[OPEN MINGLE] Or perhaps in Slytherin

[fulllifeconsequences]

Who: Slytherin House! (And friends and visitors, of course!)
Where: Slytherin Common Room, Quidditch Pitch, various places around Hogwarts
When: Duration of the event
Rating: G (will edit as necessary)
Summary: Slytherin open log!
The Story:



The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling, from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and several Slytherins were silhouetted around it in carved chairs.

The common room has changed, somewhat, from its historical description, thanks to the decorative powers of one Mettaton. Though it still extends beneath the lake and thus retains a greenish, aquatic cast, it's much more brightly lit, its cold, damp atmosphere replaced with dazzling MTT-brand warmth. Even the giant squid, occasionally peering in as it does its rounds of the lake, seems just a shade more glamorous inside such a charming space.

Students - and a ghost or two - can be found nestled within its confines, plotting mischief around the fire, studiously doing their homework (as good students do), or perhaps trading Chocolate Frog trading cards. Though Slytherin is not especially well-known for its wide-open, trusting nature, Slytherins are known for not snitching on each other; if a guest or two were to creep in for a while, then odds are, nobody saw anything.

Comments

[agneshko]

[ a brief smile flits across her face when he calls lucifer a dog, her wounded ego mollified by it. ]

Of course you wouldn't. You don't see what I see. You never will. [ she fancies herself a novelist, but when it comes to talking about love, about damon, all those pretty words she could think to use flee her mind, leaving it blank. ] I think when you fall in love with someone, you create your own language with them. And if someone else tried to hear what you're saying to each other, they wouldn't be able to.

[ she draws in a contemplative breath. ]

When I look at your badger, I see a nice and compassionate girl. But I'm positive you see more than that, because you're close enough to see sides to her that no one else will. That's why it's scary. That's why it's special. [ that's why it's a vulnerable language.

damon is a study in contrasts. aloof and intense, patient and impulsive. but beneath all those contradictions is a hopeless romantic who wants to do right by her. someone who, much like klaus, was spoken to in a different language from a young age. a language of violence. she feels so protective of their hurt, protective of them, albeit in different ways. she wants to love them so deeply they forget there was a time they felt unloved. it's not how it works. but she wishes it was. ]

I think you're very brave. [ for letting himself love someone. for letting them love him back. ] I hope you keep being brave.

[poppycock]

[ she is a novelist, if that's what she wants to be; that's as far as klaus is concerned. she's more: in this moment, like so many others, she's beautiful, and kind, and sweet. but most of all she is true and right, and it's so rare that klaus feels and believes in what sounds too good and pure to be real.

but he cannot deny this, for he has known it intimately.

(this is why she is his family. she points him to true north; perhaps that's what she is, for him.)

he looks away as she speaks, weathering the pricking of tears in his eyes. it only takes the space of her last few words to manage it, his chin lifting with resoluteness. (he cannot put into words just how much it means to him, that she thinks he's being brave. that she thinks he is brave. that she hopes it for him, too.

it's one of the few times he has heard it. perhaps it's the first.

but language is not only for lovers; he is sure she can see how it moves him.) ] I'm certain you'll always be brave, princess. [ it's all he can think to say, to give. he takes a step closer and takes her hand in his, his long fingers twinning with hers. he leans in, promises in a teasing, conspiratorial whisper, ] But if you're wrong about Damon, I will break his knees. [ a gentle tug and he's inching them towards the great hall. ]

[agneshko]

[ he takes her hand, like she has taken his so many times before.

he has the hands of an artist, fingers long and slender. she's held his hands when they're smooth and clean; held them when they're bruised and battered and shaky in spite of himself. it's never made a difference to her, never kept her away. she would recognize his hands anywhere, and she would always, always reach for them. she is certain of this, in ways she is certain of little else. she loves as fiercely and viciously as she does nearly everything else, all or nothing.

her fingers slot into the spaces between his, and she follows his tug with a small laugh. despite the way she stomped off earlier, she has felt lighter and happier than she has in months. ] If I'm wrong about Damon, it's entirely possible he'd break his own knees first, принц.

[ and sadly, that is not an overstatement. ]

But then there are always other limbs. [ #slytherins ]

[poppycock]

[ she does love fiercely and viciously. it is all or nothing and in this, they are the same. she has never turned him away, no matter what he was, who he was, whatever weakness and vulnerability he could not help but show. she has been his island. her hand is small in his, warm and strong; just like her.

he wants her to be happy. that is the truth, hidden beneath his idle threats and rolling eyes, the amusement he deals out with condescension. he wants to protect her and keep her sometimes, for himself. but he wants her to laugh like she is now, to smile, and to know the miraculousness of joy as he has more. it's what she deserves by virtue of simply being her, and because she is his. he would do anything to make it so.

perhaps even consider damon could make her happy, if damon's what she must desire.

he might know enough about the hufflepuff to believe her claim might be true. still. ] Perhaps I should talk to him, [ a willing concession ] get to know him a little better... [ as a dutiful surrogate brother and all. he nods his head at her, the look in his eyes glinting with wickedness. ] Find out which limb he'd really miss. [ #slytherins4lyf #onlyhalfkidding

he's leading them down the corridor towards the painting of the pear. it's not the first time nor will it be the last they indulge in a little nightcap in the kitchens. klaus happens to ritually carry a flask of on him for their hot cocoa and firewhiskey tradition. ]

[agneshko]

[ she can hardly blame him for the sentiment, can she?

it's how elena felt when his gaze first began to stray toward camille. it's not enough to have a small piece of someone. elena is greedy enough to want all of it, for herself, for forever. in this, they are the same, too. but his happiness means more to her than her own selfish, territorial ways.

cami makes him softer. in ways that are not weak at all. ]

Nik.

[ she really shouldn't encourage him. it's not laughter bubbling up her throat. her eyes light up when she sees where he leads them, knowing what it means. their lives may be changing, and they make be allowing room for others, but she likes that this is something that remains solely theirs. she waits for him to retrieve his infamous little flask, wrinkling her nose as she looks up at the painting. ] What do you think of this one? [ her fingers lightly tap the wall beside the painting's frame. ]

[walkingheroin]

I think that our friend here could easily do better.

[His voice comes from behind them as he finishes his rounds for the evening. To find them here could very well mean that Elena is feeling a bit better now, having run through her anger towards them.

They may have deserved it, but that didn't make it any more enjoyable to be lacking her company.]

I completely expect you to have replaced some of these old things with your own work down the line, Nik. Anything less would leave me disappointed.

[His eyebrows lift at Elena before he tests the waters himself.]

Feeling a bit better are we, bright eyes?

[agneshko]

[ elena follows the sound of lucifer's voice, frowning; it's meant to look put out, but it's kind of adorable, honestly. it isn't easy to sneak up on her, and somehow the little devil manages it each and every time. she'd like to remain angry, but there he goes with his pet names, and her mouth twitches into a reluctant smile. ]

A bit.

[ that's the thing about elena's temper. it flares quickly, and is put out just the same.

no wonder she can get along with so many of these men.

she leans in lucifer's direction as the boys discuss artwork, lifting the olive branch flask to him in offer. ]