Same Old Rut *Open*

[calypso adilia tanner]

The thick cloudy sky made a nearly blank canvas for the autumn shaded leaves against the sky. Green faded to yellow to orange to a bloody red across the spanse of trees. Some appeared more vibrant than the rest , the few meager rays of sunlight managing to pierce the veil of clouds.

Calypso shifted, pushing off the converse sneakers she wore, already bare foot inside. She hadn’t expected to do much; not with her journal and chocolate flavored quill handy. She smoothed out the sand before her with her legs as she stretched them out, laying the old journal out across her lap.

Even though she had yet to write, or even observe anyone for inspiration, she stuck the quill in her mouth. It was a nasty habit, she knew. A habit she would gladly pin on yellow pencils back in muggle school, but she knew it was her own fault. Her entire first year she couldn’t realize why people had moved away from her in classes before realizing that quills were different from pencils in more than their era. Of course, the sensation of flavored quills repaired her dilemma, giving her a plausible reason to actively suck on the feathers and not appear to be as displaced as she often felt.

Her eyes roamed the sandy beach. Several dozen students had all seemed to come to the idea that this might be one of their last “sunny” days of the year. A few Slytherin third years lay a few yards away, all huddled into one of the meak sunbeams on the sand, looking for whatever tan they could manage. Calypso watched them as they pushed against each other, looking for the sun, yet they laughed about it as if it were a joke. Calypso flipped open her journal, pulling her knees to her chest and pinning it against her knees.

Her hand moved swiftly as her eyes drifted across the beach, barely looking back at the crooked scrawl she called handwriting. It wasn’t often that Calypso could manage to read what she rode the next day, and it wasn’t often that it mattered. Sure, she could write all of these observations, make all of these comments on secrets of the school, but still it didn’t really matter. Teenage drama was hardly the practice for a journalist. Or even an author. She wasn’t sure she’d ever find a way to make this dream come true.

It looked more like a passing dream as time ticked by. Her schedule looked the same as it did every other day. School. Work. Half-assed homework and then people-watching. She stuck the quill in her mouth, flipping back several pages, skimming as if she could understand her handwriting. Occasionally she’d recognize a few words, or dramatic headlines she had thought clever. Still, she found herself working in Hogsmeade, and with the lack of money at home, she wondered if she’d even be going to school next year.

Her eyes drifted up again, as if the sight on along the black lake might be more appealing than her own world. She’d always found other people’s secrets so much richer than her own. Calypso wrote more useless words, and she could only feel a sharp pang of jealousy that struck a scarily familiar place. She’d heard of a Gryffindor who’d gotten an internship with the Daily Prophet. With the chief editor. She grimaced, looking at her own journal, full of useless, meaningless scribbles. Where was she going wrong? NO matter how many applications she filled out, or how many entries she sent, she found herself being pulled down; closer and closer to the mundane life of her stripper mother. She slammed her journal shut, tossing it to the side in what was more than just frustration. Still, no one noticed. They were all sucked in their own worlds, their own problems as dramatic as her own.

Calypso leaned back on her elbows, once again watching the Slytherin girls. Even their weak sunbathing seemed as dismal and doom-ridden as her own worries. Still, she knew there was probably someone else here with a life worse than hers. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back so that her tangled straw hair brushed against the sand, sucking on the chocolate quill in her mouth. Maybe it didn’t look quite as normal as she had lead herself to believe.

Normal didn’t seem to be helping very much.

[samantha elisabeth morgan]

Normally, autumn didn't agree with Samantha Morgan.

Granted, three of the four seasons didn't really agree with her. Summer was too hot, fall was downright depressing, watching everything around her die and shrivel up in anticipation of snowfall, and winter was too cold. Sam was, strictly speaking, a spring person. It was the best time of year in her mind, she didn't even care about all of the rain- that slight sprinkling of sunshiny days, mellow temperatures, and watching the breath of life come back to the land was magical in a way, and she loved it. Fall, not so much. But today was one of those rare autumn days that was agreeable.

It wasn't too cold, and the typical overcast had parted to allow a good amount of sunshine. Deciding that it was too beautiful of a day to be spent toiling away over the homework she was currently procrastinating on, Sam had figured that she would go spend some time outside. Unusual for her standards, she was alone, normally she co-existed with her older sister, enough so to the point where the student body had come to associate them as one entity rather than two separate individuals, but today her sister had encouraged her to spend a little time on her own- with the promise that they would reunite in the afternoon.

Although reluctant about the idea, Samantha had agreed without any resistance, she trusted her sister, she knew what was best, and would never tell her to do anything that would bring her harm. Of course, that didn't mean that Sam had to like it, and the panic at being separated was lingering in the back of her mind- much like the way a front brings ominous overcast that starts as a thin strip on the horizon, but eventually swallows up the whole sky. Sam tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, now feeling almost lost.

She had come down by the lake to perhaps get a little sun, and some much-needed fresh air, but now that she was here, she had no idea what to do with herself. Sam wasn't used to being alone, didn't really like it. It seemed to her a dangerous concept, she was weak, fragile, couldn't defend herself to save her life. Sam knew it was silly to think that she might be in danger in any sense of the word whilst at school, but then again, experience told her it might not be that crazy of an idea, not after the things her father, and the strange men he sent into her room, did.

Samantha viewed any approach from a male as a threat, all any of them wanted was to hurt her she was convinced. Until recently, that hadn't been an issue, but puberty and her veela heritage sought to change that. She had grown into a rather attractive young woman, was getting curves in all the right places and had the classically beautiful face that so many seemed attracted to. And then there was the matter of her Charm. Sam had relatively little control over it, it always hung around meekly in her general vicinity, and flared up when she got emotional, which was often.

She was constantly trying to reel it in, but her efforts were typically in vain, it was still developing, and her raging pubescent hormones hardly helped. Sam waited in great anticipation of the day where it would be fully under her command, then she would never use it again. She hated the attention it got from men. Case in point being a Gryffindor boy that had been tailing her for the past few minutes. Samantha was trying desperately to convey every sign that she wasn't interested- refused to look at him, assumed a defensive-looking posture, but with her Charm in the mix she might as well have been making eyes on him, purposefully trying to be seductive.

"Hey beautiful, why don't you come talk to me?" said the boy. Sam felt only dread and a slight increase to the panic that had been at the back of her head, making it more difficult to ignore. "L-leave me alone," said Sam, feeling her Charm surge with her fear, try as she might to suppress it. She didn't want his attention... "Oh come on, don't be like that," said he, taking a step forward. Samantha quickly took another step back, eyes darting around as if looking for help. Why had her sister thought her being alone would be a good idea?

Outfit

[calypso adilia tanner]

Calypso lay flat on her back, scrunching up her face in expectation of the sun. She felt nothing but the heavy feeling of the dreary clouds leering down on her. She frowned, sitting up and shaking the sand from her already clumped hair. She wasn't sure the last time she had really effectively attempted to brush out her hair. She looked down at her jeans, a patch of frayed string barely holding the gaping hole together. She frowned, picking away at the hem, mentally noting that she would have to work with these shorts; she looked around, as if someone might be watching her. No one was. She brushed at the sand on the shorts, but it did nothing to improve the grungy look she had, as if she crawled out of a dumpster.

Maybe she just needed a tan. She'd read in some old magazine that it was not only healthy for your skin, but also a confidence booster. She stuck the quill in her mouth again, sucking guiltily on the chocolate tip as she stood, grabbing her journal. Her lazy gaze spread across the beach, as if she could find some rays of sunlight that weren't being taken up by girls who seemed more concerned with their pose than with the sunlight. She made a face, unsure why there was such a pressure put on women to look as if they had stepped off of a magazine page. She shook her head, following the shallow gaze of the Slytherin girls, finding the source of the preening. A group of fifth year Gryffindor boys kicked a football around, laughing loudly and yelling at each even louder. Each would occasionally glance around, as if to ensure that most everyone still had their eyes on them.

Calypso rolled her eyes, tucking her journal and making her way up the beach. She cringed as she thought back to the last summer. Calypso wasn't sure how to describe what she had felt when she found herself watching her mother degrade herself; her body on sale. Still, when Calypso had asked her why she couldn't do something else or try something better, her mother had looked at her with the exhausted eyes she had never noticed as a child. "What else is there for me?" She had asked. Calypso shook her head. It was no secret that she blamed her father. Her arrogant, self-righteous father who had left them with no hope or value of themselves.

Calypso tucked the quill behind her ear, watching as one boy peeled away from the group, approaching a young girl she barely recognized. A hufflepuff maybe? The girl stood by herself, as if wishing she could fold into herself and never have to look at anyone else. Calypso knew the feeling. The boy seemed oblivious though, slithering closer, impervious to Calypso as she approached, intending to simply stalk by slowly, listening to what stereotypes of misogyny he would push on the girl.

The sleazy line was all Calypso had expected it to be, the grease tasting disgusting in her mouth. She grimaced, watching the younger girl stutter, as if she were afraid. Her steps slowed as she passed, almost coming to a complete stop. She froze as the boy stepped forward with a great stride, forcing the girl back another step, looking around like a deer caught in the headlights. Calypso felt...disgusted. She wasn't sure what more of a perfect example she could see of the chauvinist mentality of men. And the younger girl, more terrified than anything.

Calypso threw her book down, turning around on the Gryffindor boy. "There are several answers to that question," she placed an arm around the younger girl, giving her a reassuring squeeze. "Maybe she would prefer to talk to someone who could actually create his own pick up line. Or maybe she needs a brain to actually make you worth her time," she raised an eyebrow. It wasn't hard for Calypso to put on the worst bitch face she could summon. She'd had a fair few years at Richmond Place. "Or maybe, and this might just be the most obvious answer; she needs someone with something in their pants a little larger than her pinkie finger to be worth her time," she smirked, watching the Gryffindor boy carefully, his puffed out chest deflating as she spoke.

"No one asked you," the boy snarled, although it was a clear attempt of grasping at straws. "Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if pigs like you are the reasons for lesbians," she rolled her eyes, squeezing the younger girl next to her again before turning with the girl. "You okay, mate?" She asked, one eyebrow lifted questioningly.

[samantha elisabeth morgan]

Samantha fought to keep her breathing steady, though inwardly she could feel the panic beginning to take over, she half wanted to drop to the ground and curl into a ball, and half wanted to take off running. Neither were things which she knew to be socially acceptable in any sense of the word, though Sam had come to ignore those types of things. She was used to the odd looks as she suffered from one of her frequent emotional breakdowns in a public place. Accustomed to the way people gave her and Johanna odd looks when they walked side-by-side in the corridors as if they had been fused at the hip.

Sam tried not to care too much, especially where the issue with Johanna was concerned. She needed her sister as much as she needed to breathe- her elder sister was her caretaker, her protector, the one person she could go to when the nightmares so severely plagued her. Johanna was the only one who understood, the only one who could comfort her- who was anyone else to judge that? They really had no idea. Not that Samantha wanted to share the woes of her private hell, time was ticking down until Johanna would be seventeen, then she could take them away from it, no need to make it worse before that waiting period was over.

But as for now, Sam's only thoughts were on the imminent threat, that being the Gryffindor boy who was continuing to pursue her, no matter how she made it apparent that she wanted nothing to do with him. Stupid Charm, Samantha really did hate it, she wasn't like Johanna who could make use of it to get what she wanted, Sam wished it had the opposite effect. If only she could just repel men instead of attract them... Then life might be perfect.

Alas, that was not her fate. Instead Samantha would have to live as a magnet for the very things which she was so afraid of. Sam knew it was irrational, to write off every member of the opposite sex as someone who wished to merely hurt her because her father had taken a few bucks to look the other way and turn a deaf ear to her screams. It wasn't something that could be helped- and Sam had never come across a woman who seemed like they would do something like that. Sure, there were terrible women, but none like that.

At least she didn't think so. An involuntary whimper went past her lips as her eyes continued to dart around, looking for someone who might take pity on her, someone who could swoop down and whisk her away, make the intimidating Gryffindor go away... Of course, he wasn't exactly trying to be scary-looking, Sam was just perceiving him as being that way. But any interaction with a male could easily turn out harmful she was convinced. The sooner she was able to get away from the whole situation, the better.

Thankfully it seemed fate was going to be in her favour, as a saviour stepped in. A female saviour. She wasn't shy and immediately put her arm around Sam's shoulders, and while she was still not quite at ease owing to the very close proximity of the Gryffindor boy, she did relax slightly. She wasn't alone anymore. The girl might not be Johanna, who would quickly turn savage to scare away anyone who Sam thought might hurt her, but when the girl opened her mouth she definitely spoke in almost as crass of a manner. Were she not so afraid, she might be amused at what she was saying.

She could watch the young man's ego deflate from the interaction, and he was quick to leave with his metaphoric tail tucked between his legs. As he retreated, Sam visibly relaxed and let go a long sigh of relief. She did, however, feel emotionally drained, being on edge like that always made her feel defeated afterwards. Samantha really had no idea how she survived the hell at home when she was so desperately weak here, practically unable to care for herself...

"You okay, mate?"

The question bore with it a certain masculinity, about as crass as the rest of her words, though they were friendly rather than savage. And she was still, unmistakably, a woman. Tomboys, Sam could deal with. Men, she could not. She nodded a few times, taking in a deep breath before speaking. "Yes, thank you," said Sam, trying desperately to both regain the steadiness in her knees and reel in her still pulsating Charm. Sam watched him rejoin the football game, now almost entirely at ease. Almost, but not quite, it would be better if Johanna were there.

[calypso adilia tanner]

Like a popped balloon, the Gryffindor pig deflated, and banished he was. He melded back into his group of identical fools, although it was no secret that most all of them felt superior to his failure. Calypso looked down at the young girl, who looked as if the encounter had exhausted her. She looked back at the group, each of the boys with even more inflated chests, stuffed with false pride. She knew none of them would have had a chance with the girl. She looked…well…mortified, as it had happened.

Calypso couldn’t entirely blame her. Calypso was almost disgusted with men as she was with murder. Her bias, she knew, could easily be written off as some typical teenage daddy issue that she harbored for too long. Maybe it was. Still, it carried a resounding truth when she saw behaviors like that. She knew nothing of her father. Nothing. He was nothing but a photogenic face in a photograph. One photograph. He had taken the rest, ashamed of her existence. Ashamed of what he had done. Then, just as that typical Gryffindor, had gone back to whatever crowd he sought approval on, harboring her as a dark secret.

Yes, thank-you the younger girl said quietly.

”You look like you need chocolate” Calypso gave the girl’s shoulder a comforting rub before she released her, allowing her space to catch her breath. Calypso bent down, retrieving her journal as she hugged it to her chest. ”Chocolate can fix most anything, and the house elves always stock me up,” she fished into her pockets, pulling out her last piece. ”Might be a little melted, she shrugged, holding it in the flat of her palm.

She glanced up from her hand to the younger girl. Now that the adrenaline of her disdain for men had died down, it was almost intriguing how introverted she was. Calypso would have begun to wonder about the psychology of the younger student, but it didn’t seem fair. Not when she had been so terrified, and how raw she seemed. Calypso could understand, in some aspects. She wasn’t even sure she had completely forgotten the spark of loathing she felt for the Gryffindor boy. She didn’t even know his name. She had no concept of what personality he could have. She was tempted to simply say that he couldn’t have a personality; he mirrored the other ignorant knuckleheads. Why would his personality be any different?

She glanced back down at the chocolate, realizing she had no concept of this girl who remained simply “the younger girl”. She placed a friendly smile on her face, unsure how appropriate her offering food was. It was probably strange. Calypso never really mastered the normalcy of simple conversations. By the looks of the younger girl’s clothes, she looked far more blessed than Calypso in the monetary department. As usual, all she could see was their old flat, littered with clothes, food, and anything left in passing by whatever trick her mother had pulled. And there would be Calypso, on the sofa. Watching whatever entitled man strut out of her house. They all blended together in her mind.

”I’m Calypso,” she gave a crooked smile. ”I’m not sure I caught your name?”

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[samantha elisabeth morgan]

Samantha lightly bit her lip, she needed to calm down, this was bordering on ridiculous. Understandably so, but ridiculous all the same. Really, all she wanted was to be normal, but at this point Sam had come to understand that she was anything but. "Normal" wasn't growing up without a mother and with a father who hated her very existence. "Normal" wasn't being whored out for cash whenever things got too tight, it wasn't being so emotionally attached to her older sister that being away from her caused immense amounts of anxiety. And "normal" sure as hell wasn't the nightmares. The nightmares were probably what got her worst of all.

A lot of the time they were of the countless men her father had allowed to use her after they paid up. Sam never knew any names, but each face stood out to her quite clearly. After a while the experiences became routine, though there were a handful that haunted her whenever she tried to sleep. The ones that were violent, that had left her a bleeding mess of bruises... Samantha hurriedly blinked the thoughts away, she was already close enough to a complete emotional breakdown, she didn't need to push herself over the edge. Not when Johanna was nowhere to be found.

When things got really bad, only her elder sister could calm her down. A small smile twitched at the corners of her mouth as the girl said she looked like she could do with some chocolate- and went further still, offering her a square that she had fished out of her pocket. Sure, it was a little odd, but Sam found the gesture endearing in a way, somewhat cute. In a way, she was in the same boat, given her childhood she didn't exactly have most of the social savvy. She was good at reading people, knew how to handle herself in situations where men weren't involved, but actually interacting was another story.

She wasn't good at it like Johanna was. Sam admired her in that regard, she simply commanded attention, always knew precisely what to do and exactly what to say at just the right moment. Sam needed that on her side, that much was for certain. "Um, thank you," she said gently, accepting the slightly warped wrapper. Not putting much thought into it, she opened the packaging and delicately ate the softened chocolate- being careful to not touch it with her fingers and thus make a mess.

It did relatively little to ease her racing mind, but she saw it as a peace offering of sorts, an effort to make an interaction pleasant. And Sam did appreciate that, it wasn't often that someone went out of their way to be nice to her- on a whole she was either viewed as a bit odd because of her attachment to Johanna, or more recently as an object of desire for boys. That, Samantha really did hate more than she could say, she just wanted them to leave her alone, but her Charm betrayed her in that regard, drew them in like moths to a flame.

"It's um, Samantha, or Sam if you want," said she, she used both her full first name and the nickname interchangeably, wasn't fazed one way or the other. The chocolate now consumed, she began crumpling the wrapper absently in her hand, the foil crinkled lightly beneath her fingers. "Um, thanks again for telling him off. They never listen to me."