Ursula Flint will just read a book instead. (uninterested) wrote in caged, @ 2013-12-16 17:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! 97-12, [ log ], samson capper, ursula flint |
WHO: Samson Capper and Ursula Flint.
WHAT: Getting caught under mistletoe - just after that discussion they had about letting things trail off in public. Shit.
WHERE: Just outside the Great Hall.
WHEN: Sunday, December 15.
RATING: PG for awkward claws.
STATUS: Complete log!
Tuning out was what she did best nowadays. Practicing it whenever and wherever she could, whenever and wherever it was socially acceptable, reminding herself that there were only eight weeks - four weeks - two weeks until escape, however temporary it might be. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was a universal Ravenclaw trait or not, but she couldn’t have been the only student who’d ever made their way absently through the castle with their eyes on the book in their hands rather than the path their feet would travel or the people she carefully (and peripherally) avoided collision with as one Ursula Flint pulled herself up from the table in the Great Hall. Patiently, with half her mind on basic navigation and half her mind on the admittedly engrossing novel she’d picked up on that last trip to Hogsmeade - a distraction; she’d needed one - she filtered absently through the clusters of students, pushing through the doors out of the room and into the hallway just outside it. She had only just fallen into the shadow of someone much taller than her (and had moved to sidestep them) when the noise of a clearing throat echoed vaguely in the long hall, and she blinked, lifted her eyes, and then, surprisedly, “Samson. Hi!” A little surprised by the greeting, because for a moment Samson was convinced that Ursula was about to walk right by him with her nose in that book (she’d sidestepped him - she clearly had every intention of moving along) and was prepared to just keep along on his own way, he stopped awkwardly and turned to look down at her properly. She probably just hadn’t noticed him. It seemed doubtful she would purposely ignore him outright, even after...well, whatever they’d agreed upon. He wasn’t even sure if they had. They were friends and teammates regardless of whatever else was going on, and friends and teammates still said hello in the halls. “Hey,” he replied with a smile, self-consciously checking the flap of his bag, as if it would have fallen open of its own volition. If he’d given it a look, Samson would have noticed that the tiny terrarium hanging from the bag’s strap had grown marginally darker and begun to rain pleasantly. Instead, his gaze was occupied by the book in Ursula’s hands. “Is that the one we found at Hogsmeade?” Still with an air of surprise, as though she hadn’t expected to run into him - scolding herself inwardly, of course she’d run into him, it was still Hogwarts, populated by all the same students; wondering if she should or shouldn’t have acknowledged him, how far this stepping back thing went, whether he would have preferred it, here, where anyone could happen upon them, but before she’d gotten herself in too deep - she answered, blinking first at him and then back down at the volume in her hands, “Yeah! The, um,” and she lifted it, two fingers between the pages to hold her place and show him the spine, adding lamely, “yeah, that one.” Another moment later, she uncertainly returned it to her possession, letting the cover land flat against the plane of her chest and holding it there with a forearm. Oh, awkward be damned, she could do this. Forcing herself to smile at him, to regain her typical sarcastic composure - and the longer she looked at him, the less it was forced, to be honest - she answered, cheerful, “I’ll let you borrow it when I’m finished, if you ask nicely.” Samson gave her a sidelong smirk and nodded sagely. “I have been telling myself I need to read more romancey mystery sorts of things, you know?” He gave the book another look before focusing his attention of Ursula’s face. Initial weirdness of the run-in notwithstanding, it only took a few moments to sink back into the familiar rapport they had, and he was grateful for it. It was one thing to cool it on any public displays of togetherness, but it would probably be just as strange and noticeable if they’d suddenly started being unduly aloof toward one another. Acting like they were mates was easy, because they were. They’d done this for years. “Where were you heading off to?” he asked after a few moments, genuinely curious. He hadn’t seen her since that morning, except over breakfast, and that hardly counted. “Oh, obviously,” came her assured response, nodding as secondary agreement. “I was just saying to myself when I was reading the line,” and here she put on a pompous tone, reopened the book to quote, puffed herself up, “ ‘the real mystery was whether she thought he was as fit as he thought her,’ is just such your type of literature.” With a broad smile, she went on as primly as she could manage, “I feel bad keeping it from you this long, honestly, but I suppose you’re willing to wait.” Letting the careful charm - or perhaps it was more of a front? - slough off her like effort, she answered his second query easily, “Common Room. I’ve got a bit of time, and five more chapters.. to…” she trailed off, frowning uncertainly as the small, textured shadow of an inoffensive piece of mistletoe zipped purposefully above the two of them, hovering just above Samson’s head and unmistakably between the Ravenclaws with a patient air of ‘guess who?’ lingering. Samson laughed at Ursula’s sally and had the beginnings of a reply on his tongue when he noticed her trailing off instead, her eyes settling on something above him. Perplexed, he tipped his head back to look, eyebrows knitted together. After half expecting Peeves to be there with something nasty to drop on them both (but then, when had Peeves ever been sneaky enough to go unnoticed in his approach?), it was with a strange mixture of relief and awkward hesitance that Samson found a bunch of mistletoe bobbing innocuously over their heads. He felt his eyes widen a little and he looked back to Ursula questioningly. “Oh.” Neck straining as she too lifted her eyes to watch, as though it might suddenly change its mind, the charmed greenery that hung placidly above them, she exhaled; her laughter sounded a moment later, too nervously to be brushed off, the look on her face too uncertain not to speak to the complex knot of feelings brought to the surface, the most keen of which was uneasiness. And it wasn’t as if it were anything new to them! The only thing that was new was -- the idea that neither of them knew how much distance to keep. Quietly, uncertainly, just low enough that anyone who might be passing wouldn’t be able to make out the words in their entirety, she asked, “Easier if we just go with it, yeah?” “Course,” he replied, tone equally hushed, acutely aware of how ridiculous it was that both of them seemed to think this called for covert agreement that they just ought to suck it up and get it over with. It was completely strange. Something that felt perfectly natural under any other circumstances, but was in this circumstance expected due to silly holiday superstition or tradition or whatever it was, when they were meant to be acting like it wasn’t something wanted, but he did want to, and -- Merlin’s balls. And he didn’t even want to get started on thinking about whether he was supposed to make it look like he thought it was funny, or awkward, or weird. Samson realized he was hesitating, and Ursula was looking up at him a little like she half-expected him to bolt. He wasn’t going to bolt. Instead, he threw a bashful and belabored look at a trio of third year Gryffindor girls who were standing nearby. They had noticed the predicament of their older peers before and were looking on expectantly, doing nothing whatsoever to hide their smiles and giggles behind their hands or books. Samson rolled his eyes, not at the situation so much as at their audience, and set himself to a task that was by comparison much more pleasant. Or should have been. Except that the fact that they had such obvious and interested onlookers was making Samson self-conscious, which, if he thought about it later on, might have seemed a good thing after all. It made his move to kiss Ursula seem reluctant and embarrassed, rather than the very easy and familiar act it had become over the last few months. An arm looped loosely behind her, he bent forward and kissed her for one-two-three seconds, a closed-mouth peck that felt peculiarly restrained - but still very nice. She didn’t know, for starters, why her heart was beating faster than normal, or why this somehow felt more treacherous than any of the other times - the first time, for example, that he’d kissed her, or the late night in the Common Room where they were nearly interrupted snogging, or any of it. This shouldn’t feel any different, and yet they were looking at one another like it was completely different, like something was awkward between them - maybe like they’d never done this before. And yet they had - and yet it was weird. It bounced back and forth in her head as she looked up at him meekly, letting the uncertainty suffuse the situation before she answered it. Trying to convince herself simultaneously not to listen to the titters of their small audience and also that it was good that people saw it, good that their awkward was on display, she was on the verge of breaking the silence again when he moved into her, let his arm encircle the small of her back - she tried not to react, to remain stiff and uncomfortable despite the familiarity in it; she didn’t close her eyes, let his lips touch hers and stand even as she breathed him in, just one breath, and then he was leaving her. She let her eyes fall immediately, felt a slight flush come over her, and answered abruptly, surprised how little she had to fake the awkwardness, “Sorry. About that.” Noting the faint blush that crept across her face, Samson tried to ignore the gratified flip of his stomach and cleared his throat. It was easier to ignore the silly younger girls who, the show apparently over, were moving on to their common rooms. He took a step back, overly aware of the floor beneath his feet. As if he, too, had something to apologize for, Samson had the decency to grin sheepishly and hold his hands up as if in surrender. “It’s fine. You know.” Lamely, he pointed at the mistletoe as it gave itself a little shake and began to float leisurely along in search of new prey. “Mistletoe.” Wow, this was actually terrible. Whoever invented this custom was some sort of sadist. Samson may have been being a bit melodramatic, here, and luckily he wouldn’t let it show. He sighed and shrugged, smiling to settle himself and feeling that awkward tension ebb away a bit. He thought this part of things had passed. With the kissing, at least. “So,” he tried, shuffling his feet. “Not bad, you.” Her gaze flickered after their audience, hesitantly searching the hallways around them for spectators before returning her eyes to him, this time with guilt heavy in them. It was confusing, this-- this careful dance they were doing, some type of uncertainty lingering in the air between them that did, at least, sell the notion that something had changed between them to anyone who might have been watching. At least to the third years who, she remembered with a revival of the blush, had tittered during those three brief seconds despite dispersing once the liplock was over. Once it was only the pair of them in that small stretch of hallway, though, she offered him an uncertain smile, answering in a tone as wary as the look on her face might suggest, “Yeah, you too.” Blowing out a little sigh - again sloughing off something, the facade, the tension, the effort she’d forgotten she used to put in around him - she admitted, “That was easy and difficult at the same time, yeah?” Samson nodded and scratched his chin, feeling immediately that this was such an easier encounter when it didn’t feel like there was someone watching. It hadn’t been like this a few weeks ago, had it? When he had actually started worrying about what someone else was going to think, if he was seen with Ursula and seemed too familiar? Nothing had changed between them and yet they were imposing this upon themselves. Rationally, he understood the use of the practice. More for Ursula than for himself, as things currently, anyway. He didn’t mind, he really didn’t. It just made encounters like this unnecessarily complicated. Which he maybe did mind a little bit. “It was,” he agreed at last, not wanting the silence to drag on for too long. The longer it went, the more it would seem like something was wrong. “I’m overthinking it.” And third year girls wouldn’t give half a thought to any of this, beyond their juvenile amusement at an unlikely pair trapped in a silly situation. If there was anything the two Ravenclaws were particularly good at - or at least experienced with - it was awkward silences. It settled over them even after he tried valiantly to ward it off with those few words; she couldn’t think of what to say to them, couldn’t decide if she should admit to doing the same or considering the possibility that she was thinking about it just as much as she should, in this situation. Half the time she thought it was ridiculous, this notion of pulling apart - but should she actually garner the spotlight, his connection to her, she reminded herself, would be the only thing that got him in trouble. Wandless. Hands. Violent revolution. So finally, hesitantly, looking up at him with both uncertainty and some small amount of longing, something in her voice that was apologetic, she said, carefully, “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow after lunch, yeah?” It was half an invitation and half an out - whichever he wanted to take. What were they doing? What needs to be done. Just in case. “You definitely will,” he replied, no wait at all this time, because it was no different than he would have said a year ago. Samson wasn’t sure what else to do. They probably ought to be on their separate ways. There was only a week left of this anyway. On Friday, they would both be out of school, and then it was more the matter of her telling her parents she was somewhere she wasn’t, and him trying to explain to his dad that the girl who might be visiting one day over hols wasn’t a girlfriend at all. And when he thought of it like that, it hardly seemed much better - but in some ways it would have to be. They’d have a weekend to themselves. Meeting her eyes, he ducked his head (though it hardly did a thing for the height difference) and gave her a crooked smile. “Count on it, aye?” Unwillingly, she answered with a light flush across her features, deliberately looked at the ground to hide emotion or embarrassment, one the truth and one the facade, she answered loudly, “Yeah, I will.” Then, returning her eyes to Samson for just a moment, she gave a small nod before starting off again on her way, ducking around him and opening her book. It was a good three minutes before she actually managed to focus on the words where she’d left off. |