InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Dark wings dark words."

Coralee Wong wasn’t used to waiting for anyone, let alone a) sophomores, b) Ribbonfins, c) people who couldn’t even take her measurements properly, d) ALL OF THE ABOVE. She was beginning to wonder why she’d told Cole to meet her in fifteen minutes, as that didn’t emphasise the severity of this disaster. He was bound to be late anyway, since he got distracted so easily. She should have told him to meet her IMMEDIATELY -- except that Coralee didn’t admit to making mistakes, even in the privacy of her own mind.

So she settled for pacing, and huffing, and casting despairing glances at her beautiful-but-too-small costume where it was hanging from a rack with the other costumes for the play, which she had no doubt all fitted their owners perfectly. Ugh! Coralee paced one final time, then took up a stance in the middle of the room with her arms folded and her most unimpressed expression on her face, so that the second Cole entered he would know she meant business.

Cole hadn't really wanted to slip out of class and he was almost certain he would get in trouble for it later, but Coralee had demanded that he come and he hadn't' wanted to let her down....again. He still wasn't certain how he'd gotten the measurements so off or messed up the construction so thoroughly that the dress didn't fit, but the failure felt foreign and unsettling and particularly awful when he thought of the Look that would likely be on Coralee's face when he saw her. He needed to fix this. So he'd left, gathering up his things and slipping out the door while two of his classmates talked to Ms. Rhee.

He didn't actually run, but he hurried and by the time he got to the theatre, Cole was slightly out of breath. He pushed open the door and stopped when he saw the older girl...because the expression on her face was even worse than he'd imagined. But she was still pretty and that somehow made it worse. Shoulders slumping and and head lowering reflexively, he murmured, "...Hi. Coralee." He'd never liked confrontation and, normally, this was the sort of situation he'd run away from. But this time he couldn't, so he just fidgeted and moved to put his bag and his books on the table. His sketchbook, closed but fattened with the slips of paper and the references that were held between the pages, sat on top.

“Cole,” Coralee greeted him icily. She could hear her mother’s voice in her head -- you catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar! -- but she couldn’t bring herself to lay on the charm, not with Cole. Not when the memories of the Amortentia debacle were still so fresh in her mind. And also because people like Cole, who were naturally subservient, brought out her more domineering side anyway.

Coralee gestured to her costume, and tried to sound assertive rather than STRESSED OUT as she said, “Like I told you over the journals, it doesn’t fit. You need to fix it, like, right now.”

For a long moment, Cole didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. His brown eyes moved constantly, wanting to look anywhere but at Coralee but always coming back to her anyway, and his lips thinned into an anxious line as he walked over to the rack where all of the costumes hung together. He looked at the dress mournfully because it was beautiful. Fitted in the right places to give it shape and to emphasize the natural perfection of Coralee's body, but long and flowing in others so that the girl's movements would catch it and cause it to fan and twirl in dramatic ways once her movements became sharp enough or quick enough. The color was like moonlight and mist, accented with gold and with white flowers that had been charmed to bloom under exposure to an element produced by the stage lights, creating new structural details and subtly altering the dress' appearance as the play progressed. He'd put his heart into that dress and he'd been certain that it would be even more beautiful on Coralee. But he'd messed it up and now it was useless.

When he looked at Coralee, his impassive face displayed hints of his misery, but all he asked was, "Where?" Then, thinking that this would need to be more specific for her to understand, he added, "Where doesn't it fit? Everywhere or the hips or the bust or..?." It was still possible that he could salvage the dress, but he doubted it. He would probably just have to start again.

Coralee’s expression could have frozen Lake Gooseberry. (If, you know, it wasn’t already frozen.) “Everywhere,” she said eventually through gritted teeth. “I don’t know. The sleeves were so tight that I couldn’t do it up to check exactly how it fitted on my hips and bust.” Was Cole implying she’d put on weight? The nerve! This fiasco was clearly down to his incompetence. Either that, or her costume had been sabotaged by some jealous understudy.

But speculation over the cause could come later. Right now, she needed to make sure that Cole had a plan for fixing her dress. Coralee placed her hands on her hips. “Well? What are you going to do about it?”

Cole didn't know how he could've made such a huge mistake, how the measurements could've been so inaccurate, but that wasn't his first thought when Coralee snapped at him and clenched her jaw in a way that seemed to sharpen every angle of her pretty face. His first thought was that he'd let her down...and that now she would never like him. Not even as a friend or an acquaintance and certainly not the same way that he liked her. His dark eyes turned to the ground for a moment and he murmured in a nearly inaudible voice, "I'm sorry. I don’t know what happened. I don't normally screw up." Though, lately, that wasn't true, was it? He'd messed up on the costume and the charms for the faerie wings. He'd failed to summon a Patronus. He'd done one oblivious and stupid thing after another, making Calvin worry. Maybe...the person on the Anonymous Post had been right after all. Maybe he was mentally deficient. Despite what Calvin had said.

He wanted to turn around and walk out. He wanted very badly to be alone and to draw and to dream; do the things that he still knew how to do. But he couldn't. Sometime during this long silence, his fingers had started to fidget and twist restlessly and he knotted them together in front of him to force them to stop when Coralee's question pulled him fro his thoughts. "...I'll fix it," he said, "Even if I have to start over, I'll fix it. I promise." He looked up at the girl, hoping for...something. Relief or reassurance or at least a decrease in the intensity of her anger. But no such luck. "I'll need to take your measurements again, though," he added stiffly.

Coralee rolled her eyes so hard they physically hurt. “Fine,” she sighed, fishing a hairband out of her pocket and pulling her hair into a high ponytail to keep it off her back and out of the way. She’d attempted to take her own measurements while she’d been waiting for Cole, but while it was fairly straightforward measuring, say, her waist, things got a bit trickier when it came to inside leg measurements and all that. Even if she’d known how to charm the tape measure to move by itself, she still wouldn’t have been able to read the number.

Stepping forward, Coralee raised her arms and affected a bored expression as she stared over Cole’s head. It hadn’t escaped her notice that Cole seemed even more pathetic and clumsy than usual, and she hadn’t even been able to make out his mumbled apology. And so, even though she was cross and tense, she couldn’t help doing what she did best: trying to provoke a reaction.

“Try not to let your hands wander too much,” she told him. “I don’t want you getting overexcited.”

This accusation sailed over Cole's head at first and, while he could tell that Coralee still wasn't happy with him or with the situation, he just stared back at her blankly. Then understanding slowly registered on his features and his lips thinned again. He bit his lower lip without thinking, realized that he was doing because it started to hurt, and stopped. "You mean. Because I think you're beautiful?" he asked, then shook his head adamantly enough that his dark hair slid down into his eyes and he had to push it back. He didn't want to...but he remembered how it'd felt to have her do that when they were still under the thrall of Amortentia. "I wouldn't do that," he finished quietly. Then he went to one of the nearby tables and opened a sewing kit to find a tape measure.

Once he had one (and a pen and paper), he hurried back over to her and unfurled the tape to start. Remembering what she'd said, he began with her arms.

Oh my god. Coralee bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing out loud. She wasn’t surprised that Cole thought she was beautiful -- of course he did; who wouldn’t think that? -- but the sad little way in which he’d said it…

“I don’t know what you would or wouldn’t do, Cole,” she sighed, like bringing up this topic pained her. “We’re all alone… You’re a teenage boy… It would be so easy for you to cop a feel while you were adjusting the tape measure.”

This accusation was blunt enough that even Cole understood it immediately and he looked startled, then hurt, then intensely guilty as he drew back his hands and the measuring tape. Like he actually had been caught trying to cop a feel. He shook his head again and repeated, his small voice becoming smaller as he attempted to reassure Coralee, "I wouldn't do that. I promise. So you don't need to worry. Okay?"

“I’ll scream if you do,” Coralee continued like he hadn’t spoken. “I’m not that kind of girl, Cole.” This was too much fun -- and too easy. He wasn’t even putting up a fight. Coralee had completely forgotten how stressed she’d been earlier. As always, she’d got someone else to sort out a problem, leaving her free to concentrate on more important things. Like finding out exactly how smitten Cole was with her.

“Come on, I haven’t got all day,” she said, gesturing to the measuring tape which now hung limply from his hands.

While Cole was still distraught, not knowing how to prove to Coralee that he wasn't that kind of boy either, he bit his lip and nodded and approached her again. With obvious care, he looped the tape around her dainty wrist and began to take the measurements. Each time he acquired a new measurement, he turned to his notebook to write it down in his small, tight script before returning his attention to her; he was being careful because he wanted to be certain that it was right this time and so this was going to take a while.

Coralee managed to restrain herself from sighing and tapping her foot -- she didn’t want to put Cole off, after all, since it was imperative he actually got the measurements right this time -- but she did roll her eyes when he wasn’t looking. This was so painfully slow.

At last, however, he seemed to be finished. “Are we done?” she asked brightly, reaching up to let down her ponytail. “Perfect! And you’ll start work on it straight away, right? That would be such a weight off my mind. You’re a star, Cole.” She gave him her most charming society smile. “Wow, is that the time? I’ll be late for class.” Coralee picked up her bag and tossed her hair over her shoulder in one practiced movement. “If there’s nothing else…?”

Cole was still scribbling the last of the measurements down when Coralee began talking to him and he looked up just in time to see her dark hair tumble down around her shoulders. His heart gave an odd little throb and he nodded, quick and obedient and obviously eager to please the girl after all that had just passed between them. "Yeah. That's all I needed. I'll get started today. And it'll be perfect this time; I promise." When these promises were rewarded with an entirely unexpected compliment (it was good to be a star, right?) and a brilliant smile...he smiled back, his own expression unrestrained and almost awkwardly earnest. "There's not. Um. Bye. Coralee. I'll let you know when it's done."