Michael Corner (folkdevil) wrote in caged, @ 2013-10-17 22:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! 97-10, [ log ], lisa turpin, michael corner |
WHO: Michael Corner and Lisa Turpin
WHEN: 17 October, 1997
WHERE: The Ravenclaw Common Room
SUMMARY: Discussing Michael's detention habit.
RATING: PG-13ish? Talk of blood quills, etc.
STATUS: Complete log.
Detention was stupid. Or, at least, that was what Michael kept saying in his head because he wasn’t sure he had the energy to think much more thoroughly about it. His hand was throbbing, he was tired, and feeling a bit irritable. Which was only compounded by the Ministry fuckery but he didn’t even have the energy to deal with that. Or acknowledge it. Or even rebel against it. Instead he just dropped into a chair in the common room, looking out the window with a sigh. He was tempted to just go up to his dorm, to go to bed, but once he’d sat down he wasn’t terribly motivated to get up and move again. He’d make it up there eventually. Lisa wasn’t usually one for going to bed early, anyway, but she tended to shut herself up behind her bed curtains and read for the last few hours before she went to sleep. She’d been awake for a few hours, making her way through her book, but she was restless in a way that didn’t usually strike her this late an hour. Putting her book aside, Lisa sighed and stuck her feet into ridiculously fluffy bunny slippers, looking around the dorm room to see who was up before deciding to go down to the common room. It wasn’t that she expected there to be anything fun in the common room, but it wasn’t that late which meant there was usually someone hanging around that Lisa could talk to for a little while. She padded down the stairs into the common room, looking around for a familiar face. It took a few seconds before she clocked Michael and she could feel a frown tugging her lips downwards. She knew he’d had detention and she licked her lips for a second, considering the wisdom of talking to Michael, but she never really could help herself from bothering her friends. Walking over, Lisa stood over Michael, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow. “All right, Michael?” she asked, her tone only slightly arch. “Grand,” Michael replied, his tone noticeably sarcastic. Which probably wasn’t fair, but detention didn’t exactly put him in the greatest of moods. And it wasn’t that he didn’t like Lisa, he did. But she did have a tendency to be the most obnoxious at the worst times, and he was fairly sure she’d know what he just came from detention. His hand was evidence enough of that. Michael turned his head, looking at Lisa before smirking just slightly. “Nice slippers.” He thought about telling her to go away, but he wasn’t feeling that mean. Lisa frowned again and then rolled her eyes at the sarcasm, moving away to drop down on to the sofa nearby. She didn’t particularly want to hover over him -- that seemed weird and Michael was very obviously not in the mood for that exactly level of annoyance right now. Her eyes kept flicking to his hand. Honestly, Lisa didn’t know whether to say anything or not at this point. She did smile a little, gleefully, at the mention of her slippers and she wiggled her feet in delight. “Aren’t they great? They’re probably the best slippers that exist on the planet.” Glancing over at Michael, she said, “You really should get some. They make you feel better after long days.” It was only slightly a comment on his detention, but it was still obvious enough. “But then I might have the best slippers that exist on the planet and then I’m sure you’d cry for days. Months, even. Wouldn’t want to usurp your crown. Though it would be hard. Those are pretty hard to contend with.” Which really was code for ugly as sin. They were actually an impressive level of ugly. Michael noticed the way her eyes seemed to flicker to his hand, and he could tell ‘long day’ was a reference to his detention. He wasn’t sure if she actually had something to say on the matter, though it seemed likely. She’d already made her opinion on his behaviour fairly clear. “I don’t think slippers are really what I need these days anyway. A new hand, perhaps. Do you know where they might sell those?” Might as well get the lecturing over with. “You’ll never usurp my crown,” Lisa said imperiously and then giggled, wiggling her feet once for good measure before drawing them back. It was easier to make jokes than it was to think about the very real fact that one of her classmates -- one of her friends -- was repeatedly carving stupid lines into his stupid skin because of some stubborn pride. Lisa knew that Michael had his reasons and he’d even told her some of them, but that didn’t mean that she thought he was making any kind of decision which made real sense. It seemed a lot like a sacrifice being made out of a stubborn determination to carry out a course of action which hadn’t been really thought through, in her opinion. And Michael had brought it up so easily! There was ample opportunity here to talk about it. Licking her lips a little, Lisa glanced around the common room and then sat forward a little, elbows on her knees. “Maybe you wouldn’t need a new hand if you didn’t get detention as often,” she said. “Doesn’t it hurt? A lot? It looks really sore.” Michael just looked at her for a long moment, eyebrow raised. “Of course it fucking hurts,” he snapped, harsher than he’d really meant given that he’d brought up the topic in the first place. “And don’t you think that instead of blaming me for getting detention, we really ought to be blaming them for using inhumane forms of punishment?” He thought so anyway. He leaned back in the chair, using his other hand to run through his hair while he let out a breath. It wasn’t like he was really trying to get detention, exactly. He could certainly do without it, but he couldn’t seem to quite suck it up, either. “Perhaps I’ll work on becoming ambidextrous,” he added after a moment, quieter. Her eyebrows rose at Michael’s harsh tone and her lips pursed. She didn’t really care, usually, at people snapping -- Lisa was acutely aware of her own tendency to be obnoxious -- but it didn’t stop her annoyance at being snapped out for making a legitimate suggestion. She didn’t understand why it was hard. Don’t get detentions, especially when you know the consequences. “No, I think we should be celebrating people using blood quills obviously,” she snapped back. Lisa had always had problems with not responding in kind. Biting the inside of her cheek, she reminded herself that hey, maybe snapping at someone wasn’t the best way to talk to them about something. “I’m not saying it’s humane, Michael. I’m saying be smart. Though being ambidextrous probably wouldn’t hurt.” Michael frowned, lips pursing as he crossed his arms over his chest only to readjust them a second later to make sure his hand wasn’t pressing against anything. Which he knew only brought more attention to it and that was frustrating, at best. He didn’t really love this feeling, of feeling pathetic and chastised over expecting human decency. Apparently it was too much to ask for. “And being smart is doing everything they say and listening to all the bullshit just so I don’t spend a few hours writing lines in my own blood?” It was hard to miss the way Michael shifted to make his hand more comfortable and Lisa followed the movement with her eyes. Her expression shifted, twisting into sympathy and then a quick attempt to shut that down. It wasn’t that Lisa didn’t want Michael knowing that she thought it was awful and she’d rather it wasn’t happening, it was more that she generally felt uncomfortable expressing anything that wasn’t enthusiasm or annoyance with most people and sympathy over blood quill detentions definitely counted that way. “Being smart is bringing a book to class,” she shot back. “You said you were going to think about it. Why’d you not do it?” “Thinking about it isn’t agreeing to do it,” Michael retorted, feeling irritated and attacked. “I can’t just let them win. At this point bringing my book would be like saying that they’re right. That it’s okay to say and do these things, and a little bit of blood loss is enough to get anyone to shut up. But it’s not actually okay, Lisa. Don’t you get that?” Objectively, Michael knew that the Carrows probably didn’t give a shit about the fact that he refused to bring his book. (Refused to buy it, really.) He was sure that his stand wasn’t making much of a difference that way, but it wasn’t just about making an impact on the Carrows, it was also being an example to everyone else that standing up was possible. Even if nobody else gave a shit. Okay, so maybe it was all a bit futile. Lisa snorted, in a manner not unlike an impatient and aggravated animal, truth be told. She shifted position, wrapping her arms around herself. Her gaze kept flickering from Michael, to his hand, to her own feet. “You can stop asking whether I get things or not,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t like it. And, really, I think you’re being a stubborn shit about this.” While she hadn’t meant to be quite that blunt, it was out there and Lisa decided to go with it. She lifted a hand to drag through her hair, ruffling it in a way that looked patently ridiculous, leaving flicks of hair everywhere as she tried to sort through what she wanted to say. Apparently, Michael enjoyed being difficult. “How many of your friends bring that book into class?” she asked, after a moment. “Do you think they all think that these people are right? Or do you think they want to leave this school, maybe? They’re going to make you repeat a year, Michael.” “I’m not going to repeat a year, Lisa.” Even if they tried, there was no way in hell that he’d actually stay at Hogwarts for another year. He’d run away. Leave the country. Hell, he’d commit a crime and get himself thrown in Azkaban before he’d stay here any longer. It’d be a family reunion of sorts. A really sad, awful family reunion. Michael went silent then, trying to figure out how to respond because it wasn’t like he didn’t know that he was being a stubborn shit about the book thing. “Your hair looks ridiculous,” he said, instead. Lisa fell quiet for a moment, staring at Michael. She didn’t know what to say, now, when partly she wanted to kick him and partly she wanted to just give him her stupid book -- except she could clearly see the evidence of not bringing your book and that was definitely something that Lisa never wanted to experience. She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it, waiting for a second. Of course then he said her hair was ridiculous and she responded before even thinking. “Your face looks ridiculous.” Still, she lifted a hand and combed her fingers through her hair, mulling over what to say. “I’m not letting this rest. I don’t think it’s ridiculous to bring your book. You don’t know you’re not going to repeat a year. If you know how you feel, who cares what the Carrows think? Do you care about their opinion of you, Michael? Is that it?” Lisa asked, voice pitched low. It was late enough that she felt tired and this discussion was draining, when she wasn’t sure there was any real possibility Michael would listen. Nevertheless, that had never stopped her before and Lisa had always been a bit obstinate. “Excuse you, I have a great face,” Michael responded automatically, managing the smallest of smiles before it faded again as he thought about Lisa’s questions. They were dumb, if he was being honest, and entirely missing the point. “No. I don’t care the least bit about the Carrows’ opinions of me. It’s not so much about that as standing up and saying this isn’t okay. There are enough people who are undecided about all this. I don’t want the only opinion people hear to be the one that’s completely and utterly wrong.” “Well, you’ve completely and utterly convinced me with all this mutilating your hand business,” Lisa said, rolling her eyes. She didn’t try to rein in the obvious bite to the words, but neither did it sound as harsh as it could have mostly because she didn’t know if she could summon up that in the face of the raised words scratched into the back of Michael’s hand. “I’m concerned you’re doing it to try and make a difference or whatever or because you feel like it’s the least you can do with your dad -- where your dad is -- and you’re doing this to make a point. And, yeah, whatever you want people to know what you think and that’s fine, but I think there are better ways for you to do that that maybe don’t involve bleeding.” Reaching for a pillow, Lisa picked it up and hugged it to her chest, partly for something to do that didn’t involve watching Michael’s reaction. “Of course I’m doing it to make a point. I’m not doing this for shits and giggles. I don’t enjoy being forced to mutilate myself,” he shot back, feeling irritated again. “Making a difference is exactly why I’m doing it.” He didn’t want to address the part about his dad. He wanted to think that he’d do this anyway, even if his father wasn’t in Azkaban, but he knew that was a large contributing factor. But he didn’t want to talk about any of that. Especially not with Lisa who he was pretty sure wouldn’t understand. “Standing up to them in just about any way seems to result in detention. Which results in bleeding. And what’s a bit of pain and bleeding, really?” Lisa sighed heavily and threw the pillow at Michael. “You’re impossible,” she said and then sighed again, to further demonstrate the extent to which she thought Michael was impossible. “You’re also not making a difference to anyone but yourself. Which, fine, I think it’s stupid but if that’s what you want to do fine, just don’t pretend otherwise.” Michael caught the pillow, looking at Lisa for a long moment before throwing it back at her and standing up. “Fine. I’m a stubborn idiot. Nobody gives a fuck, blah blah blah. Got it. Good night, Lisa.” Running a hand through his hair, he sighed. He wasn’t really in the mood to argue this anymore. “UM, I obviously give a fuck, otherwise why would I be still talking to you about it?” Lisa said. She set the pillow she’d caught back down on the sofa beside her. Honestly, this wasn’t exactly an unexpected trajectory for the conversation, but she felt a little like she’d probably been too harsh. “Do you have stuff for your hand at least?” Michael had been about to walk away when Lisa spoke again and he paused, considering her for a moment before nodding. As much as it was more than evident that she just didn’t get it, he supposed she cared on some level. He just wished she got it. “I do. It’s upstairs, so.” He was about out, but it would do for the night, at least. He’d live. “Good.” She stood, unfolding herself from the sofa and smiled a little. “I hope your hand’s better soon. Night, Michael.” |