girl. Most of her life had been a game of bottling up difficult feelings, praying that her emotional vault didn’t get so full that it exploded and made a mess of everything. Of course, you could wish and one hand and shit in the other all you wanted and the results would always be the same. Despite all of her hoping, she always unravelled, sooner or later. Usually, it was in vicious and sometimes even violent outbursts towards anyone who dared get too close to her when she was on the edge. On rare occasions, however, she would flee to some dark corner of the castle and let herself go, sobbing uncontrollably and spilling her feelings out like ink on paper in letters to her father that he would never be able to read.
These outbursts had been occurring more and more frequently in the recent months. Jetta couldn’t really pinpoint the problem. Perhaps she was just tired. Years of playing the same games had started to take their toll on her mental well-being and had worn down her defences. A few months ago, opening up to someone and letting them see what a broken mess she was wasn’t even close to being an option. It wasn’t just that she didn’t trust anyone to so much as borrow her phone, let alone know her deepest darkest secrets. She had a reputation to maintain. If people saw the real Jetta Stone, she would never be taken seriously again. No one would be afraid of an insecure little girl who longed to be loved and accepted, let alone take her seriously. It was all she had and she was not about to give it up, no matter how good it made her feel.
But oh, how good it felt. She didn’t know how it happened, but it had. The night had been much like this one, the events of the day building up until she had just about had enough. Her intentions had been to seclude herself from the rest of the school, maybe write a letter or distract herself with dance and hard exercise. However, the soft pumping of someone’s much too loud music had distracted her. Hunting the culprit down, she had meant to give him a piece of his mind and leave a lasting impression that told the offender that she was not to be messed with. She had left an impression, just not the one she had meant too. What started out as a tirade against him had somehow turned into her pacing the room as she poured out a small part of her heart and shared some of her minor frustrations. That evening, she had left feeling much lighter than she ever had after tearing other people down or trying to fix herself.
After that, it had slowly started to become a regular thing. On her worst days, she found herself seeking out that loud music in an attempt to find her makeshift counsellor, Ramir. Today had been one of those days. Nothing particularly had gone wrong for her, and yet, Jetta found that she was in an increasingly bad and dangerous mood. The noise had not been one she had expected to hear today. When did things ever go right for her? Her answer was usually never, however today seemed to be an anomaly. Heading down the hall, she followed her ears until she found herself in the abandoned classroom she frequented often. Standing in the doorway, her stony gaze raked across the room, fixating on the figure sat working on some assignment or another. “You better not be fucking busy.”
Posted: Jun 4 2017, 08:27 PM
Ram looked up, seeing his usual late-night companion strut into the room with all her usual bluster. He curled up a little tighter and hid the amused smile on his face. Over the several weeks leading to this moment, Ram had come to notice most of her anger was just that: bluster. She was bluffing most of the time. Not that she wouldn’t do something horrible to someone, or say cutting words that stripped her enemies to the bone. Her bluff was very good, and she was committed. But the storm around Jetta, and the girl who sat in the eye of it, were very different people. Ram had started to find her kind of fascinating in that way.
Most people, when meeting for late-night rendezvous, would think of things like her curves, or her lips. They’d be trying to get her to make out with them, or some other foolish notion. Ram could’ve tried that. She was a pretty girl, in a punk-rock kind of way. But he also knew that what they had was…different…than that. It was a fragile thing still, and if he tried to make romantic advances on her, she’d bolt, like a scared rabbit. She might break his nose or something while she bolted, but she would bolt. And then he wouldn’t see her again soon. He liked seeing her. So rather than trying to pull her closer and in effect push her away, he would let their strange symbiotic relationship live its own weird life.
“You look like David Bowie.”
That was it. His grand, sweeping greeting. He gestured to the lightning bolt makeup lancing across her eye, which was a classic, famous David Bowie move. Added to Jetta’s general punk-rock nature, and it was kind of obvious as a reference. Compared to Ram, however, she was a glamazon. It was obnoxiously late, so Ram was dressed appropriately: Comfortable crimson colored pajama pants and a grey muscle shirt that revealed narrow, bony shoulders and the astounding lack of muscle on his frame. It did show off a considerable amount of Ramir’s patented coffee-colored skin. Again, most people would do that on purpose to try and flirt. Ram just hated being hot at night.
Still, he shifted just a little, his sign that she could come bother him. He continued to scratch away with little success on his essay, but he wouldn’t consider that “busy”. It was just a convenient way for him to pretend not to hear anytime Jetta got a little too personal for her own tastes. He’d likely only get about a sentence of actual writing done, but then he hadn’t really expected to do more than that even before the Slytherin girl had shown up.
The Gryffidnor did not say a word beyond his greeting, however. He just let Jetta do her own thing. Other than a subtle change of music (Heroes by David Bowie was quieter than what he was jamming to, and thematically appropriate), Ram appeared to have hardly noticed Jetta’s arrival at all. It couldn’t be further from the truth, but then, Ram and Jetta let a lot go unsaid between them.
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