chelsea corner (filial) wrote in disorderic, @ 2017-09-22 17:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | chelsea corner, gwendolyn vane |
WHO: Gwendolyn Vane and Chelsea Corner
WHAT: Five times Gwen and Chelsea convinced each other to do stupid things
WHEN: All times
WHERE: Every place
WARNINGS: Mentions of nudity!
AGE 12. Gwendolyn stood, with her hands on her hips, examining herself critically in the mirror. For the past several days, she’d been working with Chelsea to make sure their costumes were just right. It was important to treat the occasion with enough deference that the original club members were happy enough to let them participate but, at the same time, fake armour was so boring. The almost hidden trail of flowers around the scabbard of the fake sword had been her favourite part of designing the costume. Gwen saw it in the mirror and grinned, gripping a hold of it and spinning around to where Chelsea stood, fake sword out. “Now that I’ve got you at swordpoint, you must lead me to the treasure,” she said, loudly, a broad grin on her face. She didn’t laugh at all, which was very good practice for later. Chelsea had forgotten who had the idea first, but she really hoped it wasn't her, because as she struggled to put on her costume, she kept thinking about how stupid of an idea this was. So if it had been her idea, then she would've felt dumb and sweaty, possibly the worst combination of things to be. When she finally snapped the last buckle on, she sighed with relief. At least that was over. "I never will!" She declared, pulling her own sword off the bed and swinging it around in what she hoped was a fancy movement. She'd seen it happen a lot on TV, so she just needed to copy them. "En garde!" Chelsea paused, frowning. "That's fencing." “Can we not say en garde?” Gwen could hear the disgust that had wound itself around her words as she swung her fake sword against Chelsea’s. It didn’t make a satisfying noise so she imitated one, except it sounded more like a lightsaber than the clink of steel. “What’s even the point if we don’t get to say en garde?” "Well, we could say it and hope they don't care, but they probably care. Remember how that one guy was correcting everyone on the way they were standing? He probably cares that we're not saying like…" Chelsea had to think about what would be appropriate for the specific time period. "Tally ho?" Gwen wrinkled her nose, slowly lowering her fake sword. Chelsea’s came down with it. “Tally ho,” she said, scoffing. She shook her head and her hair, braided for this occasion, hit against the side of her head. “These people are such awful dorks, C.” She did not say that they were surely no better, standing in fake armour, preparing to traipse across the muddy field and spend all afternoon hitting people with swords and pretending to die (for love! For honour! For COUNTRY! They had screamed the saying a lot; Gwen could repeat its particular inflection in her sleep). "We probably don't have to stay that long," she suggested. "How long does it take for them to fake kill us? We're not really that experienced." Chelsea looked longingly at her bed, wishing she was out of the armour and laying down in her real clothes instead. "Did you practice playing dead? I tried to last night but it just made me fall asleep." “I thought I’d just choke really dramatically and be like ‘Tell my mother….I loved her.” Gwen wrinkled her nose. “Should I swoon then and die? What do you think?” Even as she asked, she started to act it, fake swooning. It was surprisingly difficult with the armour and it took her more time than it should have to get to the ground. Chelsea tried not to laugh at the sight of Gwen sprawled on the floor, but the armour was clearly uncomfortable and she knew it'd be really hard for her to get up from that, so it was an unsuccessful attempt. When her laughter subsided, she nodded and gave her a thumbs up. "You should totally do that. But make sure no one else is behind you. What if it's like a domino effect and then you knock everyone else over?" “That would be the coolest thing I’d have done this week,” Gwen said, strongly. She put her elbows on the ground and tried to push herself up into a sitting position. The breastplate made it surprisingly difficult. It didn’t seem to want to move with her, making every movement slower and more difficult. “You’d have to video it. I’d have to get a full film crew.” "Should I just get a full film crew now? Maybe I can get the boys to come with us, but I don't really want them to laugh at us." Chelsea thought about it some more and made a face. "I'll have to find some people who are scared of us and would never use this against us." Then, as if she just noticed Gwen struggling, she asked, "Are you stuck down there?" “Isn’t everyone scared of us?” Gwen asked, with her eyebrows raised. “I mean, we have swords.” She gestured towards the sword which lay abandoned a couple of feet from her, dramatically cast aside as she had swooned to her fake death. “It’s very intimidating.” What was decidedly less intimidating was definitely struggling to sit up. She tried a couple more times and then flopped back onto the floor, holding a hand straight up in the air. “You’re going to have to help me.” "The swords aren't even that pointy," Chelsea pointed out, glancing over to where she'd dropped hers. "Who'd be scared of a non-pointy sword?" But she shook her head and moved on from her griping, instead extending her own hand to pull Gwen up. It was much harder than she'd expected, and she probably should've crouched down first, but it was clearly hard enough to get up, and she hadn't thought it would work out well for her if she did that. In any case, as she was trying to get Gwen back up, Chelsea fell over onto the floor and groaned at nothing in particular. Matter-of-factly: "I don't think this was a very good idea." Laughter filled the room, bouncing off the walls and filling it with noise, as Gwen kept giggling until tears filled her eyes. She rolled onto her side, the breastplate shifting awkwardly as she reached out towards Chelsea. “We are so going to fake die surrounded by nerds.” AGE 13. The water was (probably) clean and it was shiny, and with the sun shining down on them, it was clearly a good omen. Chelsea had learned about omens last week in Divination, and even though she had rolled her eyes at least ten times, sometimes you just had to believe in things when they were working out for you. She took it as a good sign that everything was lining up for her amazing idea. She cleared her throat and turned around to face Gwen. Standing up straight, she gestured to the lake behind her. "I've decided to start a swimming club. Obviously you're joining." Gwen had her face tilted towards the sun, large sunglasses on and the heat bathing over her. It was an unusually warm day for early spring, but she was going to take it. Her robes were on the ground, acting as a makeshift blanket, and she was sitting on top of them, mostly ignoring Chelsea, who’d been staring at the lake in some sort of daydream. Her voice startled Gwen and she turned towards her, mouth open in surprise. She squinted at the other girl, though it was mostly imperceptible behind her sunglasses. “Excuse me?” "I've been thinking about it lately and it's just not right that the only sport we have here is Quidditch." Chelsea's emphasis made it clear how she really felt about that. "What about the people who don't want to play Quidditch? What about the people who're afraid of heights? What about —" her voice raised with the practice she'd done when she recited this speech last night, "The people who want more choice in their activities? What about…" A pause to build up suspense. "The swimmers?" Beaming at Gwen, unaware that her friend was more interested in enjoying the sun than her important project, she pointed at the lake again. "We can start our own club!" “Um,” Gwen said, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees. She looked at Chelsea, passion apparent in the way she was holding herself and the expression on her face, the way her eyes lit up. It was hard not to listen to her, to be taken in. Gwen found herself nodding. “I suppose. If you wanted. I didn’t know you were into swimming?” "I'm not, really," Chelsea admitted with a shrug. She swam during summers and liked to dive, but she couldn't say she was a superfan or anything. "I like it, but imagine building up a club for everyone! We could challenge the Quidditch players!" “To swim matches?” She clarified, "In general. They have all the power at the school! We need to equalize it a bit." It occurred to her that she had forgotten to think about a crucial part of this plan. "Can you swim?" Gwen wrinkled her nose. “I’ve had swimming lessons,” she said, looking out at the lake. Its surface shimmered like glass under the sun, reflecting it back up at her. She watched it carefully. “I haven’t done it in a while, but I probably haven’t forgotten.” Pushing hair away from her face, she said, “Are there going to be teams in this idea?” "We have to recruit first before that happens. Obviously the boys are joining. They've got no say in it. And then we just have to put up some signs." Truthfully, she hadn't thought past the starting a new club thing and had skipped entirely to the already a super popular club that everyone was vying to join thing. Everything in between was a little fuzzy. “Are we going to swim in the lake?” Gwen asked, trying to ease the scepticism out of her voice. It wasn’t all that hard — there was a large part of Gwen that loved clubs, loved the thrill of setting a new project up, the rush of enthusiasm and creativity. She could already feel it emanating from Chelsea, settling around her shoulders. She tilted her head towards her friend and grinned broadly. "Have you found a secret pool lately? Because I prefer a pool but Hogwarts is so Quidditch-biased, I didn't think there would be one." “We could build a pool,” Gwendolyn said, but the sheer ridiculousness of that suggestion stopped her from going any further. Of course they couldn’t. “We would have to ensure that it was safe enough,” she said instead. “There’s the squid to think about. And some people are such wusses.” "I'm not convinced the squid is real," Chelsea said, casting a look at the lake. If he was, then it would be the perfect moment to appear and prove her wrong. The water shimmered but nothing moved from underneath it. "We've only heard about it. Have you ever seen it?" “I think I saw the water ripple a couple of times,” Gwen said, looking at its surface expectantly. Nothing happened, no matter how much she willed it — and Gwen had willed it many times, her desire to see it overriding the fact that it probably was better that the squid avoided her. “We could swim with the squid sometime, actually. Or try! I think that would be very cool.” "If it exists." A beat, then, "And if it proves that it's friendly. We can't start swimming club if we're both dead because of swimming club." “We wouldn’t die,” Gwendolyn said, with a scoff. She looked at the lake again and then propelled herself upwards. Her sunglasses dulled the surroundings, so she took them off, pushing them on top of her head as she walked towards the edge of the lake. Gwen kicked her shoes off and dipped her toes in. “I suppose I’d help you with a swimming club. If you insist.” Chelsea grinned and joined Gwen at the edge, knocking her shoulder against hers. "You can be the vice captain. I'm the president captain." AGE 15. There were supplies spread out all over Gwendolyn’s kitchen. She’d first been hit by the idea a couple of weeks previously, before Hogwarts had let out for the summer, but Gwen had kept it quiet. She’d slowly built up a supply horde and now it was spread in front of her, complete with two rucksacks, and a bemused Chelsea, standing in the middle of the room as Gwen went round, pointing at cans and saying, “And here are the chickpeas, and there’s chopped tomatoes there, and some condensed milk just in case.” Gwen had not yet told Chelsea what the plan was, but as she held out a shrunken down kettle she felt that her friend could not help but be suitably impressed. Chelsea felt like a bit of a detective, trying to piece together what the items Gwen kept pointing at had in common. The only conclusion she'd drawn was that they were going camping, and while she wasn't opposed to the idea, she hadn't packed for it at all and hadn't prepared for the idea of camping. If Gwen thought she would spontaneously jump for a camping trip, she would be sorely disappointed. Eventually, the curiosity got to be too much and she gave in. "What are we doing with these things?" Gwen had felt the question coming. It rippled through the air, up her spine, making her stand straighter, taller. Unfortunately, Gwen’s full height was not very tall but she tried her very hardest. Her hands went to her hips, an unintentional pose, and she lifted her chin. She was smiling, in a very earnest way, when she said, “We, Chelsea, are going dragon hunting.” The silence settled between them for a moment. Obviously she'd heard wrong. "I'm sorry, can you repeat that?" “We,” Gwen pointed between the two of them, her grin growing broader, “are going dragon hunting. Here! Well not here. I’ve got a portkey arranged to take us somewhere else, more country, and then we’re going to go at it.” There were a lot of questions that came to mind — how are we going to hunt for a dragon? Are they just going to appear out of nowhere? Do we have the right gear? How much of this is properly planned? Who gave you this idea? Did anyone tell you this was a bad idea or do I really have to be the first? — but of course, the most important one was, "Why?" Her jaw wasn't on the floor, but it felt like it was. “Well,” Gwen said, giving Chelsea a look like she couldn’t believe she was asking, “because I think it would be fun. And I’ve got an idea for a story I want to write, so I have to see some dragons. For research.” She nodded, as if to herself, and opened the nearest rucksack. “We’ve got so much packing to do.” Chelsea took a deep breath and then another. It was best to be calm while she convinced Gwen not to go through with this, because if she just started rambling about how this was a terrible idea, then it'd probably make her think it was worth it. "Do you have to see some dragons for this story? Because you can definitely just look at pictures. They move! And there's that new online exhibit that takes you through a dragon enclosure so it's basically like you're there already." Gwen scoffed. She didn’t mean to, but the noise left her in a burst of disbelief and she stopped packing to look at Chelsea. “But it’s not the same as being there and seeing it properly, for yourself,” Gwen said. “You don’t get the same thrill and it’s not real. I want it to be real.” It seemed perfectly logical to her. “How am I meant to write about something in depth if I don’t really care to know more about it?” Dryly, or as dryly as Chelsea Corner could manage, she said, "It'd be a little hard to write when you're either burned to death or eaten by whatever dragons you think you'll find." “We’re not going to let that happen,” Gwendolyn said, with all the confidence of a fifteen year old who didn’t really know what they were preparing for. “Remember when we went after that man down the street I was sure was a murderer? Nothing happened there.” "Gwendolyn," Chelsea said, her voice going high as her eyes widened. "We could've gotten trapped in his basement. Remember? I definitely do! I definitely remember that we would've never gotten out if Cai hadn't come to find us!" Gwen had just grabbed onto a water filtration system (just in case) and she wheeled around, brandishing it in the air to look at Chelsea. It was a sore spot that they’d needed Cai to come and rescue them from Creepy Carlisle’s place. Cai, who had repeatedly told her that she was being ridiculous and that Carlisle was just strange, not a murderer. Cai, who had not even gloated about it one bit. Somehow, it had made it worse. “We would have got out!” she said, swinging her arms about. “We’d have figured it out. We’re capable! We weren’t trapped and murdered though, which really, is my point. We’ve done well! We’re a great team, C, you know we are.” Making her eyes big and round as she could she moved closer. “I couldn’t do half the things I want to without your support.” Immediately, Chelsea's tone turned into a soothing one. "Creepy Carlisle is, while really creepy, not exactly a dragon, who could kill us a lot faster. It wouldn't even listen to our story. It'd just breathe fire on us." But she nodded to act as if she was supportive, which she was, in general, just not of this particular plan. Because it was terrible. "We really should wait to hunt dragons until we're of age. There's probably definitely a rule about that." “I was just going to borrow Donald’s wand,” Gwen said, looking at Chelsea for encouragement. It was a bad idea. No one should borrow their almost-not-quite stepfather’s wand. In a part of her mind, Gwen knew it wasn’t a very good idea, but she masked it by smiling. “He’s doing shift work this week and he left without it a couple hours ago, so he won’t even notice for a bit.” "Gwen." It was stern, or as stern as a teenage girl could be. "We can't steal Mr. Brydon's wand! We could die and be arrested! I'm not ready to have a record." “Donald wouldn’t let them arrest us,” Gwen said, with all the confidence of someone who only kind of knew what she was talking about. “We’d be fine. I promise!” For a moment, Chelsea thought about it. There was no sense of adventure about it, just her belief that she at least owed it to Gwen to think about it. So she did, although she came to the same conclusion. "I don't think we'd be fine! What if..." she began, hoping that it would deter her, "What if we asked Mr. Brydon if we can use his wand for this? Then we can maybe go." There was no way he'd say yes, so it'd all sort itself out. “He’s at work.” Gwen shook her head and practically trailed her feet over to the kitchen table where she sunk into a chair. She could see Chelsea’s lack of enthusiasm, which she fundamentally didn’t understand. They were going to chase dragons! She was sure it would be wonderful. “I just really want to see a Welsh green! I’ll probably get all overcome and read some poetry in Welsh about dragons. I memorised one for this occasion.” She propped an elbow on her knee and looked at the supplies. “And look what I’ve bought! There’s a fire resistant coat in here!” "You can see a Welsh green some other time! Like maybe when you're 17 and you're on a safe, official tour with dragon experts who know how to deal with dragons. Or, you know, those virtual tours. It's really almost as good!" Chelsea was running out of alternate suggestions and desperate to think of something that would make her think again about her idea. There was nothing fun about seeing a Welsh green or listening to Welsh poetry about dragons because it always ended in their deaths. If she could take the death part out of the situation, then it'd be another story. "And we haven't even had lunch yet!" Gwen stared sadly at the khaki coat. “I’ve got some ham for sandwiches in that pack over there, if you’re hungry. There was a dragon on the packaging so I bought it.” She knew that it was a daft idea, in some part of her head, but really it was the consistent patience of Chelsea, the expression on her face, the horror, alarm and edge of panic there. Gwen knew that expression: it meant her idea really was Bad News. It had always seemed rather fun and cool in the books though. Gwen heaved a sigh. Years of friendship had taught Chelsea what that sigh meant, and it was only after the sigh that she let out a sigh of her own. "Welsh greens will be around forever," she said, in consolation. "We have so much time to see them!" And, she added to herself, a lot of time to forget about this in the first place. “I know,” Gwen said, shuffling her feet along the ground. She did know. The dragons had been there for a long time and would continue to be: there were guided tours around areas they were likely to be, with professionals. There were museums and exhibitions and book tours from people who had properly spent time with the dragons. It didn’t mean she hadn’t wanted to see them. Sighing again, she stood and surveyed the mess of the kitchen, the tins and the tents and that coat. “Do you want to go camping, I guess?” She didn't really want to, but Chelsea felt bad enough for opposing the dragon plan so vehemently (with valid reasons, she wanted to add!) that she nodded, picking up a bag and nearly tripping on its weight. "As long as you're building the fire." AGE 16. Chelsea wished she had changed the battery in the flashlight before she decided to do this. It had been in the back of her mind, a constant reminder to change it out, but then she'd been late, and it slipped her mind, and now they were working with a flashlight that was dim enough to annoy her. From her hiding spot behind the counter by the door, she turned to Gwen and whispered, "Do you see any lurking figures outside yet?" “All I can see is the back of your head right now,” Gwen said, truthfully, trying to shimmy over so she had slightly more room. Despite the fact that usually she thought the counter was large enough, it was surprisingly hard to find somewhere she could sit and get a good view of the restaurant windows. It was also not that comfortable. The idea of staking somewhere out was a lot more fun than the reality of it. Gwen could feel her legs locking into position, but she couldn’t move much. Turning her head, she peered out into the darkness. Whenever there was a movement, it always turned out to be someone just walking past. Someone was on the other side of the road but clearly had no intentions of even looking their way, judging by his pace. She shook her head. “This is not proving fruitful, C.” "We've only been here ten minutes," Chelsea said, to reassure both Gwen and herself. "If they're going to come back today, this is around the time it happens! We just have to be patient." But her neck was starting to hurt and crouching took a lot out of her. "Wait, look —" She started excitedly, her finger pointing at the window, only to drop when she realized whoever it was was just walking past. "False alarm." Gwen eased herself onto the floor properly, pulling her legs up to her chest and looking around the counter. She’d taken care to dress all in black for the stakeout, like she was fairly sure she was meant to, and she was even wearing a black hat. She’d also kind of told her mum what they were doing just in case. There was still adrenaline sparking through her, making her more interested, more alert, but it hit her that they were going to spend hours like this. She shuffled a little and looked at her watch. “Maybe they’d come in the back?” Chelsea frowned. "I didn't think about that. Should one of us be looking at the back?" She looked behind her, a little apprehensively, as if she'd find someone standing there and staring at them. Thankfully, no one was there. "Also how do we confront them if they come? Should I tackle them?" “We could tackle them,” Gwen said slowly. She looked over at Chelsea, brows knitting together as she ran through a plan. “I’d go for their legs to take them down and you can punch them in the face. I think you’ve more of a chance of reaching.” "You're a very respectable height, Gwen," Chelsea said, patting her shoulder. "I'd feel bad about punching a stranger in the face though. What if it's all a misunderstanding?" It was almost too dark for Gwen to be assured that the proper level of cynicism she was displaying on her face would be picked up. Almost. The light from the street certainly helped. “They’re not mistakenly eating some food! Or stealing some cutlery. I don’t know if you can accidentally steal a bunch of forks.” There was a defensiveness in her voice when Chelsea spoke. "What if it's someone who's just been swindled out of all his money but he's got children to feed? And also his forks were sold off because his life's savings are now gone. So while it's not ideal that he's stealing from us, it's at least done for a good cause. I mean, I guess I'd still have to stop him, but I would understand his reasoning!" Silence rested between them for a moment as Gwen struggled to think of what to say. Eventually, she turned her head very slowly and said, “So if we catch him and he gives us a sob story we’re going to let him go?” "It's not a sob story if it's his life story," Chelsea countered, a bit smugly, although she knew how ridiculous it sounded. It wasn't implausible. "But I'd definitely tell him to not do it again!" “Oh well I’m sure he’d be cowed,” Gwen said. She couldn’t quite stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Oh god, if he starts crying we’re doomed.” Chelsea would've put her hands on her hips if it didn't mean she would fall over. Instead, she tried to channel that the same kind of demeanor into her voice. "Are you saying that if you were this guy who's been unfairly tricked out of his life's savings, then you wouldn't want people to show some sympathy and listen to your story?" “That’s probably not what’s happening!” Gwen said, because she couldn’t exactly deny the fact that she would want a compassionate listener. Chelsea had got her there. “What’s happening is it’s probably the neighbour’s kid being funny or something and they deserve a punch in the face.” "I'm not punching the neighbour's kid in the face! The only crime Tommy's committed is that he's got a funny smell about him!" And he sometimes came too close when he was talking to someone, but he would probably grow out of that. “He’s so creepy,” Gwen said, shaking her head. “And if he was stealing your stuff it’s basically like he’s inviting you to do it! He could have just asked. Also I’ve been in that house and he has plenty of forks.” "He's only thirteen. Every boy is creepy at thirteen! It's like wired into their genetic makeup or something." There was a moment of brief, hushed silence as Gwen gasped and held her hand to her chest. “So you want me to give him a pass for being creepy???” Chelsea scoffed, hoping the sound would convey how offended she was at the insinuation. "I obviously didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying if it's Tommy, we shouldn't hold his slight creepiness against him because it has no bearing on this situation! He's not stealing forks because he's creepy! He's just stealing forks and is creepy!" “Don’t creepy people deserved to be punched extra hard though?” Gwen said, in a very patient voice. A patient voice which did not actually sound that patient when it was definitely louder than a whisper. There was no way they were going to surprise anybody with their quiet spy skills. “I think it should be a right! I have a lot of energy now. I could definitely hit someone and it would hurt.” "Well, I'm not letting you punch the poor kid. His parents would definitely press charges against us! I don't think it'd even matter that Tommy was technically breaking —" Over their noise, Chelsea heard the front door opening and stopped in the middle of her speech. In a matter of seconds, realizing they hadn't exactly agreed on a plan, she whirled around and jumped out from their hiding spot, shouting, "STOP, TRESPASSER!" The flashlight shone directly into the thief's eyes, eyes that were very familiar to Chelsea. "Michael?" Her brother, his hand still on the door handle, didn't seem to register any of her words. He was the worst listener sometimes. When Chelsea jumped up, Gwen jumped up. She had to: she was here because of Chelsea and because someone was breaking into her friend’s restaurant. If Chelsea was going to throw herself headlong into things then so was Gwen. “YOU BETTER NOT MOVE, YOU STEALING...THIEF,” Gwen shouted, because she was too excited, because she hadn’t seen who was there and because she hadn’t really thought this through. Hearing Chelsea utter her brother’s name stopped her for a moment. Gwen lowered her torch and frowned. Michael was staring at them, illuminated by the streetlight, stilling only for a moment before he walked further into the room. He didn’t seem to pay them much notice. He didn’t even seem to have his eyes opened. “Michael, what are you doing?” He didn’t answer. Gwen looked over at Chelsea, her eyebrows halfway up her forehead. Chelsea frowned and edged closer to Gwen, while maintaining eye contact with Michael. It was weird how unresponsive Michael was. Even at the peak of his sulkiness, he would at least make some noise of acknowledgement. Maybe he hadn't expected to be caught. It served him right. Still, she was worried and turned to Gwen, asking, "Is this what happens when you go into shock?" Gwen frowned at her and said, “I don’t think so? Why would he be in shock?” Her flashlight sweeping over the ground she inched closer to Michael, holding it in front of her gingerly. It crossed her mind that there was a possibility that maybe this wasn’t Michael. Maybe it was some kind of gang who polyjuiced as people and then entered their premises and proceeded to rob them. Maybe it was a plan — maybe they’d start small and work their way up, first stealing forks, and then equipment. Maybe they’d move up into the Corner’s living area and take all their money. The thoughts spun around Gwen’s brain and she prepared herself to have to smack someone up the face with a torch. Michael still looked unresponsive as she said, “Michael, your pyjamas are terrible and you look like a five year old.” The insult — untrue — didn’t faze him. Gwen took a deep breath and reached out to poke him. "Don't poke him!" Chelsea shouted, lunging forward to pull Gwen back, only just barely grabbing onto her shirt. "He could be a zombie or something. What if you get infected?" She stared at her brother, who didn't even react to her accusation. Realistically, he couldn't be a zombie (probably), but they were in brand new territory, so who knew. Gwen jerked her hand away, a reactionary curl of fear winding its way through her. She looked at Michael, who was still slowly shuffling forward. It was, she was pretty sure, the only sign of zombieism. Everything else was normal. “He’d have started moaning about brains already,” Gwen said, confidently, and a second later, “And zombies aren’t real.” "Inferi are," Chelsea retorted, and then gasped at the idea. "You don't think Michael's an Inferi now, do you?" Gwen curled her hand around Chelsea’s arm and then shook her head fervently. “No,” she scoffed. “No of course not.” Still, she looked at Michael warily and then reached out to poke him hard in the shoulder. “Oi, Mike.” Michael staggered back slightly, but still said nothing. Chelsea stared at him some more — and then it struck her. "Maybe he's sleepwalking," she suggested, cocking her head at him. "Michael… are you sleepwalking?" There was no response. Seconds passed and there was still no response but Michael seemed to right himself and continue on his path towards the kitchen. He paused beside the cutlery and took out a fork. Gwen watched with her mouth hanging open. “Oh my god I think he’s a sleepwalking thief.” "Oh my God!" Chelsea went up to him and snatched the fork out of his hand. It didn't stop him, because he only reached in and grabbed another one. "How could he steal from his own family? And why forks?" “Maybe he’s not being fed enough?” Gwen asked, but she sounded sceptical. She walked closer, registering the annoyance on Chelsea’s face. She bit down on her lip, hard, as it struck how ridiculously funny this was. Chelsea was standing clutching a fork while her younger brother kept trying to steal them. A squeal of laughter escaped her and Gwen had to shove a hand over her mouth. The torch in her hand was still alight and it danced across the wall, making a bizarre pattern, as she tried to smother her laughter. “Oh god, I’m so relieved,” she managed to say. “I’m sorry for laughing! Sorry!” It was always hard not to laugh when someone else was laughing, so it wasn't Chelsea's fault when she started giggling too. Once she reined it in, she tried to frown at Michael. "I didn't even know he was a sleepwalker. Do you think it means he's stressed about something? He can't be stressed about anything! He's not even a teenager yet." “Maybe he got a girlfriend or something,” Gwen said, because honestly it was hard to think of reasons Michael could have been stressed. She wrinkled her nose and closed the cutlery drawer. “We’re going to have to get him back to bed.” "I don't understand how he could've gotten down here without tripping and falling," Chelsea muttered, grabbing the fork he'd taken out of his hand again. "But at least we solved the mystery." There was a little disappointment. It would've been cool if it had been an evildoer and they had stopped him. “Maybe he’s displaying his magical abilities right now but in his sleep,” Gwen said, her hands hovering by Michael’s shoulders. She’d heard, quite a few times, that you weren’t supposed to wake sleepwalkers. It was accepted wisdom but that certainly didn’t mean that she now knew what to do with Michael. Gently laying her hands on his shoulders she tried to turn him towards the door. “Come on, Michael,” she said, softly. “It’s time for fake thieves to go back to bed.” "We're so having a talk tomorrow." AGE 22. Turning twenty-two had been much stranger than turning twenty-one. Twenty-one had big balloons and glasses with special numbers and fancy sayings on it. Twenty-one was still seen as some kind of huge milestone, a key age, even though Gwendolyn had very little idea why it mattered anymore. It wasn’t as if she was coming into an inheritance. She was just charging into her twenties, her proper twenties, the “I’m a proper adult now, kind of” territory. Her birthday had been and gone months before already and spring had set in when Gwen had hit Chelsea with a very good offer: “It was my birthday and we never did a big outting so now we’re going to go kayaking and it will be so much fun, I promise.” Gwen was determined to live up to that promise. There was still a chill in the air but the lake in front of them was gorgeous, a clear, still blue. The sun was out, but occasionally dipped behind a cloud or two, only slowly coming out to greet the day. Around them, green hills rolled for miles. It was beautiful. Gwen smiled, wrapped her arms around herself, and stamped her feet against the earth. “Do you want to do a couple shots of firewhiskey first?” Chelsea abided by birthday wishes. It was a strict rule she followed, so when Gwen basically told her what they were going to do, she didn't put up a fight. It was just the right thing to do. Plus, she had no objection to kayaking, enjoyed being out on the water, and didn't mind the weather. It'd been too long since she'd actually had free time. "Are you trying to get me drunk, Gwendolyn?" She asked, grinning as she nodded anyways. “Always,” came the reply as Gwen crouched down and opened a bag that she’d brought with them. The firewhiskey came out and plastic glasses. Seconds later, hot liquid was poured into them, whiskey that steamed, and she passed it quickly to Chelsea. “There’s at least a couple shots in there — down it, C.” Laughing, Gwen threw the shot back, feeling the burn spread, warming her from the inside out. She lifted her head towards the sky and then spread her arms out wide. “I feel like I should be quoting from Titanic right now. I’m on top of the world.” Downing it was a bad idea, but Chelsea did it anyways, only to cough hard once she finished her first shot. She'd never get used to it. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she grimaced and turned to Gwen. "Am I Kate Winslet then? Or am I Leo's Italian friend?" “You can be my Kate Winslet,” Gwen said, grinning lopsidedly at her. “I’m going to get you naked later and draw you. I hope that’s cool.” She laughed loudly and grabbed the flask with the firewhiskey, heading towards the edge of the lake then where the kayak was moored. “You’re pretty enough!” "Pretty enough?" Chelsea echoed. "No wonder everyone swoons whenever you woo them." Swallowing, Gwen wrinkled her nose. “It worked for Duncan but I was only telling the truth,” she said, dramatically, before putting her hands on her hips. She’d kayaked a couple of times but it was important that this was done properly. It was a two person one and tandem kayaking was slightly more difficult. Turning to Chelsea, she said, “We have to become one with Mother Nature and each other for this.” Her smile wavered slightly with a hint of confusion added into the mix. "What do you mean? Are we doing a weird ritual? Did you ask me to participate in a weird ritual with you?" “Chelsea,” Gwen said, seriously, her eyes big and round as she turned to look at her friend. There was sincerity heavy in her voice and apparent on her face; her expression shone with earnestness. “If I was going to do a weird ritual, I absolutely promise you’d be the first one I asked to do it. There’s not a single thing that would make me happier.” She reached out to fold her hand around Chelsea’s arm, still serious, still earnest. “The most ritualistic thing I’m going to be doing right now though is taking off all my clothes.” "Like, figuratively?" Chelsea asked, raising an eyebrow at her friend. "I'm not sure how you can do that figuratively, though. Is this something you read about at 2 AM again? I can't indulge all of the weird things you read!" “No, like literally,” Gwen said and she started to shrug her coat off. “I mean, I did read a bit about this quite late but I was reading a bunch of blogs and this one girl who is amazing was talking about how she went boating naked and I just thought you know what? I want to do that. But in a kayak.” pulled off her jumper and started to fold it. “It’s skinny kayaking! We can be trendsetters.” Birthday wishes were sacred and Chelsea couldn't break that, but then again, wasn't it an implicit agreement that it only applied to certain things? Like let's go on a day trip but not let's take off our clothes and go kayaking? Her hesitation was evident in her voice: "Why can't we kayak with our clothes on?" “Do you feel one with nature when you’re in clothes made of polyester?” Gwen raised her eyebrows. "I'm not really into feeling one with nature in the first place. It spies on me enough." “Nature doesn’t spy on you.” Gwen wrinkled her nose. “Trees aren’t sentient. They’re not watching you like oh ho ho she’s gonna get her boobs out now.” "Have you confirmed that with the trees?" Chelsea questioned, accusingly. Did they say that? Because they definitely are cataloging my boobs!" Gwen rolled her eyes as she took her belt off. “Oh yeah, actually, and they said to let you know to get better fitting bras. But they don’t mind if you keep them a bit small, you know.” She winked and tried to keep her face straight as she reached over and tugged at the sleeve of Chelsea’s coat. “Come on.” "Don't talk about my bras like that," she said with fake outrage. "I went through proper sizing and everything." There was a long pause, then a sigh, then a look up at the sky, as if it was God's fault she was going to agree to this. "I hate your birthday." “Me too! I had to wait until spring for this otherwise we would truly be freezing so many parts of us off.” Gwen waited for a second, just to make sure that Chelsea was truly agreeing with her this time, and then delightedly rid herself of the majority of the rest of her clothes. She reached for her wand and cast a charm over the two of them to spread some warmth against the chill of spring. Content, Gwen moved towards the kayak then and it was only then she said, “The last time I did this was about three years ago but I’m sure it’s like riding a bike.” With reluctance, Chelsea removed some of her clothing, looking mournfully at the pile she kept adding to. It was still slightly exciting although she kept a frown on her face. "The last time you went kayaking naked was three years ago?" “Yes,” Gwen said, laughing. “I remember it so well because it was also around my birthday and I nearly froze my boobs off which is why I waited until March this time.” Taking a deep breath, Gwen finally shed the last of her clothing and then hopped into the kayak, grabbing for the oar. She looked over her shoulder at Chelsea, an eyebrow raised. “Well don’t be a wimp about it.” Chelsea sighed, and then sighed again, but she stepped into the kayak and sat down before she took the rest of her clothes off. She grabbed the other oar and glared, although it was more amused than anything, despite her best intentions. "I hate you." Laughing delightedly, Gwen blew her a kiss. “I love you too, babe. If we row fast enough, we won’t even get cold.” "Just row," Chelsea said, resigned. AGE 27. It was much too late to stay up and watch a movie for sensible adults, with jobs that had an early (enough) wake up time. Years before, she might have spent an hour cajoling Chelsea into going out with her but now what Gwen really wanted to do was pop some popcorn, turn all the lights off, and sit in the living room and watch a horror movie in her fluffiest dressing gown, with bright slipper socks on. She also knew that Chelsea was not that likely to want to watch horror films. It required a delicate hand and an unexpected tack. Grabbing her laptop, she set the movie up first, putting it on the screen and deliberately pausing it before anything could be made out on the screen properly. Gwen grabbed for her dressing gown and shrugged it on and then padded down the hall to Chelsea’s room, a bag of marshmallows in hand — and then she knocked on the door and eased it open, wide smile in place. “I was thinking I’d make you some hot chocolate,” she said, waving the marshmallows. “Do you want?” Chelsea was in the process of putting her sheets back on, or to be more accurate, struggling with putting her sheets back on. She usually liked to do it the Muggle way, because she was used to it, but it was a lot harder this time. When Gwen came in, she took that as a sign to give up, falling back onto her bed and lifting her hand for the marshmallows. "Yes. Will you make my bed too?" “Yes,” Gwen said, sticking her hand into her dressing gown pocket for her wand. “But I won’t faff about with it like you. It’s so much easier to just use magic, C.” She offered Chelsea her hand to pull her up off the bed and then gave her the bag of marshmallows, with a wide grin. Phase one was complete, with the added bonus of helping Chelsea out with something. Everything was going very smoothly. "I know, but…" Chelsea took her hand and hauled herself up, grabbing the marshmallows and popping one in her mouth. "It's not as satisfying if you just use magic on it. I can't brag about it." “You can brag that you got me to do it,” Gwen said, nodding, as if that settled the matter. In a way it did. She snapped her wand and the bedclothes sprang to life for a moment, moving with a kind of grace they usually certainly did not. Tucking themselves in, Chelsea’s bed was made within moments. Gwen flourished her wand. “That’s what friends do for each other, yeah?” "I'm telling everyone I know that I got famously reluctant Gwen Vane to make my bed for me," she teased, opening the bag again to fish for another marshmallow. "Where's my hot chocolate?" “It’s in the living room!” Gwen said, turning to look at Chelsea. She broadened her smile and tilted her head and, after a moment, she fluttered her eyelashes. “Do you wanna drink it and watch a movie with me, famously enthusiastic Chelsea Corner?” "That depends. Is it going to be a boring movie?" Chelsea asked, unaware of Gwen's true, evil plans. “No!” Gwen had already prepared an answer. She felt a twinge of guilt and then she said, “I was thinking My Best Friend’s Wedding maybe?” "Is this the time she'll actually get together with her best friend? Because I won't watch it otherwise!" Gwen tilted her head to the side and made a noise deep in her throat, a rumble of consideration. She turned the thought over, or she appeared to anyway, placing a finger under her chin and tilting it up. “You know what? I think it might be! It’s a brand new ending, maybe!” Chelsea pretended to think about it, but she was already moving to sit down. She grabbed her hot chocolate before she nodded, took a sip, and said, "Okay, you've won me over. I can't wait for them to kiss this time!" “They’re totally going to get married,” Gwen said, with the biggest grin on her face. She reached out to loop her arm through Chelsea’s, pulling her along into the living room. She loved that the lights were dimmed! She loved horror movies! Chelsea did not but as she steered her onto the sofa, Gwen was sure it was going to go well this time. “You’ll love it! I sense a very different ending!” |