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Hope my post is okay! I think it got a little long D; I won't write a novel every single time!
Under the powerful lens of a microscope, pathogens came wiggling to life and their deadly structures became exposed to the naked eye. It was in labs all around the world that the most deadly diseases known to man had been eradicated, and thus preserved for further research if they should ever resurface. Working with these deadly viruses and bacteria day in and day out was the main responsibility of doctor Claire Woxell. In just fifteen years she had managed to make quite a name for herself, publishing papers, writing articles and earning a coveted position at the new CDC research facility and hospital in Georgia. While moving down south from the hustle and bustle of Chicago had been far from ideal, Claire was willing to do what was necessary in order to further advance her career as an infectious disease specialist.
“It's your lunch break, you know,” said doctor Delano, a distinguished man with a brilliant mind for medicine. “You ought to take it every now and then. The bugs will wait.”
Claire had to disagree with her superior, a slight frown crossing her pale features after she looked away from her microscope. Doctor Delano wasn't the type to listen to her, or even take her claims about anything seriously, and refusing to take her lunch break at the proper time was just a small way to rebel. It had been at least six months since the redhead had attempted to impress the other man with her work ethic, now sure that he didn't care for her just because she was a woman. She was there to do a job, and she did it well regardless of what he thought of her.
“I'm fine,” Claire insisted lightly, blanking the cross expression from her face in order to replace it with a polite smile. “Enjoy your lunch, doctor.”
Now she was alone, the lab once more silent. Claire did her best work when she was by herself, never one to go out of her way to interact with others, and to call her intense would be putting it mildly. The green-eyed woman often thought that was how it should be—in order to get ahead, she needed to be taken seriously, and earn the respect of those around her. Unfortunately, her philosophy didn't afford for many friends, and she had fallen out of contact with most of the people back in Chicago. However, that was a natural part of life, and Claire reasoned that there were other things to focus on.
Looking through the eyepiece of her microscope once more, Claire adjusted the objectives, taking a closer look at the cells of a rat that had been exposed to the H2N1 virus. Beside her delicate hand was a pad of paper, and poised between her fingers was a dull pencil, scratching away at the paper as she took note of the structures and looked for possible signs of mutation in the other cells. Claire leaned back in her chair, prepared to change slides when she was startled by the sound of the laboratory door banging open. She turned to look over her shoulder, eyebrow raised as she was met with the sight of a frazzled looking nurse.
“Can I help you?” she asked neutrally, not alarmed by the woman's state. It was common for hospital staff to be at their wits end this time of year when the ER was full of the flu, or backed up with those who had simply lose their health insurance.
The nurse nodded, her a few blond hairs straying from her disheveled pony tail. “I'm looking for doctor Delano. There's a patient he needs to see.”
The redhead stored the previous slide before looking back to the woman. “Doctor Delano just left for lunch. Who is the patient?”
That seemed to relieve the nurses worries, “they just came in. Doctor Parens--”
“Is it that pink eye woman?” Claire asked, ready to take back her offer. “I don't get out of bed for conjunctivitis.”
Shaking her head, the nurse now seemed frustrated. “No, it's a man. We don't know what he has. It's a mess upstairs, the phones are so backed up that it was faster to come down here myself and get one of you. He's bleeding from the eyes, doctor. Please. Follow me.”
Claire knew when to stow her attitude, and she quickly rose from her seat after grabbing her note pad from the table. “Anything else?” she asked, falling into step beside the nurse. They walked quickly back to the elevator as the blond woman explained the high fever and the sweating that wouldn't stop. The hemorrhaging was concerning, but it wasn't the first thing on her mind. There had been sporadic talk of a new virus over the course of the last year, something that had originated in Africa, a pathogen that she had specifically called attention to only to be ignored. If this was that, now on American soil, then this was only the beginning.
After being shown to the quarantine area five levels up in the building and donning a hazmat suit for her own protection, Claire entered the area to speak with David Bowman, the possible patient zero. “David, I'm doctor Woxell. I'm going to examine you, don't be afraid.” Her voice was clinical, lacking much sympathy as she did her job. Bedside manner wasn't something that she had ever excelled in, hence the reason Claire spent much of her time in a lab.
“Have you traveled out of the country within the last six months?” she asked, shining a light into the man's eyes and checking for pupil dilation after wiping away the constant and slow seep of blood.
David nodded, “Ghana. On a goodwill mission with my church.”
Claire checked his pulse and asked the man a few more questions, alarmed by what she was hearing. It sounded eerily similar to the report that had been dismissed. If this was something to worry about, if officials at the CDC had ignored the possibility of a new, deadly virus, there would be hell to pay in the court of public opinion.
“How did you get here today, David? Did someone drive you?” she asked, flinching slightly as the man coughed from deep in his chest, the goggles protecting her eyes were left speckled with a bloody sputum. That wasn't promising either.
“My wife,” he answered after the coughing fit.
Claire nodded and set her hand on the man's shoulder, gently coaxing him to lie back in the bed. “We'll get this figured out. Sit tight.”
One round of disinfectant later, Claire shed her suit and looked over her notes before snagging another nurse walking by. “I need blood on that man if it hasn't already been ordered. I want his samples sent to me downstairs, understood? No one is to enter that room without the proper protocols. Find his wife and isolate her as well, along with anyone who has come into contact him with him since he arrived.” The nurse nodded. “And where is Doctor Parens?”
The nurse had pointed her in the right direction, and Claire approached the brunette, a serious look on her face. “Parens?” she asked, wanting to be sure before holding out her hand. “I'm doctor Woxell with infectious diseases. Your case with patient Bowman just became our case. I think it's time you and I go down to Emergency and try to get ahead of this thing.”
“It's your lunch break, you know,” said doctor Delano, a distinguished man with a brilliant mind for medicine. “You ought to take it every now and then. The bugs will wait.”
Claire had to disagree with her superior, a slight frown crossing her pale features after she looked away from her microscope. Doctor Delano wasn't the type to listen to her, or even take her claims about anything seriously, and refusing to take her lunch break at the proper time was just a small way to rebel. It had been at least six months since the redhead had attempted to impress the other man with her work ethic, now sure that he didn't care for her just because she was a woman. She was there to do a job, and she did it well regardless of what he thought of her.
“I'm fine,” Claire insisted lightly, blanking the cross expression from her face in order to replace it with a polite smile. “Enjoy your lunch, doctor.”
Now she was alone, the lab once more silent. Claire did her best work when she was by herself, never one to go out of her way to interact with others, and to call her intense would be putting it mildly. The green-eyed woman often thought that was how it should be—in order to get ahead, she needed to be taken seriously, and earn the respect of those around her. Unfortunately, her philosophy didn't afford for many friends, and she had fallen out of contact with most of the people back in Chicago. However, that was a natural part of life, and Claire reasoned that there were other things to focus on.
Looking through the eyepiece of her microscope once more, Claire adjusted the objectives, taking a closer look at the cells of a rat that had been exposed to the H2N1 virus. Beside her delicate hand was a pad of paper, and poised between her fingers was a dull pencil, scratching away at the paper as she took note of the structures and looked for possible signs of mutation in the other cells. Claire leaned back in her chair, prepared to change slides when she was startled by the sound of the laboratory door banging open. She turned to look over her shoulder, eyebrow raised as she was met with the sight of a frazzled looking nurse.
“Can I help you?” she asked neutrally, not alarmed by the woman's state. It was common for hospital staff to be at their wits end this time of year when the ER was full of the flu, or backed up with those who had simply lose their health insurance.
The nurse nodded, her a few blond hairs straying from her disheveled pony tail. “I'm looking for doctor Delano. There's a patient he needs to see.”
The redhead stored the previous slide before looking back to the woman. “Doctor Delano just left for lunch. Who is the patient?”
That seemed to relieve the nurses worries, “they just came in. Doctor Parens--”
“Is it that pink eye woman?” Claire asked, ready to take back her offer. “I don't get out of bed for conjunctivitis.”
Shaking her head, the nurse now seemed frustrated. “No, it's a man. We don't know what he has. It's a mess upstairs, the phones are so backed up that it was faster to come down here myself and get one of you. He's bleeding from the eyes, doctor. Please. Follow me.”
Claire knew when to stow her attitude, and she quickly rose from her seat after grabbing her note pad from the table. “Anything else?” she asked, falling into step beside the nurse. They walked quickly back to the elevator as the blond woman explained the high fever and the sweating that wouldn't stop. The hemorrhaging was concerning, but it wasn't the first thing on her mind. There had been sporadic talk of a new virus over the course of the last year, something that had originated in Africa, a pathogen that she had specifically called attention to only to be ignored. If this was that, now on American soil, then this was only the beginning.
After being shown to the quarantine area five levels up in the building and donning a hazmat suit for her own protection, Claire entered the area to speak with David Bowman, the possible patient zero. “David, I'm doctor Woxell. I'm going to examine you, don't be afraid.” Her voice was clinical, lacking much sympathy as she did her job. Bedside manner wasn't something that she had ever excelled in, hence the reason Claire spent much of her time in a lab.
“Have you traveled out of the country within the last six months?” she asked, shining a light into the man's eyes and checking for pupil dilation after wiping away the constant and slow seep of blood.
David nodded, “Ghana. On a goodwill mission with my church.”
Claire checked his pulse and asked the man a few more questions, alarmed by what she was hearing. It sounded eerily similar to the report that had been dismissed. If this was something to worry about, if officials at the CDC had ignored the possibility of a new, deadly virus, there would be hell to pay in the court of public opinion.
“How did you get here today, David? Did someone drive you?” she asked, flinching slightly as the man coughed from deep in his chest, the goggles protecting her eyes were left speckled with a bloody sputum. That wasn't promising either.
“My wife,” he answered after the coughing fit.
Claire nodded and set her hand on the man's shoulder, gently coaxing him to lie back in the bed. “We'll get this figured out. Sit tight.”
One round of disinfectant later, Claire shed her suit and looked over her notes before snagging another nurse walking by. “I need blood on that man if it hasn't already been ordered. I want his samples sent to me downstairs, understood? No one is to enter that room without the proper protocols. Find his wife and isolate her as well, along with anyone who has come into contact him with him since he arrived.” The nurse nodded. “And where is Doctor Parens?”
The nurse had pointed her in the right direction, and Claire approached the brunette, a serious look on her face. “Parens?” she asked, wanting to be sure before holding out her hand. “I'm doctor Woxell with infectious diseases. Your case with patient Bowman just became our case. I think it's time you and I go down to Emergency and try to get ahead of this thing.”
I don't mind at all! I'm starting on my reply right now.
Without having much of a choice, Allison was forced to quickly accept the fact that she wouldn't be seeing Portland that night, and all of her plans for the rest of the night had been shot to hell. She supposed that if she had to be stuck in the middle of the woods with a total stranger, he at least seemed friendly and harmless enough. Pushing every horror movie cliché from her mind, the dark-haired doctor put her faith in this man, and hoped that by morning, things would be back on schedule. As it was, she had given herself the weekend to get to Oregon, and Monday was only a day away when she was supposed to be at the hospital for the beginning of her residency program. Missing it would render the last ten years of her life completely useless, and Allison had worked too hard to let all of it go to waste. She was determined to get to the city tomorrow by any means—even if that meant a long hike.
“Where are you from?” she asked curiously as she walked beside him toward the cabin. Allison didn't think that she had ever heard a name that complicated before, although she could tell that he wasn't American. It was sort of funny, she supposed, their accents were so different and their conversation probably would have sounded ridiculous to anyone who was just passing by.
The cabin was cozy, and Allison was happy to take a look around with assistance from the hurricane lamp. For the space being on the small side, the interior was warm and welcoming, and the couch looked comfortable, a nice place to curl up with a book. The chairs, however, left little to the imagination, and Allison thought that her back hurt from simply looking from them. That could have been from all the driving she had done in the last two days, though, and let the thought slip from her mind.
As the fire roared to life, the room quickly became bathed in a pleasant, orange, glow and Allison warmed her hands by the flames after perching herself on the edge of the couch. The bearded man seemed pleased with himself, and happy in general to have some company. She supposed that he didn't get many visitors up there in the mountains, and his excitement was rather sweet. Allison found herself smiling, but her expression quickly changed to something of need when he mentioned food. It had been hours since she had eaten, and even then, it had just been a greasy burger from a fast food window.
“I'm starving,” she admitted, looking thankful that he had even offered her anything. “I was going to get something when I got into the city.” Standing from the couch, Allison rubbed her warm palms against her jeans, feeling they were a little too warm from the fire. “Do you need any help?” The least she could do was offer when he was being so accommodating.
It was easy to forget that something strange was going on when faced with the opportunity for distraction, and safe from the outside world in the sturdy cabin. More than likely, it was better for the two of them to be up in the mountains and away from the chaos of the city in its shadow.
“Where are you from?” she asked curiously as she walked beside him toward the cabin. Allison didn't think that she had ever heard a name that complicated before, although she could tell that he wasn't American. It was sort of funny, she supposed, their accents were so different and their conversation probably would have sounded ridiculous to anyone who was just passing by.
The cabin was cozy, and Allison was happy to take a look around with assistance from the hurricane lamp. For the space being on the small side, the interior was warm and welcoming, and the couch looked comfortable, a nice place to curl up with a book. The chairs, however, left little to the imagination, and Allison thought that her back hurt from simply looking from them. That could have been from all the driving she had done in the last two days, though, and let the thought slip from her mind.
As the fire roared to life, the room quickly became bathed in a pleasant, orange, glow and Allison warmed her hands by the flames after perching herself on the edge of the couch. The bearded man seemed pleased with himself, and happy in general to have some company. She supposed that he didn't get many visitors up there in the mountains, and his excitement was rather sweet. Allison found herself smiling, but her expression quickly changed to something of need when he mentioned food. It had been hours since she had eaten, and even then, it had just been a greasy burger from a fast food window.
“I'm starving,” she admitted, looking thankful that he had even offered her anything. “I was going to get something when I got into the city.” Standing from the couch, Allison rubbed her warm palms against her jeans, feeling they were a little too warm from the fire. “Do you need any help?” The least she could do was offer when he was being so accommodating.
It was easy to forget that something strange was going on when faced with the opportunity for distraction, and safe from the outside world in the sturdy cabin. More than likely, it was better for the two of them to be up in the mountains and away from the chaos of the city in its shadow.
It seemed silly, but Charlotte had never hung out with a mechanic before. Normally whenever something was wrong with her car, she just dropped it off at the dealer, or let her dad do it for her. She supposed that she was spoiled in that sense, hardly ever had to do anything for herself. Suddenly, she felt a little embarrassed by her upbringing and going to have ten dollar cocktails in the middle of the day while other people were at work. Never before had the dark-haired young woman realize how privileged she was. She didn't even want to tell Noah that she was unemployed, he would probably think less of her for it—not that she thought his opinion was very high of her anyway. After all, she had already spilled his coffee and got lost practically in her own backyard.
“No, go ahead,” she agreed, following toward the coffee shop. Entering behind him, Charlotte had a real chance to read the back of his t-shirt, and she found herself smiling at the clever design. “You don't like your job?” she asked, taking in the alluring scent of fresh coffee. It was much more appealing than what had been splashed all over her feet, although her sandals had already dried and the sensation wasn't as uncomfortable anymore.
When asked about her own life, Charlotte shrugged, a little awkward as she fidgeted with her hair again. “I go to school,” she told him, “for sociology. I took a year off after high school, so I'm almost done with college now, but I worked at the marina by my house for four years.” She had a decent amount of money saved up, enough to be out on her own, living with a room mate and able to afford the essentials. Of course, her parents still helped her every now and then, and she had a partial scholarship along with a few grants for school. Her contribution to society had been miniscule so far, but at least she had worked at one point. Noah's smirk really was infectious, and the more she saw of it, the less she actually wanted to go to brunch. If he didn't think she was entirely stuck up and spoiled by now, Charlotte hoped he would stick around around for a bit.
She was a little surprised that he was offering to buy her something when she had already made him waste money. “I got it,” Charlotte insisted, really wanting to make it up to him. “And I'm more of a smoothie person, to be honest,” she said conversationally, getting her wallet from her purse yet again.
“No, go ahead,” she agreed, following toward the coffee shop. Entering behind him, Charlotte had a real chance to read the back of his t-shirt, and she found herself smiling at the clever design. “You don't like your job?” she asked, taking in the alluring scent of fresh coffee. It was much more appealing than what had been splashed all over her feet, although her sandals had already dried and the sensation wasn't as uncomfortable anymore.
When asked about her own life, Charlotte shrugged, a little awkward as she fidgeted with her hair again. “I go to school,” she told him, “for sociology. I took a year off after high school, so I'm almost done with college now, but I worked at the marina by my house for four years.” She had a decent amount of money saved up, enough to be out on her own, living with a room mate and able to afford the essentials. Of course, her parents still helped her every now and then, and she had a partial scholarship along with a few grants for school. Her contribution to society had been miniscule so far, but at least she had worked at one point. Noah's smirk really was infectious, and the more she saw of it, the less she actually wanted to go to brunch. If he didn't think she was entirely stuck up and spoiled by now, Charlotte hoped he would stick around around for a bit.
She was a little surprised that he was offering to buy her something when she had already made him waste money. “I got it,” Charlotte insisted, really wanting to make it up to him. “And I'm more of a smoothie person, to be honest,” she said conversationally, getting her wallet from her purse yet again.
New York: the city that never sleeps. It could easily be compared to a med student, they didn't get much sleep either and James Allen ought to know. The now thirty year old man had spent the last part of a decade and some change in school, studying, working his ass off and learning all he could. It had been a process, but those long hours of dedication, and all that time spent with his nose in an anatomy book instead of out at a party were finally starting to pay off.
Residency was the one thing that a medical student waited for. It was the end of an era, and a start of a new beginning, the road to a promising and hopefully successful career. Being accepted into a residency program at any hospital was a milestone on its own, but it was just a little bit sweeter to be brought into a top facility, something that would look good and prestigious on a resume. The bragging rights were an added bonus, the cherry on top when all was said and done. Finally, James had something interesting to talk about when meeting new people, he could say that he did more than slave away in a lab all day.
The morning was bright and fresh, not a cloud in the sky as James walked along the crowded streets of the Big Apple, mostly keeping to himself as he listened a playlist on his iPod. Today was his first day at the hospital, and the sandy-haired man was appropriately excited and nervous as he made his way uptown. Having only woken up and left his apartment a full fifteen minutes ago, James knew that he was going to need a cup of coffee to get him through the first few hours of the day. Nerves and adrenaline could only do so much, and caffeine had become such a staple in his daily life—it would feel weird to miss it.
Luckily for James, there was a coffee shop right across the street from the hospital. The Daily Grind was a popular spot in the morning, the first stop for many in their long day, and the line out the door reflected that. The tall, soon-to-be-doctor had time to spare and didn't think twice about queuing up with the others, minding his own business as the pleasant sounds of indie rock continued to play in his ears. His own noise drowned out the chatter of people on cell phones, and the noises of the street; all of the honking and shouting, the screeching of tires. Never a moment of silence.
The line seemed to move rather quickly, and soon, James was inside and approaching the counter. He had enough common sense to remove his earbuds before ordering his coffee, which was nothing special. “Coffee, light,” he told the woman behind the counter, who seemed a bit relieved that she didn't have to make a complicated drink. James was a simple guy for the most part, and was happy to drink his coffee with just a little extra milk.
After giving his name and paying, the blue-eyed man stepped to the side to wait for his drink, and in the meantime, he listened to the complicated order of the Wall Street type who had been in line behind him. Soy and chocolate sauce didn't go together in James' mind, and he thought it was a little too early for all of that sugar, but he wasn't one to judge.
In no time at all, his coffee had arrived in front of him, steaming and smelling perfect with one of those little sleeves around the cup. He popped the lid off and added in his own sugar, only two packets. Poised to place his earbud back in, and resume his first day playlist, James happened to look over at the scene in front of the counter. Some guy in a nice suit was claiming to have forgotten his wallet, and the line behind the man groaned in frustration. New Yorkers were far from the most patient bunch in the world. James was feeling generous that day, maybe this would earn him some good karma, even if he didn't believe that the man in the suit was actually without cash.
“I got it,” he spoke up, stepping in and reaching into the pocket of his jeans for his wallet. The woman behind the counter didn't put up a fuss, and James suspected that it didn't matter who paid as long as the line kept moving. “I've forgotten my wallet before,” he mentioned with a friendly smile as he accepted his change from the woman.
Residency was the one thing that a medical student waited for. It was the end of an era, and a start of a new beginning, the road to a promising and hopefully successful career. Being accepted into a residency program at any hospital was a milestone on its own, but it was just a little bit sweeter to be brought into a top facility, something that would look good and prestigious on a resume. The bragging rights were an added bonus, the cherry on top when all was said and done. Finally, James had something interesting to talk about when meeting new people, he could say that he did more than slave away in a lab all day.
The morning was bright and fresh, not a cloud in the sky as James walked along the crowded streets of the Big Apple, mostly keeping to himself as he listened a playlist on his iPod. Today was his first day at the hospital, and the sandy-haired man was appropriately excited and nervous as he made his way uptown. Having only woken up and left his apartment a full fifteen minutes ago, James knew that he was going to need a cup of coffee to get him through the first few hours of the day. Nerves and adrenaline could only do so much, and caffeine had become such a staple in his daily life—it would feel weird to miss it.
Luckily for James, there was a coffee shop right across the street from the hospital. The Daily Grind was a popular spot in the morning, the first stop for many in their long day, and the line out the door reflected that. The tall, soon-to-be-doctor had time to spare and didn't think twice about queuing up with the others, minding his own business as the pleasant sounds of indie rock continued to play in his ears. His own noise drowned out the chatter of people on cell phones, and the noises of the street; all of the honking and shouting, the screeching of tires. Never a moment of silence.
The line seemed to move rather quickly, and soon, James was inside and approaching the counter. He had enough common sense to remove his earbuds before ordering his coffee, which was nothing special. “Coffee, light,” he told the woman behind the counter, who seemed a bit relieved that she didn't have to make a complicated drink. James was a simple guy for the most part, and was happy to drink his coffee with just a little extra milk.
After giving his name and paying, the blue-eyed man stepped to the side to wait for his drink, and in the meantime, he listened to the complicated order of the Wall Street type who had been in line behind him. Soy and chocolate sauce didn't go together in James' mind, and he thought it was a little too early for all of that sugar, but he wasn't one to judge.
In no time at all, his coffee had arrived in front of him, steaming and smelling perfect with one of those little sleeves around the cup. He popped the lid off and added in his own sugar, only two packets. Poised to place his earbud back in, and resume his first day playlist, James happened to look over at the scene in front of the counter. Some guy in a nice suit was claiming to have forgotten his wallet, and the line behind the man groaned in frustration. New Yorkers were far from the most patient bunch in the world. James was feeling generous that day, maybe this would earn him some good karma, even if he didn't believe that the man in the suit was actually without cash.
“I got it,” he spoke up, stepping in and reaching into the pocket of his jeans for his wallet. The woman behind the counter didn't put up a fuss, and James suspected that it didn't matter who paid as long as the line kept moving. “I've forgotten my wallet before,” he mentioned with a friendly smile as he accepted his change from the woman.
That's a great idea. With smaller sections of arena we could still incorporate the clock. Maybe the town could look a little like 12 just to mess with them that much more, because Snow is aiming to hurt Katniss?
That's true. I imagine Haymitch isn't going to be in the best state of mind, so maybe Peeta and the rest figure the less he knows the better. It might be a good idea for either Gale or Prim to know the most, or at least what Johanna and Finnick know. Maybe they figure having all of them in the dark leaves too much to chance. I'm not crazy about 13 myself, tbh. I mean, I like the idea of it, but it just seems so stagnant. While I was reading the books I just thought of it as one big, grey, blob and everyone was bored. So I would be very open to them going somewhere else. Maybe the Wilds, or 11? They feel pretty strongly about the revolution.
I could see Snow sending someone for Peeta personally. Maybe things don't go the way they should on his end and Plutarch ends up having to leave without him?
I'm thinking out loud as well, so if you don't like any of these ideas, just say so! :3
That's true. I imagine Haymitch isn't going to be in the best state of mind, so maybe Peeta and the rest figure the less he knows the better. It might be a good idea for either Gale or Prim to know the most, or at least what Johanna and Finnick know. Maybe they figure having all of them in the dark leaves too much to chance. I'm not crazy about 13 myself, tbh. I mean, I like the idea of it, but it just seems so stagnant. While I was reading the books I just thought of it as one big, grey, blob and everyone was bored. So I would be very open to them going somewhere else. Maybe the Wilds, or 11? They feel pretty strongly about the revolution.
I could see Snow sending someone for Peeta personally. Maybe things don't go the way they should on his end and Plutarch ends up having to leave without him?
I'm thinking out loud as well, so if you don't like any of these ideas, just say so! :3
Two long years of silence had finally come to this. This wasn't how Teddy had thought their first conversation would go, or rather, that they would ever speak again. At the end of their break up, the blond girl had made it abundantly clear that she needed space, a chance to breathe and not be suffocated—time to find herself without him hanging around. It had hurt, but not just because the formerly blue-haired young man was losing the girl he loved, but that she seemed to be so disgusted and fed up by their relationship. It had always felt so natural to him, growing from children into a couple in love, and to find out that happiness had been one-sided was devastating.
Talking about his feelings, the depression that had taken over his life in Victoire's wake, wasn't something that Teddy had been ready for. Instead of seeking out his friends and family like a normal person, he had chosen to run. Traveling around the world had seemed like a fantastic idea, as the United Kingdom had suddenly become too small, too soul-crushing and oppressive for the young metamorphagus to survive.
After hopping from country to country, taking pictures and socializing for a year, Teddy had finally returned and settled down. In the time that he had been away, the young half-werewolf had failed to deal with anything from the year before. He had simply returned to his flat, got rid of anything that reminded him of the girl who had broken his heart, and went on with life. There was no grieving, no closure, nothing special. In fact, the way he had dealt with his first break up was highly abnormal, which caused the Potter's—mainly Ginny—to worry about him quite a bit.
Teddy insisted that he was fine, though. Always fine, always happy. Never a problem.
Now that he was there with her, face to face and speaking, Teddy quickly realized what a problem his methods of healing (or lack there of) had been. He was angry with her, sorry and hopeful all at the same time, and the questions; he had so many. In his mind, he thought that Victoire owed him answers because he had always been good to her, so patient and understanding of whatever it was that she wanted to do. In the screaming and carrying on that was the prelude to their break up, Teddy had made a point to tell her that he wanted to stick around and wait for her to finish her training; she was worth it to him.
There she was, speaking, talking, answering him with a yes that seemingly surprised the both of them. Perhaps she didn't hate him, perhaps she was just being polite in front of the family, who were all pretending as if they weren't watching them, as if this were a normal occurrence.
Standing there, the tightness in his chest was almost unbearable, and suddenly the enclosure of the tent felt much too warm, his ears colored slightly, blushing like a lovesick fifteen year old at the sound of her voice. This wasn't supposed to be so difficult for him, Teddy had been posturing for the majority of the night and doing his best to convince everyone that he was aloof, indifferent to her presence. Asking her to dance was already proving to be a mistake, but Teddy couldn't back down now.
Extending his hand, Teddy reached to gently take hers. It was a familiar feeling, the sensation practically burned into his memory from years before. It bothered him that it still felt right, that Victoire still managed to have this type of hold on him after being so harsh. Regardless, he saw her out to the dance floor as a soft song by the always tragic Spellbound began to play. His free hand settled easily on her waist, fingers fanning the bottom of her ribcage over the fabric of her floral dress.
“I heard you were with St. Mungo's now?” he asked, attempting a bit of conversation. Teddy couldn't help but be slightly distracted, though, and he inwardly blamed her small amount of Veela blood for his inability to look away from her clear, blue eyes. “How do you like it?”
He swayed with her, dancing slowly and comfortably for now. He didn't want his emotions to get the better of him, but they were bubbling so close to the surface and still so very raw.
Talking about his feelings, the depression that had taken over his life in Victoire's wake, wasn't something that Teddy had been ready for. Instead of seeking out his friends and family like a normal person, he had chosen to run. Traveling around the world had seemed like a fantastic idea, as the United Kingdom had suddenly become too small, too soul-crushing and oppressive for the young metamorphagus to survive.
After hopping from country to country, taking pictures and socializing for a year, Teddy had finally returned and settled down. In the time that he had been away, the young half-werewolf had failed to deal with anything from the year before. He had simply returned to his flat, got rid of anything that reminded him of the girl who had broken his heart, and went on with life. There was no grieving, no closure, nothing special. In fact, the way he had dealt with his first break up was highly abnormal, which caused the Potter's—mainly Ginny—to worry about him quite a bit.
Teddy insisted that he was fine, though. Always fine, always happy. Never a problem.
Now that he was there with her, face to face and speaking, Teddy quickly realized what a problem his methods of healing (or lack there of) had been. He was angry with her, sorry and hopeful all at the same time, and the questions; he had so many. In his mind, he thought that Victoire owed him answers because he had always been good to her, so patient and understanding of whatever it was that she wanted to do. In the screaming and carrying on that was the prelude to their break up, Teddy had made a point to tell her that he wanted to stick around and wait for her to finish her training; she was worth it to him.
There she was, speaking, talking, answering him with a yes that seemingly surprised the both of them. Perhaps she didn't hate him, perhaps she was just being polite in front of the family, who were all pretending as if they weren't watching them, as if this were a normal occurrence.
Standing there, the tightness in his chest was almost unbearable, and suddenly the enclosure of the tent felt much too warm, his ears colored slightly, blushing like a lovesick fifteen year old at the sound of her voice. This wasn't supposed to be so difficult for him, Teddy had been posturing for the majority of the night and doing his best to convince everyone that he was aloof, indifferent to her presence. Asking her to dance was already proving to be a mistake, but Teddy couldn't back down now.
Extending his hand, Teddy reached to gently take hers. It was a familiar feeling, the sensation practically burned into his memory from years before. It bothered him that it still felt right, that Victoire still managed to have this type of hold on him after being so harsh. Regardless, he saw her out to the dance floor as a soft song by the always tragic Spellbound began to play. His free hand settled easily on her waist, fingers fanning the bottom of her ribcage over the fabric of her floral dress.
“I heard you were with St. Mungo's now?” he asked, attempting a bit of conversation. Teddy couldn't help but be slightly distracted, though, and he inwardly blamed her small amount of Veela blood for his inability to look away from her clear, blue eyes. “How do you like it?”
He swayed with her, dancing slowly and comfortably for now. He didn't want his emotions to get the better of him, but they were bubbling so close to the surface and still so very raw.
Exactly. I make up all of my OCs on the spot, so I never really think in terms of favorites, or what kind of music they like? I pick a face and let the personality happen as it goes.
I'm sure you won't! :3 Don't worry.
I'm sure you won't! :3 Don't worry.
Glad to know we're on the same page :3 I just dread character sheets where they're like, favorite color? favorite food? what were they like when they were five? And it's just like, why is this necessary?
Sounds good! I'm looking forward to it.
Sounds good! I'm looking forward to it.
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